1 year

It was midsummer last week. A big holiday in Sweden. People celebrate the longest day of the year. It's one of the happiest celebrations in Sweden. It's like a reward for having survived another dark and long winter. I know a lot of people can't understand, and probably couldn't stand, the winters here. The sun barely rising. Darkness everywhere. But then we have summer. And trust me, it's worth it. Evening when the sun barely sets at all and you can sit outside until early morning. I remember when I worked at McDonalds. I was working the closing shift and we had a really busy night so we ended up not getting out of there until around 3 am. I remember cycling home. The sun having just risen and the birds singing in the trees. It was such a surreal feeling. It was amazing. I love midsummers.

Or at least I used to. This year midsummers eve (last Friday) marked 1 year since our lives took an evil twist. I tried not to think about it but was reminded by kind people who only meant well. But the last thing I wanted to hear was "so, it's been a year now..." A year ago we didn't think we'd be here. Everything was so dark and we had no hope what so ever. I wouldn't say that we have hope now. But we've had a year. Which means that we could have another year. And another one after that. And many more after that. But hope? I don't dare to hope. One day at a time. I know I've said those words before. But I don't think I've truly understood their meaning until now. One day at a time. Currently they're bad days. For her. Which means they're bad for all of us.

1st of September I move to my own place. I will have a sanctuary to escape to. Where I can close the door on cancer. Leave it outside. Even though I know it will follow me around forever.

It's been the worst year in my life. But in a way it's been a good year. It's been a great year. Because she's still here.

Facing what's to come, kind of

My mum and I have had a projekt all spring. We planted seeds in Match. And now we have beautiful plants all over the verandah. I love just sitting looking at them. They have become my babies. It's as if we're desperate to watch something living grow. It's peaceful and almost healing. To see that there is still life that can grow in this world.

I've been sitting among those plants today reading. I was looking through our book cases for something to read and my eyes stopped on a book my Kristian Gidlund. He was a Swedish journalist who was diagnosed with stomach cancer in the spring of 2011. He then started a blog to write about his internal war. Last summer his blog was published in a book. Just a short while later he passed away. He lived just over two years after he was diagnosed. I haven't had the strength or the courage to read his book. My mum bought it late last summer. And for a long time it was just lying in our living room. No one daring to open it. No one wanting to know what was inside. My mum has read it. Don't know if anyone else in my family has.

I started reading it today. Because if it's anytime that I will read it, it's when my parents aren't here. And if there's any place I should read it, it's here. In this house. On this verandah. Where I am at my safest. At a time and place where it's okay to fall apart.

I think this is something I need to do.

You mean the world

Usually the days are good. And we get on with it. Our daily life. The difference being that I am home and that my mum is home. Other than that everything is normal.

But then days like today happen. I took my mum to chemo today in the morning. And I went back home, had breakfast and got ready for my day. Then I went to get my mum from chemo four hours later. And then we had lunch. And now, an old friend is here. She's the mum of a childhood friend of mine. I haven't seen this friend for years and years. We grew up on the same street. There were lots of kids my age on our street when I was growing up and she was one of them. We played a lot when we were really young. And drifted apart when we started school since we ended up in different classes. But her parents have lived on our street for as long as we have. We wave when we pass each other in our cars. And we say hi if we walk past each other. But that's the kind of street we live on. A wonderful, quiet street where quite a few people have lived for a long time. Couples who moved here when they started families in the middle of the -80's. Now most of these homes are occupied by parents whose children have moved out. It's a good street. And at moments like this I realise it even more.

Because this woman, my friend's mum. She heard about my mum from her husband who ran into my mum one day a few weeks ago. And now she's here. Because as she said when she walked in the door. "We don't have much contact now the kids are grown. But we're here. And we want to be here." And now they're sitting in the kitchen talking. And my mum is telling the story from the very beginning. From being ill in May to being diagnosed in June to today. And what's to come. And I'm sitting in my room. And I can hear them talking. And yes. I'm eavesdropping. I don't want to. Because I enjoy my little bubble. But just as I know how important it is for my mum to keep on repeating the story as a way of processing it all. It's good for me to keep on hearing it as a way for me to process it. And once again I heard her repeat what the doctors told us on that very first visit. "It has spread. We can't operate. Radiation is not an option. There is no cure." Those horrible, horrible words that sometimes out of nowhere pops into my head. 

Since all of this happened I've realised how unfair the world is. My mum's guest just asked if they know why it happened to her. And my mum replied that in 9 out of 10 cases of cancer in the stomach it is purely bad luck. 

But I've also learned how amazing my family is. And how amazing people around my family think my parents are, and especially my mum. There is such a huge network around us. Colleagues. Family. Extended family. Old friends. New friends. My friends. My brother's friends. Distant friends. Everyone is being so wonderful and fighting this with us. I hope you all know how much you mean to us, to me. I don't know how I would react if someone I knew was going through what we're going through. Because it's a difficult situation. how do you face someone who is dealing with this kind if thing? But everyone is being amazing. And honest. And open. So please, continue being the wonderful people that you are. You are doing everything right.

Sentences I've come to hate

Everytime I hear my mum say the words "we know there's no cure" it kills me a little bit.

Denial as the best defence

Things are getting personal. I realise that. And I will sometimes dump very personal stuff here. I don't write about these things anywhere else. And most of my thoughts on all of this I do not formalise. They're just in my head. But sometimes I need to get it ouf of my system. Written down somewhere. And I want people to know how I am. People who might read this blog. Friends. Because I do not write about it that much in e-mailes or messages. Because as you can see, I'm denying it all. And who knows, maybe someone else in a similar, horrible, nightmare'ish position will read this and know they're not alone. We're all in this together. Fighting this monster.

It's terrifying. Absolutely terrifying, to think of the death of a parent. We all know it will happen. It's how it's meant to be. People have children. The children grow up while the parents grow old. Then the children have children. And the parents become the grandparents. And then the grandchildren grow up, while the parents get even older. And then they pass away. At the age of 80 or 90, or sometimes 100. Like my grandfather. My amazing, beautiful knight in shining armor He died the year he was going to turn 90. And he was only sick the last six months of his long and wonderful life. That's how it's meant to be. While the death of a parent must be horrible, and terrifying even at that stage, it's somehow manageable. Because you've been prepared for it your whole life without realising. It sounds horrible. But it's true. And it gives you peace and hope to know that they lived a happy, long life.

My mum will most likely not get that ending. My mum is 54 years old. And she is the most amazing, wonderful, strong person I know. She is my hero. And right now she is fighting an incurable disease. An alien has taken root in her body, in her stomach, and is slowly fighting its way through her body. It's reached her pancreas. Her lungs. Her skeleton. And her liver. She is doing chemotheropy. We are going to halt it. So we get more time. Because according to the doctors that's all we can hope for. And that is all we want, isn't it? Everyone? We all want time with the people that we love.

I moved back to Sweden so that I could be closer to my family. It wasn't the only reason. But it certainly put things in perspective. What's very strange though is how I felt more aware of the cancer when I was in London than I am now. In London I would get panic attacks. I would fall apart completely. I didn't sleep. I would sit in my room, with the lights out and hug myself while crying hysterically. Maybe it was partly because it then was so much fresher. It was new. I was in shock. I was in the first stage. It didn't seem real and I would work myself up by not being able to see my mum every day. I didn't know how she was doing. And I would imagine her ill and weak and sad.

Now I'm home. And while I sometimes question what I've done. Changed my entire life around because of this. I wonder if I was stupid giving up a good job, with great colleagues. Leaving some of my closest friends behind, whom I now miss terribly. Was it the right decision? Of course it was. But it all almost seems more unreal now. I wake up in the mornings. I have breakfast with my mum. We chat. We get on with our days. And she's mum. She sleeps more than she used to. She takes slower walks than before. But she's mum. It's impossible to get it through my head that she is so sick. I just can't do it. And I don't want to do it.

I want to keep living in this wonderful state of denial. Where everything is still okay. Where the events of the 20th of June 2013 doesn't exist. Because in this world it's me and my mum. Spending wonderful quality time together. Like a lovely long vacation. I'm not unemployed living off my parents. And she does not have a giant tumour in her stomach. It's just us. Like normal. Because everything else is too hard. It is too painful. And it is too terrifying. I cannot picture a world without my mum. I do not know how that world would look like. It would be a cold, lonely and dark place. A place I cannot go. That's not an option. So I live in this world of denial. Because right now it is the best I got. It's the only thing I have.

I'm worried that I will get ripped out of this world soon though. Because we are getting eerily close to the end of chemo. Fifth round tomorrow and Thursday. And then one more round two weeks later. And then we'll get to know if it worked or not. If it's halted, or if it's continued spreading.

I hope it worked. I really really really realy hope it worked. But I'm scared. I'm absolutely terrified.

Random thoughts I can't control

It's a strange feeling. In one week and three days I am leaving London, and England. I've been here for the last five years. But now it's time to fit all my possessions into suitcases and boxes and send them across the sea to Sweden. I have two days left at work. A job I have loved, and hated, and enjoyed, and found very educational. And I've met some incredible people there. If I had stayed longer I'm positive some of them would have become life long friends. Now I'm leaving a bit too soon for that to happen. But you never know.

There are some other people though, people who have become more family than friends. I'm not really sure how I will manage life without you. How I will go through life without you at my side.

But then again, I don't know how to go through life without my actual family right now either. So while the choice has been incredibly difficult and painful to make. It wasn't ever really a choice. From the moment I heard the words that changed my life I knew that this is what had to happen. I knew it deep down that there was no other option.

And yes, there's many things that I'm leaving behind. But then, there's also things I am coming back to. Not just my amazing parents and my wonderful brother. There's also two best friends. One of whom is about to become a mother and make me an honorary aunt. The other one is at the same stage of life as I am. Unsure about what the future holds. And there's food. And tv. And my native language. And snowy winters. And triple-glazed windows and proper heating.

What I'm trying to say is that I'm confused. And I'm torn. But no matter how unsure I become. It is time. It is time to move home. It is time to face it all. And for me to do that I need to be closer to them all. It has been one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make.

One week. Three days.

It's absolutely insane when I think about it. It is absolutely mental that my family and I are going through this right now. And will continue to go through for the rest of my life. It's been six weeks since we found out. And it's as unreal as it ever was.

Mamma

It's strange. When something unthinkable and horrible happens to people. Something that has a huge impact on their lives they often say that they don't understand how life seems to go on as if nothing has happened. They sometimes say it's as if they are playing pretend in the real world that everything is fine. While at the same time their world is falling into little pieces.
I think it's the other way around. When I talk about my mums cancer (there you go. First time I've written those words on here), I feel as if I am playing pretend. When we discuss treatments, tumors sizes and side effects of chemotherapy, it's as if we are all playing a really horrible version of pretend. Because surely this can't be happening to us? Then when we stop talking about it and instead discuss yesterday's round of golf we are back to normal life. Stopped pretending everything is horrible, and sad, and painful.
We go back to being the loving, quirky, wonderful, healthy family that we have always been. Because surely, when we talk about which organs that have been affected. Or when we discuss how to fit as much normal life as possible in around her treatments. Surely that's not my mum we're talking about? It can't be. She's going to live to be a hundred. And love and spoil and play with her grandchildren. And retire and move to that beautiful Italian house they bought last summer.
My mum can't be sick. Surely that's all just one evil game of pretend? A really cruel prank someone is playing on us?

Roller coaster

Sunday was a below average day.

Monday was a really, really difficult day.

Yesterday was above average.

Today has been good.

I wish the roller coaster would end.

But at least the highs are more regular than the lows now.

Looking back,

seeing where I'm coming from.

That's something to be grateful for.

And thank you,

to all of you who make a difference.

I'd probably be under my desk if it wasn't for you.

(Photo from the Outer Banks, North Carolina)

The truth

"Is this all in my head, or is it real?"
"Well of course it is in your head, but why in the world would that make you think it isn't real?"



A brilliant quote from a brilliant book.
Thank you J. K. Rowling for letting Dumbledore say those words...

FYI

I withdraw at the sight of danger,
or so I've been told.
I'm too sick of the pain,
to even allow me to go that far.

And yes,
I miss you every second of every minute of every day.
And that will never change.
Because in my heart I know that you should be here.
And I see a giant black hole where you used to be.

I move on natural instinct,
or so I've been told.
Fight or flight is my way of life.
But I'm too tired to fight,
so I flee.
In the other direction,
as fast as I possibly can.
Because I'm walking on the edge,
and have for quite a while.
And probably always will.

Just FYI.

Rambling

It's never easy to reshape the way you think.
You're way of thinking is who you are,
for better or for worse.
To re-learn how to think is a tiresome adventure,
a path I'm not sure I'm ready to walk.
But I don't think I have any other options.
It's like learning a new language,
without a proper book to learn from.
And I hate learning new langauges,
I love knowing them
I hate learning them.
Always have.
And now I have to learn a new language,
not out of want or desire,
but out of necessity.
I wish there was a book,
similar to my French grammar book lying in front of me.
A guide to take me through the steps.
Where do I start?
Basic vocab and present tense verbs is always the starting point it seems,
but what would the equivalent be when it is me I am re-learning?
I already have a language to think in,
I actually have five.
But none of them seem to work right now,
as I still end up thinking in the same manner as before.
Instead I find myself having endless discussions with myself,
and trust me, that's not very interesting or pleasent.
Usually it goes something along the lines of:
"God I'm stupid."
"No you're not. Stop saying stupid things like that."
"Fine, but I'm still stupid even if I don't say it."
"But you're not. So stop it. Stop being so stupid!"
"Ha! Told you! I AM stupid."
But on the rare occassion I manage to trick myself into believing the world isn't a dark, horrible place I actually do see the stars in the sky and the sunshine in the raindrops.
So maybe these tiring conversations is what I need,
maybe I have all the sufficient language for it.
I mean, it doesn't matter which language I say it in,
it's still the same thoughts.
Debate.
Discuss.
Speak your mind.
Let it out.
Listen to it.
Contemplate.
Take it in.
Take the other side.
Push yourself,
because no one ever said it was easy to be sane.

When you think about it

I was sitting in my chair,
by my window.
There's this giant tree outside where the leaves now are so plenty it could be the rainforest.
Okay, maybe not the rainforest,
but you know what I mean.
It's plain beauty.
There is so much of it out there,
and I can't help but wonder why we don't see it more often.
Or maybe that's just me.
There's this filter covering my pupils,
only allowing me to see certain things.
And making things look in a special way.
Everyone has their own filter,
shaped by their past and looked through with their present.
Isn't it strange,
we all start off at the same position.
Neutral, empty.
And as the years go by we are filled with love, lies, laughters, lives.
And by some miracle of events we turn into the people we are here and now.
Change one second of your past,
and nothing would be the same.
Some turn out to change the world,
some turn out to save lives,
some live their lives happily on the sidelines,
some end up doing something they never thought was possible.
But we all started off at the same place,
and yet we all turn out so differently.
It's quite a miracle,
when you think about it.
There are so many people walking this earth,
and still not two are identical.
Not even identical twins are identical.
Everyone is unique.
It's quite extraordinary when you think about it.

The ultimate paradox

Looking back I can't say when it all began. Usually I know the answer. Most things began on that day now many years ago. The day everything changed. But not this, this came later. D Day rather had the opposite effect thinking back. During those years of tears, loss, pain and close friendships this strange feeling was never present. I sought what I no longer can deal with. It's strange, isn't it? How you can change so drastically without even noticing. I've become so used to being able to pin point the day. Now I can't. But never the less, it's present. Always. Everywhere. And what does it matter when it started? Isn't it more relevant to know when it ends?

It hits when I expect it. Which is funny since nothing ever used to. But now I can see it ahead of time. I can walk into a room knowing it will hit. I can know days in advance. It's a never ending battle, that I often lose. You probably can't see it. Or maybe you can. Maybe I don't give you enough credit. I probably don't. I try so hard not to show it, while at the same time screaming for you to know. It's the ultimate paradox. How to keep something hidden, while wanting to talk about it. Wanting to be left alone, while wanting to be with you. Wanting to be ignored, while wanting you to see it all.

It makes it difficult. I know.

See the moment

It's difficult. Knowing what to say, and when. Not wanting to step on any toes, but not wanting to seem clueless. How to let someone know that they see, without making it too obvious. How do you say 'I care' when you never have the time for it? The moment rarely comes, running around in this crazy world there isn't much time left. So when the moment does appear, grasp it and don't let go. It's all it takes. To make someone feel.

The sun has set

Trying to put words to my thoughts.
There's been many of them lately.
Loneliness. Without knowing why.
Confusion. Not knowing what's happening.
Fear. Of the unknown that is approaching.
Longing. There's something missing.

I look in the mirror, and see a set of grey eyes.
They're looking at me, questioning, wondering.
Doubting all that is me, all that I know.
As if saying, what are you doing with yourself?
Why and for whom?

I guess the question is:
Will it be worth it?

.

You know how you said that the reason that you rush through life is to make sure you get the most out of it?
I don't believe you.

You know how you said that the reason that you never look back is to make sure you don't live in the past?
I don't believe you.

I rush through life, because I'm scared that if I stop nothing will make sense.
I avoid looking back, because I don't want to be reminded of the horrors of the past.

We are given a life, and then it's up to us what we do with it. You can choose your own path, but we all start off at the same point. Then our mission is to get to the end.
I don't believe you.

The journey is the mission. And I'm trying really hard to not run.

Whispering in my head

There's this voice in my head, it keeps whispering to me.
It's telling me to work harder.
It's telling me to get more done.
It's telling me it won't be good enough.
It's telling me I'm going to fail.

And it scares me.

There's this voice in my head, it keeps whispering to me.
It's telling me that I'm all alone.
It's telling me that no one really cares.
It's telling me that nothing really matters.
It's telling me that I should run, as fast as I can.

And it scares me.

Non stop

I looked up, and saw an empty mind and a wandering dream.

How to live our lifes

There's something in this world that tells us how to be. It tells us how to act. How to react. It tells us what our lives should be like. From the time that we are able to understand the words that are told to us, we are told how life is supposed to be. We are told that we have to go to school. We have to have friends. We have to graduate high school. We have to meet a partner, preferably of the opposite sex. This someone we are supposed to fall headless in love with. Share our lives with, tell them our secrets and our dreams. We are supposed to become a union, one soul. And we are supposed to get jobs that leads to a career, and a home that leads to a family. This we are told as soon as we can take in the meaning of life.

But what if this doesn't happen? Is there something wrong with us? We are told how our lives are supposed to be so many times, for so long, that it becomes the truth. It becomes the only option. Therefore, when reality hits, and all those things that are supposed to come with it is lacking, we start to question. We start to wonder. Is this the true reality? Or is it only me? Is this the big lie in society? In the world. That everything we're told, everything we're taught, is not real. But then we look around, and realise that the world does look like we've been told. People live in pairs. People have their careers, and their families.

So I look around, and can't help but wonder. If that is how life is supposed to be, then what happened to me? Where did I get lost? In my searches for the answer, I think I've gotten lost. Running in circles, never knowing what to expect.

There is something in this world that tells us how to live. While sometimes it's good to ignore that voice and do your own thing, sometimes it's better to just shut up and follow the stream. It might just take you to your dream...

The empty paper

She was staring at the empty paper. It was screaming to her. Emptiness. Loneliness. Longing. She was staring at the empty paper. And saw herself. How she herself had been emptied of everything, without really knowing how it had happened. The empty paper used to be filled so easily, so quickly. With a small movement, and there it was. The thoughts, the pen, the words. The flowed like a creek in springtime. She used to have thoughts. Weird. Warm. Exciting. Challenging. Old. Familiar. New. But now they were gone. The emptiness have taken over. The words are forced. Uncomfortably. She stared at the paper. And without knowing when, or how, she knew. She knew that somewhere along the road she had lost herself. Focus had ended up in the wrong place. Fatigue that had taken over. Free time filled with forced rest to have the strength to deal. The brain is being filled with knowledge. But is not challenged with other things. She thought she was on the right track. She thought this was the big thing. She looks at the empty paper. And wonders where she has gone.