I got to think about the connection between mother and child. As life forms and begins, the fetus is sustained relying on the umbilical cord which transports nutrients and oxygenated blood from the mother's placenta to the baby. It seems we are all aware of this connection. What we fail to remember (or at least I did) is that this symbiotic (I'm totally unsure if this biological concept works here) relationship also helps the fetus rid of deoxygenated blood. It is a two- way street. My connection and relationship with Mia, my daughter, birthed the idea that the connection doesn't cease upon birth. Though no longer physically connected, Mia and I continue to sustain each other to some degree. I, as the provider of most tangible things, and Mia as the provider of all that is spiritual and emotional. It is Mia who provides me with the will to live and the strength to fight for my life. It is Mia who provides me with love, with comfort, with happiness. It is Mia's own strength which encourages me to move on. It is Mia's being that allows me to grow, and it is from Mia that I learn, even as I am preparing for my death. Unlike while in the womb, Mia's life does not physically rely on my existence, and when I expire, she will sustain (God willing). I hope that what I have given her throughout our lives together will help her thrive, flourish, prosper.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Things that I'm thankful for are too numerous to count, but I'd like to inventory at least some of them. I'm thankful beyond articulation for being born into the best family in the world. I couldn't ask for a better mom and dad though I can aspire to be an equally good parent to my child. I'm thankful for my sister, my best friend, and for living long enough to share the joy of the birth of her first child. Im thankful for my extended family who gave me so much throughout the years and who continues to support and love. I'm grateful for falling in love with the man who became my husband and later the father of my daughter, Mia. The man who has been providing support through thick and thin. I'm thankful beyond comprehension for birthing and raising the most incredible child. I'm thankful for every moment with her and for being able to provide for her and for watching her grow. I'm grateful for all that Mia teaches me, for all the love that I get back. I'm thankful for the myriad of friends who have been enriching my life and for the occasional strangers who touch my life in a more subtle way. I am thankful for all the opportunities I've had and for opportunities to come. I'm grateful for living in a community that cares.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Last night, as heavy snow flakes were descending upon us, Derrick Mia and I braved our neighborhood's streets. We went trick or treating. Our snow gears were covered with our warm costumes, protecting us from the elements. We've been awaiting snow flakes, and of all the potential nights and days, they chose to arrive on Halloween. We asked for them, so we weren't going to complain, and with a group of good friends, we hit the streets. The wind was blowing, and the falling snow managed to stick to our faces, brushing against cold cheeks and making our eye lashes sticky. But we were unstoppable! The kids, driven by the prospect of collecting more and more candies, were leading the pack, and Mia, my sweet little lamb, seemed so very happy, running and skipping through mounds of snow, indifferent to the harsh weather. For these moments, she seemed like a child should be- worry free. Running from one home to the next with her friends, she seemed free. For these moments, she didn't have to bear the difficulties of having a mother with terminal cancer. She was out and about with her parents and her friends, happy as every child should be. I pray that one day, as Mia reflects on these moments, they'll appear as pleasurable and as magical as they appear to me.

Fiddler on the Roof

My family and I got a little taste of Broadway when we went to see Fiddler on the Roof the other night (Thanks Jay and Stacia! Thanks Vicki!). The show was, well, traditional. The same familiar scenes with the same familiar tunes and the same colorful characters. And it is this sense of familiarity that makes this play one of my favorite.

The story is timeless, and so is the conflict. Many of us struggle to make decisions as we swing between our traditions and our modern day lives. Especially decisions that tie to raising our kids. As a Jewish woman, I acknowledge that most of the issues still exist many decades after Shalom Aleichem thought up the stories on which the plot is based. I don't infer that all Jews are the same or that we all think alike. Not at all. I argue that we share history, and we practice certain rituals which, needless to say, bind us as a group, as a people. Our level of commitment to religious practices differ greatly, and in most cases, the choices we make with regards to practicing Judaism do not have great impact on our lives otherwise.

I love our tradition and take pride in being a Jew. I love to share Jewish stories with my daughter, and I'm honored to celebrate Jewish holidays with family members and dear friends. Year after year, holiday after holiday. The brisket, the tzimes, the chopped liver, the matzo, and of course, the matzo ball soup. I enjoy welcoming the Shabbat (Sabbath) watching Mia lights the candles as she whispers the blessing. I love the smell of Chala (Jewish bread) as it is baking in the oven every Friday night. I love to hear the blessing for the wine echoed by "Le' Chaim!" ("To life"). My heart melts when I catch Mia citing a new prayer she learned during Sunday school.

Those who know me know that though I celebrate the holidays and most Sabbaths, I'm not an observant Jew. I eat non- kosher food, I drive on Sabbath, and I definitely don't perform enough Mitzvot (good deeds). I'm married to a non-Jew, and I participate in Christmas celebrations. But nothing and no one can take my Jewishness from me. Like many Jews, I often find myself shlepping, kvetching, and or going to Shul. I prefer the orthodox Shul (synagogue) for many reasons, but mostly, I prefer it because of tradition.

The other day, during a holiday celebration in shul, men were reading from the Torah. Women were not. By Jewish laws, they are not permitted to do so. A (female) friend of mine and I were joking that we should protest that, but frankly, I like the ritual just the way it is. I don't feel offended when men are the only ones reading from the Torah, and I respect that for thousands of years, this seem to have been the practice. It's a Jewish tradition, and I view it as such. I don't feel that it's unfair, oppressive, archaic or harsh. For me, it is simply a tradition.

I'm glad that as a Jewish woman today, I have a choice to accept things the way they are, to practice as an orthodox, a conservative, or a reform, or not to practice at all. I have a choice. In Fiddler on the Roof, Tevya was a pioneer as he had to make choices. He could insist on obeying religious laws, and by doing so, denying his daughters' happiness, but he didn't. He negotiated a path between his daughters' non-traditional demands and tradition. Like Tevya, I feel that I manage to successfully navigate between my modern life and tradition. Tradition which I cherish and love.

Le Chaim!

Snow Flakes

Snow flakes.

For the first time since we settled in the last frontier, I've been waiting for them! Of course, we have snow throughout most of the year, but I wasn't sure that I'll be alive long enough to enjoy their return. It's not very Alaskan to appreciate the returning snow, but for me, it is easy to rejoice in the redundancy of the seasons. Since diagnosis, I have been through spring, survived the summer, and I am here, welcoming the fall. I'll welcome the snow flakes as I did the drop in temperature. I'll welcome them with warmth. I find myself anxiously peeking through the window every morning, but so far, I've only spotted frost. This year, if and when I get to feel the weightless, gentle caresses of the white, fluffy flakes, I will rejoice!

As stress and panic imprison my weakened body, I know that I have to write. What may come of it is a mystery, but I expect each word to release some knots, allowing more air to replenish my chambers. It's cancer all day, now days. There is no escaping it. Inevitably, I often ponder how it will end. I want it to be elegant and pleasant, as pleasant as a death can be. I want my physical departure from my daughter's life to be as gentle and as peaceful as the warmth of our Alaskan sun, inflicting as little damage as can be. I want to hang on to hopes and comforts, but my pragmatism prevents me from doing so. After four years, I know how devastating this disease can be. It ravages one's physical self and corrodes one's faith. Finding the strength to stop the damage on both fronts is challenging, and avoiding a colossal disaster is impossible. The end result is the only constant in this formula, and whether I put up with the torturous treatment, the humiliating deterioration, or the humbling dependency, I will die. I will DIE as cancer devours me from within.


Meanwhile, I have to be happy and grateful for what I have. And I AM! Believe me, overall I've had a wonderful life. I have been enveloped with love, kindness, care, and warmth more than words can articulate. But does that mean that at age 37, I should accept that there will be not much more? How can I come to term with having to leave my young daughter without a mother? What medicine can cure or at least alleviate the sense of helplessness a mother feels when she knows the pain will come like a crushing mountain, and not only she's the cause, but she is also unable to do a thing about it?! How can I come to terms with leaving Mia motherless, with missing her Bat- Mitzvah, her prom, sending her to college, watching her father walking her down the isle? How can I let go of the pain of not being able to be there to hug, to comfort, to love and to give advice?

I'm pissed off! The cancer is back, as I'm sure you all know. This time, it's here to stay. I'm pissed off, did I mention? I've seen one doctor or another every day for the last two weeks. I've had gazillion tests, I've been probed and pocked. I'm tired. Not one piece of good news. Well, putting things in perspective- I could have been hit by a bus. But I wasn't. I've been given the gift of living with the knowledge that I don't have long. Consider this the "chronicles of death foretold." As I'm spinning around, attempting to find a stable post, I need to think how to best spend the time I have left. The only problems is- I have no idea how much time there is. Of course everybody is supportive and loving- what else would you do when a friend is told she's going to die? I appreciate it. I really do. However, it's like attending your own funeral. You appreciate the love and support, and you're glad everyone showed up, but...you don't really want to be there!