Grief Fragments is a raw, ongoing diary about being by my mother’s side as she faces terminal cancer. It is an attempt to process—and survive—grief in real-time, to stay connected to life in the midst of death, to write the unspeakable, to bear the unbearable, and to record the final months, weeks, and days I have left with my mother. I am writing for my life.
May 13, 2025
This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –
—Emily Dickinson
She is leaning toward hospice. We don't believe her body can endure the brutality of treatment. This is not "giving up." This is not some game you win or lose. This is a brave choice because it asserts total autonomy and control.
I am removing anyone who is not essential. I have a very small circle. It used to be larger, or I thought more people cared about me, but this is a cold world in my experience. If anyone is unsupportive, I will cut them out. I don't burn bridges, I incinerate them. I will protect myself and her.
The doctors told us six to nine months. It doesn't seem real. Doesn't seem possible.
Nothing matters now except surviving this.
It's important to document these days.
I wish I could take her away to a house on the beach. She always loved the water. She deserved so much more from this life.
I will pour my heart out to the page.
How am I going to actually confront this? What will it do to me? What will be left of me when it's over?
When she's gone...
(I can't even complete the thought)
I burst into tears randomly, but I need to hold it together around her.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
—Mary Oliver, from "Wild Geese"
I'm scared of what this will do to me and what I will grab on to in order to survive it.
I watch her intently. I want to absorb her aliveness, what it's like to see her and be near her as she is whole and breathing.
I saw a sweet rabbit in the yard, bathed in the golden glow of sunset.
