Day one: Year one

Dearest Ann, the last time I touched you was on Wednesday April 13th, 2011. Tough having to let go of my precious fighter. The memories are ever lasting nonetheless. Right now I find myself in one of your favorite spots, the beach. Where every care of the world didn't matter, just the sun and the water touching your skin did. Mommy comes here just to feel a little close to you from time to time. Trying to hold back the tears today, but I got choked up a bit. Seeing these little girls playing with the sand thinking, it could have been you. One year doesn't make it any less harder, but I am trying. I sure am. The waves are telling me it's ok. That eventually I will be ok, and that one day I will hurt less. I love you.

Today: A Year Without Ann

Late last night I stayed up past midnight, expecting the arrival of the 13th. Not an ordinary Friday the 13th. Today marks the one year anniversary that Ann parted. It stung seeing the date change in every possible way. The wound is still fresh, the memories of her last days have seem to haunt me. I can recall every single bit of it.

Now I've awoken to the rain. As if mother nature is feeling my pain, and she's crying with me today. I can nearly grasp the thought that it's been a whole year without Ann. Approximately at 11:13am this morning, it will be an official year that Ann has been gone. It feels just like yesterday. 

What has one year without Ann been like? It has been a routine of daily visits to the cemetery. There is not a day that I don't go. Some days are still tougher than others. I try to really think of all the great times I had with her, but they seem to escape my mind for some reason and I just go back to those last 5 days she was in the hospital. 

I felt like a coward during her last days. Like I had given up on her. The night when she began to have seizures at home, I frantically called her father and told him I was scared and I couldn't do it anymore. That is one thing that I will regret for the rest of my life. I was too scared to be there with her. I thought I was stronger than anything, but I crumbled. Her dad spent the last days with her near her bed side at the hospital, as I sat in a waiting room near her room. I couldn't see her in a state of coma, sleeping, and barely breathing. The day before she passed away, I sat by her bedside while her dad went home to shower and change. I sat there and cried. I told her that if she had to go, it was ok. Mommy would be ok. That mommy didn't want to see her like this anymore. I had to assure her, that it was ok to go and stop the suffering. Those were the most painful things I told her. 

The last day I arrived at the hospital early in the morning, her breathing was really shallow. Listening how she would hardly take a breath was an indication to me, that the inevitable was upon us. I was afraid more than anything at that point. 

I think the last words she mumbled were I love you. Sometimes loved ones take a last breath and say something before they go. I believe Ann did. As she mumbled those words, I walked out of the room to get her nurse, and tell her that she kinda mumbled something. She went into the room and I stayed right outside, and all I can hear is crying sobbing from my mother, my brother and her dad saying that she was gone. Next thing you know the doctor and a few other nurses came in and checked on her, all while I was outside her room. The doctor came out a couple of minutes later and expressed his sympathy. This was it. She was gone. I had lost my only child, my precious child Ann. A year ago, and I can still recollect every vivid detail. 

Most of the time I ask myself, why her. Why not me. She was full of life. A bright and smart child. Everything a parent would want in a child. Why her? 

It's like I have a record player in my head, and that vinyl is on repeat, replaying the same track over and over again. I guess I have yet to get some closure. This wound is still fresh and open. 

A year without Ann has been endless amount of tears still. I think the day I will probably get some closure will be the day we actually find out what causes that malignant tumor. There is no cure for brainstem glioma. Life expectancy after a diagnose is usually between 12-18 months.

My dearest Ann, thank you for being a fighter all the way to the end. Another day is going by, till we meet again. One whole year without you has been an eternity. I miss you and I love you so much. 

The Estranged Relationship

The title is pretty self explanatory, but first I must give out the details. It's been obvious that I've had a hard time dealing with the passing of Ann. Her father and I did all the arrangements together and we were amicable throughout it all. Ann lived a life traveling back and forth from my house, to her dads house. This was the situation since she was 4 months old. How this all occurred will come to light one day, but for now I will leave it at that. Any whom, both of us were at her bedside till the day she passed away. So we had worked and talked about arrangements as early as we begun hospice care for Ann. After her services we seemed to still have a cordial relationship. We would communicate of anything Ann related would come up. But that soon seemed to change. One day I made a snarky remark about him having to cash in and care so much about Ann's life insurance, instead of mourning her passing. By May, probably a month after Ann's passing we were like two strangers. Our method of communication was his mother.
Regardless of this, I've learned to maintain a cordial and very warm relationship with his parents and other siblings.
Ann's father and I no longer speak. It's a shame and it's something that really bugs me. I tried to apologize and take the high road by expressing myself, yet that wasn't suffice. I was even kind enough to give him a fathers day card, and it was left at my child's resting place, yet nothing.
We are now complete strangers. As if we are water and oil. Two strangers who pretty much have nothing in common. It pains me to see things this way, and I try no to question this further. But how can two persons who were once linked by the most wonderful child end this way? It makes no sense. I miss how we could talk about Ann and the silly things that she would say or do.
Truth is, not all is peachy keen in the end. Two persons who lost the most precious thing in the world, lost something more in the end, a friendship with the memories who only both can share so close.

Hope in the New Year

It's been 8 months since Ann passed away. Trying to make sense of life sans Ann is a bit hard. I try to maintain distracted by going out, or hanging with family and friends. It's tough. The holidays came and went, and now the start of a new year awaits. Plans, a change of life, a change of pace.

Here is to another year of life. Among the endless tears I have cried, I will strive to make it a bit better, but with always keeping my Ann is mind.

A Lonely Birthday...

"Dear Ann. I wish for you to outlive me. I wish to celebrate more of my birthdays together. I wish for this curse to go away. I love you :( "


This was my post last year via facebook. The day of my birthday last year I found myself taking my Ann to a chemo treatment. That's how we spent the majority of the day. Last year I kept thinking to myself, what if that was the last birthday I was going to celebrate with her? And it was. 


Its been a difficult week this past week. I've been having difficulties dealing with the sadness that my birthday brings.  Last year I was with Ann, and I remember her telling me happy birthday all day. She was the only person who made me feel special on that day. She would squeeze me with every fiber in her and let the world know it was my birthday. And now a year later I find myself alone sharing these thoughts.  


Losing her has been one of the toughest things I've had trouble coping with. It is hard to wrap your head around something of that magnitude, specially if its your only child. Some days I don't have the will to get up and live. To continue my life and deal with it one day at a time. I feel so empty and hallow, and the void is just too big. Not sure how time heals wounds, but one thing is for certain is that time is making the wound bigger. As time goes on I find myself celebrating a firsts of many. They phase me completely. There is never a day that I don't feel the emptiness inside.  


Today being my birthday, the pain seeps a little deeper. Its one of those days I wanted to avoid, because the effect of it just kills me.  


Dear Ann, I miss you more than ever today. This day means absolutely nothing without you. I love you. 

(the picture above is Ann and I celebrating my birthday, post chemo treatment) 

June 17th, 2011, Ann's 5th birthday

My sweet Ann. She looked forward to her 5th birthday so much. Although in her fragile state, she would always gather the strength to show everyone with her tiny little fingers that she was going to turn 5. You would ask her how old she was and she would show you 4 fingers, but immediately she would put all 5 fingers up. As her birthday approached this year,  the immense pain hit me like millions of daggers to the heart. I spent all day with Ann, at the cemetery this year. I sat there crying and holding a picture of her. It was by far another hard day in my life, one of the toughest. Instead of having a typical birthday party with my Ann, I found myself decorating her resting place with things she loved. Close family and friends came by and brought flowers and things she loved. We decorated it as if we were having a party. A party for two, just me and Ann most of the day. As the sun was coming down, our close family and friends came and we all sang her happy birthday. As they began to sing, I developed the biggest knot in my throat and the words to the song just wouldn't come out. It was as if the pain sunk deeper and deeper and they kept singing. It hurt more than words can express. The big void that she has left in me is hard to understand. As humans we're accustomed for our elders to pass away, but never ever a child. There is not a day that goes by that Ann is in my thought. So if you have a child, make sure you cherish those moments, and I mean CHERISH. It brings me some comfort to know that she is no longer a prisoner of her malignant brain tumor, but it kills me everyday not to have her by my side.

"Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up!" One of Ann's favorite songs

"Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up!" I would always hear Ann singing at the top of her lungs repeating those words when she would sing this song in the car. Little habit she developed while riding in the car was to request her favorite songs, among them, this was one of her favorites. I love the lyrics, minus the curse word. Luckily Ann never caught on to curse words, just silly repetitive lyrics would make her happy. Enjoy!


Nico Vega - Gravity