Andrea's Diary: The delicate balance of letting go

First published in The Montreal Gazette July 1st, 2014

I learned a very powerful lesson yesterday.

As my daughter lies in a hospital bed waiting for cancer surgery, she is accompanied by a sitter who, true to the title, just sits and ensures that my daughter, a flight risk, doesn't get up and leave.

This would have been impossible seven weeks ago when she arrived, as she was skin and bones and not much else. Unable to walk, she had trouble making it to the bathroom, let alone heading outside to freedom.

I, too, spend time with her. When I'm with her, I want to ease her ills. I massage her legs to reduce swelling, apply creams to reduce the rashes, do her nails, pluck her eyebrows, clean the cubicle area, wash and fold her clothes, buy her chai lattes and magazines and other treats.The sitter, well, she just sits. She is there for money. I am there for love.

She has no expectations of anything. No hopes for recovery, no vested interest in having hope of any kind for my daughter. She takes her out to smoke, something I hate doing. And does Chloe ever smoke! And smoke. And smoke. And smoke. She has cancer and she smokes. I can't bring myself to take her outside to smoke. But for the sitter, it's just part of her job.

There is no expectation from the sitter. There is just acceptance. Me, I can't accept. I want the swelling to go down, the rashes to disappear, the cancer to shrivel up and leave her body and I want her to be healthy and well. The sitter wants nothing.Who does Chloe prefer to be with? For all the love and caring and attention I bring, she prefers the sitter. She doesn't have to try to walk straighter, eat another morsel, smoke less, do wrist exercises or anything else.

"Mom," she says, "Why don't you sit in the solarium? Or go do messages. We'll let you know when it's time for surgery." Messages? What messages could I have to do exactly?

And so, today I will attempt acceptance. Acceptance of her situation, of her diagnosis, of Chloe as she is today, now, not the healthy Chloe who was a poet, a teacher and my hiking/skiing/snowshoeing companion. Letting go figures greatly in this scenario. Not letting go of hope but letting go of wanting. Today I begin. Wish me luck.

Read the Montreal Gazette article here.