BY TERESA TODD

The holidays are soon approaching, but this year I won’t be calling my mother to make plans for our traditional family Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. I’ve always heard that it is hardest around the holidays, and now I know it to be true. My mother is currently in the hospital and will probably be released soon, not because she is getting better, but because she wants to spend her last days at home.

Both of my parents, now in their early 70s, had always been very healthy. Up until a few months ago, my father had not even taken any prescribed medications. That is all different now, and my life will never be the same. It’s like when you have your first child, but instead of a joyous occasion, it is one of sorrow and grief.

It all started two-and-a-half years ago when I learned the devastating news of my mother’s ovarian cancer diagnosis. After my parents and I met with the specialist, I managed to catch the doctor alone for a few moments and asked if there was anything else he thought I should know. As I stared into his compassionate, sky-blue eyes, he told me that the cancer was stage IV, which meant it had metastasized, and that she had approximately six months to two years left. He must have sensed my shock and seen the pain in my face as he added, “I’m sorry.”

Thus began a whirlwind of doctor appointments, trips to hospitals, treatments, side effects, test results, phone calls and roller-coaster emotions.

A few months ago, I again stared into the specialist’s compassionate eyes as he diagnosed a tumor in my father’s right lung. A lobectomy was prescribed as the best initial treatment. When I took him home from the hospital, my mother and I broke the news that the cancer had spread to his lymphatic system. We’ve since met with the oncologist, who also treated my mother, and he is being referred to a radiologist for a consultation for further treatment.

I now fully grasp the meaning of the “sandwich generation.” My husband and I have been trying to maintain our previous level of involvement in our 12-year-old son’s life, and continue to take care of ourselves, while taking on some of the additional responsibilities of caring for my parents. Sometimes there are conflicting priorities. It’s a tricky balance, and invariably I feel guilty about something or another.

My parents have always been very independent and I sense that it is very difficult for them to accept our help. My father, still recovering from his own major surgery, is currently at my mother’s bedside for most of his waking hours. He now has a lung infection and the oncologist has been warning him that he may get pneumonia. He is grieving as he loses my mother more and more each day. I fear that I will lose him soon after my mother, from his illness and his grief. I am taking it a day at a time and while I acknowledge the pain, I bear in mind all of the blessings in my life.

Todd is a senior financial analyst in Business and Administrative Services. Her mother, Antoinette Paniccia, died Oct. 12, after this was written.