Today I’ve been gluten free for 10 years. A decade, nearly one third of my mere 34 years of life. I’d say eating gluten feels light years away but in reality it’s only been 4 months…I went 9 years and 8 months without intentionally ingesting gluten but more on that later…

More importantly, you may have been wondering where I’ve been the past two years minus the two relatively simple and shall we say shallow posts…  The truth is there were more important things that were taking my attention, more significant things I needed to spend my time on, and rightfully so. The harder more raw truth behind all of this is that this absence from my site reflects a much larger and deeply cutting absence: The death of my Mother.

I have to start from the beginning to explain it all: My mother fought tooth and nail to stay alive since her initial cancer diagnosis in 2005. In April 2005 she was given 6 months to live. She got 13 more years through another four sets of cancer diagnoses and surgeries/treatments which is a miracle in and of itself. She got to see her children rekindle their relationships with my oldest brother, see me graduate college, be at my wedding, watched as I graduated with my masters degree, become an avid painter and jewelry maker, and so much more.

She unfortunately also got to watch as she outlived others the statistics said she shouldn’t have: My oldest brother who died suddenly Christmas eve 2013, my aunt, both my grandmothers, and numerous members of my husband’s family. Our marriage in 2013 was supposed to make our families larger, but we lost someone almost every year.

She was fierce, tenacious, and compassionate and kicked cancers ass for a long time. In total there were four times in those 13 years that my she was given 6 months or less. Each time I said goodbye to another part of her, and selfishly another part of myself. Each time she played the hell out of the cards she was given to the best of her ability, as I sat by and wished we were playing Go Fish in a game of Poker.

But, in December 2017 everything just fell apart. She’d been in treatment for 5 continuous years every 2 weeks but the cancer was back and we were out of options. I say we because I was so invested in her journey that it felt like a part of myself was sick. The reality is that she was out of options, and I was along for the ride. I wanted to give her my cards, every single one of them. That wasn’t in the play book though. She died on April 12th 2018, with the death being called April 13th only 10 days before my 33rd birthday. She died while I was the same age she was when she was struggling, literally almost dying, to bring me into this world. Talk about the duality of life and death.

Courage: Sometimes it looks like giving up or giving in. The more I reflect on my mother’s choices to stop treatment that December the more I realize the genuine courage she had for many reasons. First: she fought, really fucking fought, for 13 years to continue to live despite staggering odds that were against her. Second, she had the courage to recognize when enough was enough. I know she was scared, I know she didn’t want to leave us, and her courage to realize her quality of life was dwindling and to go out on her own terms is immeasurably heartbreaking.

Now two years later my reality is twofold: In one way I’d been saying goodbye to her for 13 years. I spent nights aimlessly wandering, sometimes forgetting to put shoes on in my grief, or learning bad news and running away from that reality, while wondering what I would do with my life when I lost my mother.  I had a lot of practice with that. I built my life around being there for her, supporting her and getting support in return, and feeling the true depth and heartache of love.

In another way I never thought this would happen. Her always defeating the odds made her seemingly invincible, like she would always be a steadfast symbol of determination and love. But this was just my hopefulness getting the best of me. In the words of Cheryl Strayed “How powerfully I carry her within me. My grief is tremendous, but my love is bigger.”

So many thoughts about identity swirled through my head from April 2018 through to 2019. Who was I without my mother? After her death I’d do things I used to enjoy or appreciate and they just didn’t seem right, like trying on your favorite winter coat the next winter season to find that it buttons too tight and the sleeves are too short but you feel like you can’t get rid of it because you wore it on your wedding day. This blog was one of them. I’ve written and rewritten this post at least half a dozen times but the words have never felt right.

Still reeling in October 2019 I saw a new GI doctor who specializes in Celiac Disease due to continued medical concerns and had my identity challenged once again. I’m not one to identify with labels but I’ve always identified with being Irish and when I was diagnosed with Celiac Disease in 2010 (with biopsy and full Celiac Panel) it explained so much of my physical and mental health struggles that I immediately identified with that. Well, thanks to some genetic testing I found out I have less than a 5% change of having Celiac Disease because I don’t have either of the genes. This hit hard, like having another piece of my already cracking structure pulled out from under me.

So, it was 9 years and 8 months before I ate gluten for medical reasons and responded in the most horrendous of quintessential Celiac Disease manners. I made it 3 day of sheer agony (and consideration of hospitalization) before I called it quits, not enough time to redo the biopsy or the blood work but enough time to know that I’d never be eating gluten again. Knowing my family’s odd medical histories I could be in the minor % that has Celiac Disease without the genetic markers but we may never know for sure. And a part of those genetics are tied to my mother, with so many questions left unanswered.

For the past few months the question has shifted from who was I without my mother to who was I without my mother if my other identities are also transient? What can I rely on? Who can I turn to? Especially as the decade itself changed I found myself questioning so much and I have to accept that I don’t have all the answers. I have to accept that we are transient ever changing beings in so many complex ways. It isn’t easy, but I’m working on it.

The past decade has both defined me and then destroyed that definition. I am left gutted, grieving, and trying to figure out how to play my own hand. A hand that a life time has been building up, and a society has been trying to write the rules for since I was capable of listening. I’ve always rebelled against that and now, more than ever, I want to play that hand my way.

I am not sure if that hand will include this site. I’ve moved on to teaching university level social work part time to fill the space and passion this site used to serve, but for now I will keep it active and hope to hear from some of you as this post circulates.