Why do we write? Some write in order to definitively state their goals, and lay out plans for achieving those goals in very organized and calculated memorandums. Others create scripts that carry us through the spectrum of emotions and beliefs to make us feel something we may otherwise couldn't or wouldn't. Then more write articles to chronicle the recent events of the world, or to express their point of view on a matter that may be trivial tomorrow.
To be honest with you, I'm not entirely sure for what reason I write a blog. A significant part for why I may write this is so that I can process and work through these thoughts and emotions. Though, I think that I write for many of the same reasons that I stated before. These entries in this blog are statements of my goals and plans, not in any obvious or apparent manner, expressed publicly so that I'm held accountable for them. What I write hopefully causes some sort of response from you, but not necessarily in a sympathetic way. These things I write, with any luck, let's you live a little bit more of the human condition and find closure with the world outside. And I obviously write this blog as an effort to mark the things going on in my life and the world.
Do me a favor, it takes six and a half minutes, listen to the song "What Sara Said" by Death Cab for Cutie.
I'm the only child of two amazing and compassionate individuals who have dedicated theirs lives to two things: each other and to me. My Pop is brilliant and hilarious with a sense of humor steeped in irony and wit. He's striven to do everything within his power to provide a life for my Mum and I that was better than his own growing up as a kid. The man is unrelenting in his determination to give us the means and opportunities to live a high quality of life.
My Mum is the rock which our family has been built on, and she provides us uncompromising love and support. I'll openly admit that I'm a "Momma's Boy," and can say honestly that she has been the best friend I've ever had.
When I came home one day after school while in the first grade, I promptly told my Mum that I wanted to play the viola. She had asked me why the viola and if I was serious about actually playing a musical instrument. Now of course, six year old me didn't bother to tell her the reason I wanted to play was because my friend at the time said that's what he wanted to play. My Mum probably already knew that, but fueled the fire to play the viola by taking me to rent an instrument. Then signed me up for the orchestra in school. Then found me private lessons to attend. Then got me an audition for surrounding orchestras. Then let me take a job at the local violin maker's workshop. Then she drove me to all these places. Then I stopped playing the viola after 12 years. Then my Mum admitted she just enjoyed seeing the happiness I got while playing.
My Mum worked as a nutritionist in a clinic serving underprivileged areas of Cincinnati for several years, but then quit working for the most part when I was growing up. Recently she worked as an instructional aide to special need students in a local elementary. It's easy to say that she is a compassionate, people person, but it's hard to convey to what extent her empathy went.
I've been living the song "What Sara Said" since Christmas Eve of this year, and I've lost my battle with Breast Cancer. Desperately, I wanted to fight to the bloody damn end and give everything I possible could. But it wasn't me who was feeling the pain. I couldn't trade places. I couldn't be the one to endure the physical pain of the disease and treatments, but I'd give anything if I could.
I rang the New Year in by watching fireworks burst over downtown Cincinnati on a crisp clear night while standing in the fourth floor chapel at The Christ Hospital. It's one of the most beautiful things I ever saw, but all I could think of was the irony.
My Mum's blood pressure had taken a dive and she could no longer receive pain medicine. She had been in the hospital since Christmas Eve and already made one trip to an intensive care unit. They transferred her from the oncology wing she had spent the past couple nights, and moved her to another intensive care unit to keep a closer eye on her. I spent the night on a recliner in the corner of the room, and left in the morning to go get my Pop. After consulting the doctor, my Pop and I made the decision to make my Mum as comfortable as possible, and place her in hospice care.
A good family friend of ours took me in the hall after the decision and told me that I live a life that is my own, but I build a monument which is my parents achievement. So as my parents have paid it forward for me, I intend to do the same.
I lost my battle with Breast Cancer, but my Mum won her's. She never once complained, didn't make excuses, and never showed us that she was scared. I love you Mum.
To be honest with you, I'm not entirely sure for what reason I write a blog. A significant part for why I may write this is so that I can process and work through these thoughts and emotions. Though, I think that I write for many of the same reasons that I stated before. These entries in this blog are statements of my goals and plans, not in any obvious or apparent manner, expressed publicly so that I'm held accountable for them. What I write hopefully causes some sort of response from you, but not necessarily in a sympathetic way. These things I write, with any luck, let's you live a little bit more of the human condition and find closure with the world outside. And I obviously write this blog as an effort to mark the things going on in my life and the world.
Do me a favor, it takes six and a half minutes, listen to the song "What Sara Said" by Death Cab for Cutie.
I'm the only child of two amazing and compassionate individuals who have dedicated theirs lives to two things: each other and to me. My Pop is brilliant and hilarious with a sense of humor steeped in irony and wit. He's striven to do everything within his power to provide a life for my Mum and I that was better than his own growing up as a kid. The man is unrelenting in his determination to give us the means and opportunities to live a high quality of life.
My Mum is the rock which our family has been built on, and she provides us uncompromising love and support. I'll openly admit that I'm a "Momma's Boy," and can say honestly that she has been the best friend I've ever had.
When I came home one day after school while in the first grade, I promptly told my Mum that I wanted to play the viola. She had asked me why the viola and if I was serious about actually playing a musical instrument. Now of course, six year old me didn't bother to tell her the reason I wanted to play was because my friend at the time said that's what he wanted to play. My Mum probably already knew that, but fueled the fire to play the viola by taking me to rent an instrument. Then signed me up for the orchestra in school. Then found me private lessons to attend. Then got me an audition for surrounding orchestras. Then let me take a job at the local violin maker's workshop. Then she drove me to all these places. Then I stopped playing the viola after 12 years. Then my Mum admitted she just enjoyed seeing the happiness I got while playing.
My Mum worked as a nutritionist in a clinic serving underprivileged areas of Cincinnati for several years, but then quit working for the most part when I was growing up. Recently she worked as an instructional aide to special need students in a local elementary. It's easy to say that she is a compassionate, people person, but it's hard to convey to what extent her empathy went.
I've been living the song "What Sara Said" since Christmas Eve of this year, and I've lost my battle with Breast Cancer. Desperately, I wanted to fight to the bloody damn end and give everything I possible could. But it wasn't me who was feeling the pain. I couldn't trade places. I couldn't be the one to endure the physical pain of the disease and treatments, but I'd give anything if I could.
I rang the New Year in by watching fireworks burst over downtown Cincinnati on a crisp clear night while standing in the fourth floor chapel at The Christ Hospital. It's one of the most beautiful things I ever saw, but all I could think of was the irony.
My Mum's blood pressure had taken a dive and she could no longer receive pain medicine. She had been in the hospital since Christmas Eve and already made one trip to an intensive care unit. They transferred her from the oncology wing she had spent the past couple nights, and moved her to another intensive care unit to keep a closer eye on her. I spent the night on a recliner in the corner of the room, and left in the morning to go get my Pop. After consulting the doctor, my Pop and I made the decision to make my Mum as comfortable as possible, and place her in hospice care.
A good family friend of ours took me in the hall after the decision and told me that I live a life that is my own, but I build a monument which is my parents achievement. So as my parents have paid it forward for me, I intend to do the same.
I lost my battle with Breast Cancer, but my Mum won her's. She never once complained, didn't make excuses, and never showed us that she was scared. I love you Mum.
In Loving Memory of Linda Hughes
July 5, 1952-January 5, 2012
