January 3, 2009 ~ January 3, 2021
When Melissa was first diagnosed with breast cancer, we got encouraging reports from
her doctors. "Being diagnosed with breast cancer is not a death sentence."
I remember thinking ten years ahead. Would she still be here? What would I do without her?
She had a positive outlook, at least when she was with me. I wonder sometimes if she was ever
open with any of her friends about how she was feeling. Was she just trying to protect me?
I remember laying in bed with her before one of her appointments. It was an appointment to get the results of a pet scan. I told her "If it's good news, we'll celebrate. If it's not good news, then we'll find out what the next plan of action is!" We were always protecting each other.
When she found out she was pregnant, I wasn't as excited as I should have been about hearing that I would be a grandma finally. I was more worried about her. But the baby was the light at the end of the tunnel. And eventually, I WAS excited.
Over the next five years, it was a roller coaster. Not the old wooden roller coaster. The new one that is a mile high and twists and turns and goes 80 MPH. Laughing, crying, happy, sad, up, DOWN. All over the place. Hoping that in the end, it would be a wild ride, but we could get off. And never get back on.
She was on chemo multiple times, lost her hair a couple of times, changed jobs and finally landed the job of her dreams. She was SO happy. The week after she was hired, she told me I could tell everyone that she "was pursuing her Masters". That didn't last. Not long after she started at University of Cincinnati, the cancer was back. They didn't even know. In fact, they were SHOCKED to learn that she had cancer. She told them she was having a "little bout with her cancer." No big deal.
That was May. 2008. Went downhill from there. I remember going to have lunch with her at UC a couple of times, once with Meredith and Andrew (he was only 3-4 months old). In the fall, she was so sick I took her a couple of bags of groceries to work so she would have food in her fridge that she could eat. She wasn't eating much at the time.
Then the Monday before Thanksgiving she was in the hospital. It's all on this blog. At the time, we didn't have a laptop, neither did she. Donny borrowed one from someone he worked with. Melissa wanted to update the blog while she was in the hospital.
Ten days in the hospital, then her heart rate jumped to 200. They had to stop her heart twice. Then she was in ICU for 3 days. She had 60 visitors in those 3 days. They let anyone in that came to visit because they thought she wasn't going to make it. She showed THEM.
Dr. Romer came in and told her her body couldn't take any more chemo. Basically the chemo was killing her. So she told everyone she was going to Hospice to complete her healing.
Ten days in Hospice. She posted on the blog from Hospice too. Then she begged to go home. Once they got her off the IV meds, ordered oral meds for home, they sent her home. To our house. It was all set up with a hospital bed, bed table, oxygen. Everything she needed. Donny and I sat at the kitchen table for a couple of hours sorting out her meds. She set her alarm to take her pills. 6 a.m. Noon 3pm 6pm 9pm midnight. Every day. Most nights I slept in the family room with her. Unless John was there.
She came home from Hospice about a week before Christmas. I was with her every day from the Monday before Thanksgiving...no time for Christmas shopping. A couple of days before Christmas I went to Kohls to pick up a couple of things for everyone. When I went to get in line, there were probably 50 people in front of me. I started crying and turned around and my Angel on Earth was standing there. Mike Schmidt. I explained the situation (he knew Melissa wasn't doing well) and that I didn't want to spend too much time away from Melissa. He took all my stuff and said he'd take care of it - he did - and dropped it off to the house. It was everything that was under the tree that last Christmas.
The next night Melissa wanted to go shopping. Target. So we took her. Oxygen and all. She had to take the oxygen off between the house and the car, basically holding her breath til she got in the car. At Target we were able to get her a wheelchair. I was pushing her until she told me to "get away". She didn't want me to see what she was getting me.
Ended up giving me my present Christmas Eve (which we never did. Santa comes after you goes to sleep!) But she couldn't wait. She got me us a new monitor for our computer because the old one was too small...for HER. She would update the blog at our house and she didn't like our monitor. We still have it-don't use it anymore, but it was from HER.
The Sunday after Christmas, Andrew was baptized at Holy Trinity. She was his Godmother, but couldn't go, she was too sick. So I stood in for her.
The next day, the Hospice nurse came to visit. Before she got there, Melissa told me she wanted to take a shower. I wouldn't let her. We didn't have a shower seat, and she would have to take her oxygen off and she couldn't breathe without it. She went into the bathroom in the family room and completely undressed. She was going to take a shower whether I wanted her to or not. She ended up getting sick and couldn't. The last thing she wanted from me and I said NO. I've always felt guilty about that.
When the Hospice nurse got there, she said Melissa needed to go back to Hospice. She wasn't getting enough oxygen at home. So off she went, back to Hospice. She wasn't happy about that. She wanted to be at home.
The next five days she slept a lot. She had a few visitors, two of her best friends from rugby. Paulie and Elizabeth. They got engaged and wanted her to know. She was SO happy. She told them she would be at their wedding. And she was. But that's another story...
New Years Eve, we toasted early, then all fell asleep, including Melissa. John was in the room with her, and we were in the lobby at the end of the hall.
Around 10pm we heard a loud crash. She fell. She had to go to the bathroom, and everyone was asleep, so she took her oxygen off and got up to go. She fell when she got to the bathroom door. When the nurse asked why she didn't ask for help, she said "everyone was asleep." The theme of her childhood (she had informed me at the hospital a couple of weeks earlier). "I can do it myself". So true.
I had asked her friends to send birthday cards early. She got several that we read to her...January 2. Today. Twelve years ago.
Nick, Meredith and Andrew came to visit that night. They stood in the doorway before they left.
Nick said "See you in the morning, Fort!" She said "I love you Nick."
Those were her last words.
I slept on one side of her, John slept on the other.
Donny and John's Mom and Dad were sleeping in the lobby.
I tried to stay awake as much as I could...I knew it wasn't long. I held her hand. It looked so much smaller. She had lost a lot of weight. I wanted to remember every crease. Every freckle.
In the middle of the night, a tear rolled down her cheek...I wondered if she was sad she was leaving us or if she was happy she was seeing JP. She wasn't ready to go. But I can only imagine her joy when she got to hold her son again...I can only imagine the joy when I can hold HER in my arms again.
I miss you Melissa Marie. Every single day.
I am still here. Kind of a miracle, really. That first year was hell. PURE hell. I literally rolled into a ball on the couch in the family room. Where SHE was. Still is sometimes. Took me a few weeks to go back to work. Fortunately, I had plenty of sick days built up. Donny had 3 days bereavement leave. That is not enough for a bereaved parent. You can't think. Your brain doesn't work. Basically, you can't function. But some people don't have the luxury of time off. Donny didn't.
When I did go back, I stayed in the library. I cried when I didn't have students. And when I did have a class, I read books in a monotone. The kids knew. One second grader came up to me, put his arms around me and said, "It's ok Mrs. Fortener. Your daughter will always be with you." This young boy was an old soul. He knew.
The rest of that first year was a blur. I stayed away from crowds, unless it was about Melissa. We had a couple of fundraisers for walks, and a big fundraiser for her scholarship. I remember that because I took lots of pictures. Or someone did.
The first year I couldn't understand how people could celebrate ANYTHING. Took me a long time to laugh, let alone smile. What was there to smile about??? My daughter was dead. It was so bad, even affected my writing. I couldn't put an exclamation point at the end of a sentence. That was a sort of "celebration". Excitement. I had nothing to be excited about.
But I still had my husband, my son, my grandsons and a wonderful daughter in law. And we still had John.
Didn't go to the grocery store (Donny did). Didn't answer the phone (Donny screened every call).
The second year the fog and shock lifted. It was worse than the first year.
To this day, I'm not good in big crowds. Almost like claustrophobic. I prefer smaller gatherings.
We have good friends who lost their son 5 weeks after Melissa. They took me to a Compassionate Friends meeting over a year after Melissa died. April 2010. I hadn't missed a meeting (until Covid).
TCF saved my life.
Talking to other bereaved parents who truly understood how I was feeling was helpful. Every month there was someone new. We weren't the first parents to lose a child, and we wouldn't be the last.
The more we went, the more we felt like not only did it help US, we were helping the new bereaved parents.
I've learned so much in the last twelve years.
I learned that this loss is hard for friends and family too. They want you to be "better". They want you to be happy again. They want the "old you" back. Some don't understand that the "old you" doesn't exist anymore and they have to learn to love the "new" you. And it's ok if they don't. That is their problem.
I learned that it's ok to say "No" if you can't do something. Like participating in holiday gatherings, weddings, parties. I went when I was ready. And when I did, it was good to have an escape plan if I went too soon.
In the last twelve years, I learned that we needed to find things that made us happy. We reconnected with a college friend of Donny's who also lost a daughter. We travel with them now. We can talk about our girls whenever we want, and it's ok.
Melissa loved Fairmont, and she loved following the girls volleyball and basketball teams. The first time we went out after she passed away was to a Fairmont game. It was at Miamisburg. Cassie Sant wore #44, same number Melissa wore. The coach at the time, Tim Cogan, knew Melissa, and after she passed, at the banquet at the end of the season, they gave an award in Melissa's name. Cassie Sant was the first recipient. She ended up playing at UD, and we followed her games there. We have followed Fairmont girls basketball for the last 12 years. The proceeds from the FORT 5k go to the girls basketball program.
We follow a lot of the players that go on to play in college. Keeps us busy in the winter, the hardest time of year for us. I learned that busy is good. (Donny knew it all along).
I learned that helping is healing.
This year alone, five couples we know (one we haven't met yet, because of covid, but will as soon as we can) have lost a child. All since this past summer.
One was a friend of Melissa's from Fairmont. His son died tragically in a car accident. Grant.
Donny's aunt lost her daughter this summer to ALS. Donny's cousin Becky.
Another was his cousin's daughter. Jodi.
Another was a couple I went to high school with. Their son. Chuckie.
The other couple I haven't met yet, but a friend of Melissa's from high school contacted me and asked me if I would get in touch with them. They lost their son in Sept. Brad.
Five more couples. I know their pain. How hard the holidays are. Especially the FIRST holidays. I wish I could take their pain away. But I can't. All I can do is give them HOPE. Somehow, we've made it TWELVE YEARS. And we are still here. We are surviving the worst loss. It isn't easy. Grieving is hard work. It's a work in progress. For the rest of our lives. This will never go away. We all have to live with this for the rest of our lives. It is our job to teach the world how to live with us. To let us grieve in our own time in our own way. (as long as it is not harmful to ourselves or others.) However you need to grieve is ok.
Joe Biden lost his wife and his daughter. He has said many times, the way you survive this is to have a mission and purpose. In the last twelve years, I've wondered MANY times, what is my purpose on this earth now? I have made a lot of progress in 12 years, but I still have bad days. Those are the days I wonder what my purpose is. Then I get a call from someone, asking if I can talk to someone who lost their child. That is my purpose. Helping is healing.
I'll be ready when my time comes, because I will see my daughter again. But until then, I'll continue to share her story and make memories with Donny, Nick, Andrew, Max and Mere to share with her when I see her again.
Melissa Marie, I'll love you and miss you til the day I die.
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