guilt.

My sister recommended that I start participating in a forum to get some objective feedback and advice. I’ve read through every article that seemed relevant to get some perspective. But the thoughts that race in my head, the constant back and forth, and the guilt that I will carry for the rest of my life no matter which way I choose is too much to bear.

I love my mom with everything that’s in me. Her initial diagnosis, lumpectomy, separate mastectomies, chemotherapy, radiation, and treatment thereafter are embedded in my memory. Her cancer journey has played such a huge role in my life that I wrote about it in an autobiographical class in college, then for my personal statement in law school, and even in two scholarship essays. Her recurrence was always a lingering fear for me, especially when I left Hawai‘i for law school, and most significantly when I made the decision not to come back.

And there I was, at a point where I was finally getting settled in my career, feeling good about where I was in my life, and really making it out on my own, when that lingering fear showed its ugly head.

It’s funny how we let ourselves believe something, or rather, deny it, until the truth really slaps us in the face. “It’s not cancer it’s not cancer it’s not cancer”–until the doctor schedules a surgery to get your mom’s ovaries removed the same week her biopsy results get in. At the delicate age of 50 (sorry Mom), she has been under the knife more times than anyone should have to in their lifetime (going through 3 c-sections for my siblings and me being some choice examples). Let me just say this in the clearest way I know how: I cannot fucking believe what my mom has been through. It’s not fucking fair. My grandfather lived to see his eldest great-grandchild turn 21. I’ll be lucky if my mom gets to see me walk down the aisle. I really do hate thinking these things though. My jealousy comes from a place where I just wish I didn’t have to worry about my mom being here 5 or 10 years from now. How lucky are those who haven’t had to live their lives wondering whether their loved one will still be here?

I’ve come to learn that the fear of what your loved one would be missing out on is relative. I read a forum where a teenager, whose mom was diagnosed with MBC, hoped her mom would get to see her walk during her high school graduation. Or a husband who wants his wife to live long enough for their young sons to remember her.

I’ve come to learn that no matter how old you or your loved one are, the fear of losing them doesn’t change.

Sometimes I forget how old I am. I do think that I missed out on a good amount of my youth by going to law school and inevitably being broke, but that’s just me feeling sorry for myself. Once reality hit and I realized what stage 4, metastatic breast cancer meant, I immediately became the 19 year-old kid again who found out her mom had breast cancer. With not even a full 5 months in my position, I went to work the next day thinking that I was just going to ask for time off to be with my mom post-surgery, to fully resigning from my position–all in the same week.

Without getting too into it, it was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made in my life, but also one of the easiest.

I could come up with a lot of reasons why I don’t want to live in Hawai‘i, but the main reason I’ve ever considered coming back was for my family. When I resigned from my position to come back here, I had every intention of trying to get a job, taking the bar exam, and staying here indefinitely to support my family. But the truth is, these intentions were unrealistic. I didn’t take into account the life that I created for myself, the career I was already developing, and the independence I was thriving in. I literally dropped everything to come back here, with the help and support of my awesome partner-in-life Richard. And truth be told, it was a rough patch for me when I first got back to Hawai‘i. It’s so different living here as it is visiting. At 26 years old and after being away from here for 4 years, it was hard for me to move back in with my family, especially when things were going so well for me. It wasn’t until I accepted that I wouldn’t be staying here for the “indefinite future” that I became more comfortable with actually being here.

I’m realizing that being in Hawai‘i again is a struggle in two distinct ways: 1) dealing with my mother’s illness, and 2) coming to terms with the fact that Hawai‘i is no longer where I am meant to be, at least not right now. Don’t get me wrong– I am so so proud to be from this place. I love my family and friends here; they’re irreplaceable. I wear my pride on my sleeve. But the things I want in life are not available to me here. I would not be happy, and Hawai‘i probably doesn’t want me either.

Would living away from Hawai‘i and seeing my family every 3-4 months as we have been doing be okay if we weren’t faced with the reality of my mother’s condition?

This is the part where I go back and forth. What am I supposed to do? Fine, it makes sense for me to go back to my life in Austin, pursue this new awesome opportunity that has come my way, and live the life I’ve always wanted. I’ve been a good daughter and done everything I can to support my mom and family. The problem is how I will feel once I’m back in Austin, living in a fancy apartment in a cool area, working in my dream position, but being 3,000+ miles and a 8-hour minimum plane ride away from my family? It doesn’t matter that I did everything I could for my family. It doesn’t matter how helpful I’ve been for the past 3 months. The loneliness, fear, and worry I’ll absolutely feel when I’m no longer with my mommy will always be there.

It was enough to make me hesitate to buy my plane ticket from Seattle to Austin.

It was enough to make me sick to my stomach signing another lease for an apartment.

And now I’ve done both those things, with one week left in Hawai‘i remaining. I pray for peace. For discernment. For a friggen miracle. I am 26 years old, and making all these decisions has not been easy, but I guess this is growing up.

I want to believe that everything is going to be okay. That my mommy will have many more years to come. That the quality of time spent with her is more important than the quantity. That I have done everything I could. That I have to take care of myself, too.

But that’s where the guilt kicks in.