My brain is working overtime when I try to sleep, it never rests. I’m at a stage where I’m second guessing myself. I should have, I could have, what if?

Why did I call the hospice nurse? If I’d had been in the States I would have called 911. If she had been in the hospital, would they have been able to do something? Would we have had more time with her?

Should I have gone home sooner. She was in the hospital in July, there didn’t seem to be a sense of urgency then but I would have had more time. I’m annoyed at myself for weighing up my financial situation, my job, my kids – instead of simply getting on a damn plane immediately.

I’m angry there doesn’t seem to be a definite cure for breast cancer. I’m hearing so many stories, and the outcome is the same regardless of whether the person seeks treatment or not. A colleague of mine told me her friend ignored the results of a mammogram, refused to see a doctor and seek treatment, yet survived 8 years. My mom had a mastectomy and chemo, yet only survived 5 years after the initial diagnosis.

Should I have talked her out of the Chemo? It’s pretty damn obvious it’s effects are what killed her. The minute that Chemo kicked in she went downhill fast. It was to strong for her, to toxic, and weakened more her already weak body.

What if there was a definite cure for cancer? Considering the amount of people who die from the disease (1 in 3 have cancer in the county of Blaenau Gwent – the county I lived in most of my life) – would the world become grossly over populated?

Since my mom’s death I’ve been looking for someone to blame. Find neglect, find something someone failed to do and focus my anger. Anger means I’m still ferociously alive, ready to do battle, hurt someone as much as I’ve been hurt.

However, after checking her medical records, the reality is, other than her dumb ass doctor not following up on a my mom June 3rd of this year when she first had symptoms, no one is to blame. No amount of blood tests, bone density tests never mind how often they were given over the last 5 years could have predicted, or prevented what happened or prolonged her life. The prognosis and survival rate would have been the same. Of course I’m not a doctor, all I have is the ability to research on the interent, and find many sites that basically same the same thing as this one.

Pisses me off in a way, I so wanted to find a reason other than the disease itself. I just can’t get my head around the fact she died 6 weeks after being diagnosed, 5 months after getting the all clear from the hospital her breast cancer hadn’t returned. Yet the death certificate lists breast cancer as the cause of death.

3 months ago she was still out shopping, carrying bags of groceries through the town, climbing 2 hills to get them home. 5 months ago, she was here in NY, walking through the city streets with us, lunching in the Seaport, shopping till she dropped at Burling coat factory. Many of the clothes she bought here still had the tags on them, most of the shoes brand new, only a few days wear detectable.

Being back home has made things even more surreal. I’m back to normal (if there’s such a thing as normal,) I’m here, she’s suppose to be there. If I pretend and forget the last two weeks, I can almost imagine if I pick up the phone she’ll answer it. It’s certainly not the same for my brother and my dad in that house. For months they’ll be opening drawers and finding a little piece of her that will bring back a flood of memories… a reminder of the loss.

A sock, a skarf, an earing… I know, I did it already. I opened a drawer looking for a pen, and there was her pen and crossword puzzle – she loved crossword puzzels. For months to come they’ll walk into that house and feel the emptiness.

Yes I’m happy to be home, but I’m feeling incredibly guilty at leaving them there.