It's been two months since Mom has been on Tarceva and the turnaround in her health is nothing short of miraculous.  Her recent scans showed significant reduction of cancer in her body and her symptoms from the disease are gone.  Are family is approaching another milestone next week when we gather as a family to "unveil" Murray's headstone and mark the end of the formal mourning period after his passing.

Bari and I are hosting the family at our home after a brief graveside ceremony and Mom has kicked into action to make sure every detail is ready.  Mind you, she's doing this to minimize the work we need to do to host the event - but Mom can be a bit compulsive about completing tasks when she's got them on her "list". First a phone call to ask if we need paper plates, then an email with the same request, followed by a nudge to remind me to respond. I should be able to respect her urgency to finish the planning and a) respond quicker or b) not get annoyed about the whole thing - but I react as is my nature with a bit of attitude and a touch of frustration.

Mom received the best possible report from her oncologist on Friday. She's been feeling great for the past couple weeks and we were optimistic that her new treatment was working. Her symptoms were nearly gone, she had most of her energy back, and she was beginning to feel optimistic about having a future. But we didn't know for sure that the medication was working until we received the report that her CAT scan showed less cancer in her body than a month ago.

While this was phenomenal news, the oncologist gently reminded us that the medication may stop working in the future. And we can't know whether it might stop working sooner i.e. weeks or months or longer i.e. (hopefully!) years. But it's likely that it will stop working at some point

I grew up in the generation following the Holocaust and its legacy was built into the DNA of my Jewish education - first in a day school through grade 8, then later in Midrasha, where I continued my Jewish through high school.  We were taught that by remembering the Holocaust we would prevent it. While I believe that remembering is important, I now believe that it is not enough. The horrific events in Orlando this week prove that.

So what to do?  The Golden Rule appears in one form or another in all major religions which suggests that understanding, appreciating and loving each other - as thyself - is foundational to having a peaceful and just society. If this is true, then we need to radically rethink the way we educate our children in a school that combines rigorous education, empathy, and religious teaching from all major faith traditions.

Lately, my morning calls to Mom have been preceded by a mix of hope and fear.  How is she feeling?  Did she have a good night and feeling ready to tackle another day?  Did she have a rough night and wake up feeling exhausted and defeated?

The worst days (for me) have been "setbacks" - when I'm expecting to hear her energy and strength, perhaps after she's had a couple good days, but hear weakness and defeat instead.  I'm sure her disappointment has the same effect on her. But the same thing happens in reverse - when I'm bracing for bad news but hear a bright and cheery "good morning".  I'm relieved and delighted ... but mostly filled with gratitude.

We're leaving for Boston in an hour and I just got off the phone with Mom and have to share our conversation.  Better than anything, it demonstrates the difficulty of living in the moment ... taking life as it comes ... and the impossible choices we silently face in our lives but rarely acknowledge.  And the importance of holding on to hope.

My mom has an incredible outlook on life and seems able to find the good in everyone, the possibility in everything.  This optimism allowed her to enjoy a life that others would have found difficult without sadness, bitterness or regret.

A couple years ago, during our morning call, I teased my mother about her avoidance of some (meaningless) conflict happening in our lives. When I told her to "take your head out of the sand" she was confused - maybe even insulted. She asked me to explain what I meant and I tried to reframe my comment in a positive light and praised her ability to remain focused on the positive with "a healthy dose of strategic denial".

Mom has always been very clear about what she wanted with respect to her health - and what she expected from Gary and me.  She cherished her life - her family, her friends, her capacity to be present for others - so it was not surprising that she would NEVER want to be kept alive by machines or by “extreme measures”.  If she ever lost her health to the point where she would be denied a quality of life, then she did not want that life.

“I understand”, “I will honor your wishes”, “You can rely on me”.  The words came easy but the implications were difficult to grasp.  Would I be able to honor her wishes when faced with the decision?  Would I be able to let go?  Would I be able to say goodbye when doctors offered the opportunity, however small, to extend life?  And would I respect her judgement about how much quality of life is enough?