The family now knows, so I’m free to discuss it.  Back in April, I posted the following: “Ever have one of those days where your entire life gets turned upside down and the one thing you counted on most to be your rock isn't? That was yesterday.” That April day, I got a phone call from my mom, saying that the doctor wanted to discuss the results of a routine blood test, and to bring someone with her.  “Bring someone with you” never bodes well.  The only person Mom could get a hold of was me, so I went.  She took the news better than I did:  Mom has leukemia.  The blood tests eventually confirmed what we suspected:  the type of leukemia she has is Chronic Lymphatic Leukemia (CLL), the same as Grandpa and Uncle Dan, who was diagnosed shortly after Grandpa’s death.  She is seeing the same oncologist as Uncle Dan, so he is familiar with both of their cases, since heredity seems to be an important factor.
 
It’s tough.  Remembering how Grandpa’s death affected me, I can only imagine how much it will multiply when I lose Mom.  And I can’t help but jump there.  There were so many medical advances even during the time Grandpa was sick.  But both Mom’s and Uncle Dan’s white counts are increasing at a faster rate than Grandpa’s did.  How do I live without my mom?  Even though I no longer call her as often, and she’s not the first person I call to share something, she is still one of the most important people in my life.  I can’t do it.  I can’t think about it.
 
There will be a time for that, later, when she’s sick more often, when she’s tired all the time, and when she starts wasting away like Grandpa did.  Most of the time, I am able to forget, because there’s not much to remind me.  It isn’t affecting her yet, and she still has as much energy as ever.  But every once in a while I’ll remember with a start, and my heart sinks and I hug her a little tighter and a little longer.