This website has changed over time and eventually, it will house my books – that will be available for purchase. For now, I’m writing elsewhere on the Interwebs. But there’s been some visitors here lately, so let’s catch you up since you’re hanging around.
My brother died in 2022. It was unexpected. My dad died in 2023 – he had been sick for many years. One month after his funeral at Riverside National Cemetery, I moved to work at the Headquarters of the “organization” I work for. My mom died of brain cancer in October 2025, less than a month after being diagnosed. This is what I wrote elsewhere on the internet. I called it “Insane in the Membrane.” I am the last one of my immediate family that’s left. The grief has been heavy. But the last few weeks I’ve felt the thaw and feel a little more like myself.
I lived a state away from my mom and I just so happened to be furloughed during her illness. I was with her from our Emergency Dept visit to the day she died in Jacksonville, NC. I was able to take care of everything (gave away her car, packed up her apartment, etc.) almost in the time it took for Congress to get their crap together, before I had to head north on I-95N to go home & get back to work. My small apartment in the big city still has boxes of her things stacked in my “hallway” because I haven’t been able to unpack them yet.
But, there is joy. I am returning to me, once again. And I am still grateful through it all.
with my mom in August 2025
You can expect a more edited version of this in my memoir someday – a memoir1 that will likely be full of cursing, laughter, joy, and some truth. For now, here are thoughts on the funniest moment of my mom’s brain cancer journey, how that got me to tonight, and the only antidote to my suffering (and everyone else’s).
I accept this mystery of grief. Acceptance is keeping me going.
***
I had a meltdown tonight. Somehow, it felt kind of good to lose my absolute (insert bad word my mom would be mad at me about, here) horse hockey.
Somewhere between “The Preacher’s Wife” (recommend songs 2-5 if you need some gospel motivation) soundtrack & Harry Styles’s “Satellite” on repeat (over and over), I calmed down and remembered how much I prefer a regulated nervous system over a dysregulated one and that tomorrow, I’ll wake up and like see a spark of the sun in ice on my car and think the world is the best thing to ever exist.
Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. Do not *ever* say to me “everything happens for a reason.” No. That’s not truth, it’s not biblical. It’s a cruel thing to say to those that are suffering. Things do not happen for a reason (always). Or sometimes they do & that reason is because evil prevails in a world that is sometimes very evil. That’s not comfort.
Stop saying that.
God allows bad people to do bad things.
2God allows suffering.
I’ll never understand it. And I was a Bible minor in college. But after recent years, I can say with certainty, I don’t want to understand it. I don’t care to fully understand Him. I’m okay with the mystery now.
I love *the* Taylor Alison Swift. I like to joke about the karma thing. She’s the karma queen (or so we Swifties like to think). I sometimes agree that the trash takes itself out, as she’s known to say. My life demonstrates that (I have receipts) fact. But I don’t actually agree with the karma thing overall, though it’s fun to pretend like I do sometimes. I do agree that those who do bad things will meet consequences. But it’s typically very different than the justice we long for. Tay’s karma is actually privilege. It doesn’t change how much I adore her as an artist. But we ain’t out here getting Tay’s karma on a regular basis. Hers comes from her power and position in the world (and because she is so freaking smart and plays her cards well).
Bad things happen.
Suffering happens.
And it can’t be explained well (if you ask me). It’s not karma. And it is not happening for a reason.
God probably rolls His eyes at me at those times when I joke about karma. He probably rolls His eyes at me, like when my mom rolled her eyes at her neurosurgeon. He said, “You look good today!” She rolled her eyes real, real hard.
That was one of the funniest moments of this entire brain cancer journey.
My mom was in the neurosurgery ICU. The nurses and doctors were not supposed to turn on lights in her room because of the stuff they’d injected into her (so her brain was lit up like a Christmas tree in surgery – my interpretation not their words). They had to use the flashlights from their phones, or search for the one that was supposed to be near the computer, to take her vitals, once she was in the ICU.
The dye caused sunburn even with just normal light. The pharmacy at the hospital, didn’t want to issue this dye. I interpret this to mean that my mom’s tumor was particularly wild – because the hospital pharmacy protested. That the surgeons made this request of them and that the pharmacy protested its use, expense, etc., was maybe not a good omen. The surgeons wanted to work on that beast, and they were determined to do it. I’m not sure now she should have had the operation. Hindsight, ya know?
The pharmacy tried to resist. I was there for the conversation. I don’t know, my dudes. Maybe I should have put the stop on the whole thing then. I was bugged out by that. But anyways…the surgeons won, as one would imagine, and my mom got the dye. She lived with a bright red sun burned and peeling face, until nearly the day she died, because of that dye. I put so much lotion and coconut oil and frankincense on her face and the peeling persisted for nearly the rest of her time on earth.
It was the OR lights that burned her face. They kept the room dark so as to not make it worse. I didn’t realize that until later. They weren’t protecting her from getting a burned face and head. They were protecting her from a burn that might be made worse than the one she’d already gotten in the OR. I realized that by the time she was back in a regular room – once I saw her face in a normal light.
Back in the ICU . . .
My mom’s ICU room had small basement-like windows. They looked out on brick wall of the hospital not really the world outside. Those had to be covered. Her lights could not go on. There were signs everywhere explaining this for shift changes. Mom was not happy. She tried taking off her head dressing. SHE’D JUST HAD BRAIN SURGERY. I couldn’t keep her from trying to take off the bandages. I was panicking. In spite of what you may think, I do not panic under pressure (thank you, childhood). I steel myself. I do not panic.
I panicked with mom.
I tried scolding her. She looked at me like, “If I was a little bit stronger, I’d smack that hand of yours.” Lol. She was in pain. She was confused. I sat by her bed and moved her hands every time she tried getting to the incision. That made her really pissed at me.
Mom was pumped full of steroids and all the roid rage that comes with them. She was no longer able to make her own decisions about her life and future by then. I just didn’t know it. She wanted that bandage off and she was going to get it off. The ICU nurse put mits on her hands and that made it worse. Mom was spitting mad.
So I was tired. I’d gone back to my room at the SECU House to get a jacket and change clothes. With a heavy heart, I completed my third full trip of 10,000+ steps back into the ICU, to keep an eye on her for the rest of her time in the ICU. I didn’t sleep – but I would doze off from time to time – when she would calm down. There wasn’t much of that.
She was a HANDFUL.
Cynthia Jean Light Avalos – you were an absolute handful in your last three weeks of life.
I was exhausted. She was exhausted. She was confused. And she was pissed off. Have I mentioned this?
And in walked the surgeon with his million-watt smile. I am convinced my mom had a smidge of a crush. He’s a handsome young man, so who wouldn’t? So anywho, he walks into the pitch-dark room early in the morning – maybe the second day after surgery. The surgeons rounded very early. Strike two against the good doctor – as far as my mom was concerned. He said to her, “Well you look better today!”
This to a woman who was forced to wear mits for hours before that moment – so she didn’t take off a bandage protecting the incision that stretched from the top of her head to her ear. They finally gave up and let her take the damn thing off (which she did). She didn’t have bandages on by the time he came to see her. They let her do it. She was smug.
When he said that to her, Mom, as if on cue, looked at him like, “You, Sir are INSANE IN THE MEMBRANE,” and then rolled her eyes at him. It was dramatic. He laughed. He really laughed. Like deep laugh. He didn’t say a word, he just laughed. I laughed too, of course. It was truly hilarious. If you knew my mom, you know she would never be cheeky with someone who was basically a stranger. It was very out of character. It was very much MY character, however. 🤣
Anyways…so there we are in that room where my mom is recovering from a surgery that sounded terrifying (tumor wrapped around blood vessels) and she’s rolling her eyes in the absolute most hilarious, perfect context, at the man that spent hours a couple days before, taking pieces of a brain tumor (that was quickly killing her) out of her brain.
So, what does this have to do with my meltdown, karma, and life now?
I have been unreasonably rational.
I have stood up under the worst pressure I’ve ever been placed under. And I get up in the morning and go to work tomorrow as if none of it happened.
I held my mom as she started to collapse – the day she could “finally” no longer use her legs. That was it for walking and moving her legs of her own free will. I caught her in my arms as her legs went out from under her. She never walked again. That’s not something I would want my least favorite person to experience. I saw it as her brain processed, for the first time, her reality. It was an “oh s&^! moment for her. Lol. She looked at me like, “My bad. Now I know why you said I’m not allowed to get out of bed on my own. Oopsie.”
I’ve taken the hits. I sat beside the one person I talk(ed) to every day of my life, as she took her last gasping breath.
I’m holding up better than I should.
I have a journal/devotional called “Even in Darkness” that was created for those going through the loss of a loved one. I wasn’t sure about it, just as I am unsure about most things that feel religious these days. But it’s what I needed. Today’s devotional was based on 2 Corinthians 4:6. And perhaps even better, Jesus feeling “forsaken” by His own father.
Well, that was timely. God is nothing short of consistent.
I recently connected with the best truth I could right now. Christmas has always been sold as a celebration. It is. It’s certainly what the typical evangelical church teaches. We had “birthday parties” for Jesus when I was a kid.
But Jesus came specifically to a sick and suffering world. His purpose was to be an antidote to human suffering. Later – thirty some years after his birth, He died in an excruciating manner to alleviate human suffering and sin. He asked His father why He was being forsaken. Now that is suffering. And it is why I love Jesus and know He’s not afraid of my bad days.
So, I have come to accept the hard things.
I do not rejoice in my mom’s death. I do find joy in random places and in many moments. I feel relief that her suffering was short. But I don’t rejoice.
I know for sure that He came for suffering like mine and yours. But I don’t rejoice.
Tonight, at one point, I was at one of my lowest moments so far. And then I realized I am loved by a God who sees me at my darkest and finds ways to remind me that He is here. Tonight, it was Whitney Houston and Harry Styles. I don’t know, it’s what worked.
I’ll take it.
Before I forget – here’s why talking about karma and “everything happens for a reason” matters to those that are suffering. It’s not true for everyone. It’s not a universal experience, my friend. Every time you think and speak those words into the atmosphere, there are countless people suffering without cause – having never deserved a moment of it. It’s the child we lose to cancer. It’s the young couple, one of whom is a Marine, that die in a car accident at the beginning of their life. It’s the kids that don’t deserve to be abused or go hungry or . . . I could do this all day.
Suffering exists in an evil world simply because the world is evil.
That’s it.
That’s the reason.
The only antidote is Jesus. I’m celebrating this Christmas because it’s the only reason I have hope to keep breathing for another day.
1 Disclaimer: These are my recollections of moments that were very traumatizing to me. I may say things that are a little . . . dramatic. It’s how I felt/feel. My goal is to eventually temper some of my comments about the medical situation with some more context from experts – when I have some more time on this grief journey. For instance, a neurosurgeon could tell me that the pharmacy just didn’t want to use the dye because she was a medicaid patient and they didn’t think it was worth the fight to get it paid for. Although I seem to remember them saying it was never used. This makes me question why it was for mom. Who knows? What I do know is that the pre-op nurses and the anesthiologist resident were a bit perplexed and had never seen that before. Based on everything else that happened before & after that moment, of which I haven’t shared all the details of yet, I’m not thoroughly convinced my mom needed surgery. My gut tells me they knew it was too late and the surgery was good for their experience. I know that’s crass and probably not true. It’s what it feels like now. Someday, when I have my big girl pants on, this will likely feel different. At that time, the footnotes will reflect the medical facts For now, it feels like my mom had a surgery she didn’t need – that took her further from me.
2 Before you get a little worried this is about to become a holy rolling newsletter full of religion and platitudes about it – please note that I know only two things (name this movie), there is a God. I am not Him. My faith is imperfect. My faith is being deconstructed. I only know for certain that I belive He is. The rest is mystery.
If you’re still reading & want to comment about how you manage grief or want to share a memory of one you’ve lost, I’d love to read your memories. You can also e-mail me: elaina.avalos at gmail dot com.
