Merry Christmas, Mom!

This is a blog I wrote on January 20, 2008.  It served as an ode to my mother.  She was a complicated person who shaped my life more than anyone I know.  I remember when she was diagnosed with cancer.  She cut herself off from all of her friends and everyone except her immediate family and doctors.  She called cancer, “her secret”.  I couldn’t understand it, but respected it.  One thing I do remember is how very sick she was over a relatively short period of time.  She was diagnosed over Labor Day week-end with stage IV lung cancer and passed away just before Christmas.  One of my most vivid memories is that of her hospital bed in my dining room, for she became so weak, she could no longer get around easily in my home.  I was getting ready to go upstairs and had a fiber optic Christmas tree on as a night light for her.  The lights twinkled in the stillness of the darkened room and quiet house.  Just as I was getting ready to go upstairs, I asked her, “Is there anything else I can get for you?”  Not a particularly religious woman, she replied, “Would you pray I don’t suffer?”  I looked at her with tear-filled eyes and said, “Mom, I pray that for you every night!”  It was a bittersweet moment, as she entered the hospital the next morning for what was one of her last admissions.

My mom died December 21, 2007. It's hard to write that and even harder to imagine it's true. But it is. She fought the good fight. She spent her last three weeks of life in the hospital. Although I think she would have preferred to have been home, that was just not possible. She would have had to ask for hospice. She did not want that. After all, hospice is for people who are dying. To have been on hospice would have meant having to admit that final truth.

My mom was a brave woman. She fought as long and as hard as she could. At the end, her 90-something pound body just could fight no more. It was sad to watch the decline of a woman who was so witty and bright. As we go through the pictures of her over the years, it is hard to imagine a woman so full of life and vitality is gone.

Her words still come back to me as I silently think about calling her about this or that. "Mom, I'm sick -- should I go to school?" "Stay home and rest." "But I feel guilty!" "Don't feel guilty -- get better." "I feel like I'm dying!" "You're not dying, you're just neurotic like your mother!" And on it goes...As I write these words, I can still hear her voice. 

I don't think my mom suffered like most people with cancer do. She seemed comfortable until the end. God was merciful to her in that way. The strongest pain medicine she ever took was a Darvocet N-100 and it relieved what little pain she had. I thank God for that!

In the end, she died with her loved ones surrounding her. Her room was very quiet and we all just sat and talked with her until she passed into the next life. When I entered her room and saw her labored breathing, I whispered in her ear, "Tonight, you'll be dancing with the angels, Mama!" I was right.

The night before I wrote this blog, I dreamt she visited me. She thanked me for helping her spiritually and told me it (Heaven) was all I said it would be. I asked her if she was with her friends, and she said, "No, I will see them in a few days." One last visit and a final good-bye.

Whenever I feel sad, I think back to her illness and all the challenges she faced. She never let anyone know how she really felt. I'm sure she felt scared, and lonely, and missing us before she even left this earth. And I'm sure she felt sick. The day she was admitted to the hospital, as she laid in the emergency room, she looked at me and said, "I'm not going to be here much longer." I told her as my voice cracked, "Don't say that, you don't know..." She pointed at her heart and said, "I know." She did know.

I wish this blog were funny or silly or even somewhat poetic. It's not but it's from the heart. Those other words will come later. So as I dry my tears on my sleeve, and write this final "good-bye" know that you were loved, Mom! And that we'll miss you forever....

Epilogue:
It’s been six years since I wrote this blog.  It was at that time that my writing began to change, as I had changed.  You see, caring for a terminally ill loved one does change your life.  It takes some time for a “new normal” to begin.  For us, it had to begin sooner than most since we had children in the house and Christmas was around the corner.  My sister and I discussed what to do about Christmas Eve, which was our annual holiday gathering.  Although difficult, we decided to have Christmas Eve just as planned to honor our mom.  We knew she would want that.

There are days when I miss my mom terribly.  It was “easier” to say “good-bye”, I suppose, because we knew she was terminally ill with no hope of recovery; she would only get sicker and sicker.  No one wants to see their loved one suffer, even if it means losing them.

 

My words of encouragement for those who are dealing with a loved one with a terminal disease is to give them the best quality of life that is possible.  Follow their cues.  Pray for them, listen to them or just hold their hand.  Let them know you are there for them.  This is an intimate time in your lives.  Really LIVE it.   EXPERIENCE it.  BE in that moment.  To me, dying is merely a transition from this world to the next.    I did not feel scared, worried or anything more than the fact that I was on holy ground as I sat in her hospital room and watched her pass from this life to the next– God’s great plan was unfolding and my mother was center stage.  She moved on with relative ease; finally, at peace.