The image of my mother, laying still, her still-dark hair over her eyes and the tubes from her lungs to the machines helping her breathe still linger. The recall comes when a photograph comes through my memories on my phone. As I gazed into the image, I realized my niece was in it as well as myself. Our faces full of concern for the grandma and mother laying so still. Her bubbly laughter missed, and the ominous beeps of the heart monitor reminded us of life.
We didn’t know what to expect at this time. We waited to see if she’d awaken. And she did, finally. They moved her to a rehabilitation center until she was ready to be discharged to go home. She did well there, made friends, and soon was ready to leave.
However, after her bout with pneumonia, she had stopped smoking for three months. We had cleaned the home with ammonia and sterilized the walls, floors, and carpets. With full intention of her moving back into life with zeal and health, I went to encourage her.
Instead, I was met with anger. All the pent up control my father had over her came tumbling out, “You will not tell me what to do!” and “I want you to leave. You don’t have to be here! Get out!” and with that, I was on my knees in front of her pleading but her anger and her resentment to being told to not smoke made her even more frustrated.
The Social worker called me and we talked. She suggested I let it go. My mom was going to do what she wanted and there was no use in trying to force her to be what I wanted. I thought to myself, “what about her grandchildren? The family? Our legacy?” Instead, I followed the social worker’s ideas and let it be. I helped mom get home and then packed and left. What could I do?
We had mom for one more year after that scare. She proceeded to drink and smoke as if she was a younger women with longevity. The scare of her health did nothing to change her path. As I came to see her every other month through that next year I watched her thrive and decline at the same time.
My brother who lived with her couldn’t get her to do anything or step out of her comfort zone. We ended up living with someone who was ready to leave. My mom was not even 70 yet, and she had given up.
I remember it well, the sunny July day when I had started my third week visiting.
She suggested I leave and head home. I didn’t want to go, but I felt she needed her space.
I packed up and left again. A feeling of dread and sadness came over me. I didn’t want to leave.
When I got home, she called and we talked. “You could come back up here if you want” and I told her I would come again in September. I was attending University of Phoenix online and wanted to complete the next course before I came back up.
September came and finals arrived for my classes, and as I was completing the hardest Civil War assignment I got the call. “Pam, you need to sit down. Mom is in the hospital. We took her last night because she was breathing bad and it looked like she had pneumonia again.” “They found lung cancer.” my brother shared the news with me. His strength and dedication to my mom was apparent.
I said I will be heading up there first thing in the morning.
I got another call stating she had liver cancer, and cancer in her blood, among other cancers. She only has a few days, they said.
I flew in my car up 5 hours to my mother’s home, an empty shell without her vibrant laughter filling up the halls. Headed to the hospital that Saturday night, I held my mom’s hand. Her tubed breathing, body held me in stark contrast to that day, when we took the photograph.
“Mother, what have you done!” My heart cried. She let herself go, as if she didn’t care. My brother stated she mentioned to the doctors “You’ll fix me back up again, right?” And never woke up again.
We choose to leave her unconscious even after Hospice came to talk to us that Monday. I was in disbelief and in no way did I want her to be awoken to tell her she was dying?
Hell no, I thought. Make her comfortable, don’t stop anything!
Wednesday at 11:05 AM she passed away. I missed the phone call at 11:00 AM. I was in the bathroom. She slipped away. We rushed to the hospital. As I stood by her bed, her still warm hand in mine, I willed back the clock.
She went peacefully, they said.
I kissed her check, and told her how much I loved her. Even as I write these words, the tears flow. Having lost my father ten years earlier, the loss of my mother felt like a dead weight, pulling me to the abyss of nothingness. Stunned, shocked, and silent, I collected her wedding bands, and went to the house with my brother.
Nothing felt the same.
I cherished the time I spent in my mother’s room. I noticed the head indent in her pillow, the perfume on the counter, and towels she always managed to make smell fresh despite the smokey smell in the house. She was my mother, after all and every moment mattered.
Life doesn’t tell us exactly the moment we enter the world until we arrive. Nor does life tell us the moment we will leave until the body gives its last breath.
We cannot predict with certainty our life’s length.
While this is true, we can prepare for the journey and make the most of every moment we live. The angry moment with my mom was a passing thing she apologized to me for, bringing us both to tears. The sorrow she felt and anger over dad telling her what she could and couldn’t do freaked her out and getting to make her own choice was empowering. While I agreed with her, I also had a foreboding sense that her choice would take her from me; and so it did.
Family might create drama, cause pain, and build walls we have to scale, but its still a heritage we create and leave behind.
Let the stupid stuff go. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
The social worker was right, the path my mother wanted was hers and I was there to be by her side as long as life’s breath filled her body. It was her path to walk, not mine.
As I age, and later this year turn 54, I want my children to remember how much I love them. The laughter over spelling words (and crazy sentences I’d create), to read a loud times, hiking in the mountains, and walks on the beach, laughter at crazy movies, and the music we played in concerts, in duets, and in our Strings of Praise all made our life richer and full of meaning.
Life isn’t promised tomorrow. We have today.
And while we make choices that hurt our loved ones and confuse us and others, the bottom line is the love we did give counts just as much today as it did ten years ago. Are you filling the love cup of life’s blessings or are you sitting on what you can give?
My mother may no longer live on this earth, but I see her in my cheeks, my jaw line, and that laugh, the one where you start crying and snorting, still is my mom’s landmark on me. When I smile, I have small crows feet, and the youthful look I have I received from my mother. For her last breath came at 70, and she barely had grey in her dark locks.
Look for the moments of memory as they return. Cherish the experiences. Give loved ones the time and care they long for, and never forget the moments that made life special. If you push it all away you lose the precious gift of love. One day the curtain closes and you will not get the chance to show the love you needed to give.
Today could be your last, and what did you show for it?
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Previously Published on medium
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