Mom

As a part of my new blogging life I want to have some free therapy. So this blog will begin that...

On December 28, 2009, my Mom was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She had surgery and gean chemo and radiation. It seemed at first that she would make a full recovery because she did so well with the surgery. She fought hard. She had allergic reaction to the first round of chemo and ended up going with radiation. She lost her hair, she lost her energy but she never lost her sense of humor. She walked her dog every day she was able. In April another tumor and another surgery. This felt different but honestly I never once considered that she was terminal. Even when my step-dad mailed me literature saying it was not curable. I lived in a land of denial. I never once allowed myself to believe that she wouldn't kick cancer in the ass. I struggled with feelings of guilt because I wasn't there everyday caring for her. We spoke daily and I could hear how tired she was.  In November she became very ill from more chemo and got a serious infection that kept her hospitalized for three weeks. I went and spent a long weekend in the hospital with her. Helping her use the toilet and cleaning her. We watched White Christmas together and fell asleep holding hands. She was very weak. She couldn't get out of bed on her own. She went home but wasn't herself again. She came to Porterville on Christmas Eve to see the kids. She was in a wheelchair. She held each of the kids. I helped her change her clothes and use the toilet. She held me so tight. We cried. We never spoke about what was to come. I just never believed that it would really happen. Before she left we prayed. I secretly prayed that she would be healed. I begged. On December 27th my step-dad called hysterically and said we all needed to come. On December 28th, my sister and I left early and went to her. When we arrived she was in bed and didn't seem to know us. She was struggling to breathe and seemed to be in pain. My sister and I freaked. We called our brother and he and my son Jake headed out. I need to believe that my Mom knew we were there that day but I just don't know. She was in a lot of pain and was leaving. I climbed into bed with her and begged her to stay with me. I couldn't seem to think straight. Hospice came. They made her comfortable. My brother and Jake got there. We gathered around her bed and held hands and prayed. I begged her to wake up and not leave me. At around 6 her breathing slowed to almost nothing. My sister and I sat beside her holding her hands. I laid my head on her and cried. She died without a whimper. We were all around her. Her children. I couldn't understand what had happened. I didn't know what to do. I hid in the bathroom and rocked myself. When it was time to remove her body. I changed her clothing and put her in new pajamas. I washed her face and put lotion on her. She cared for me my entire life. Through everything. She was my best friend. She was my biggest fan. I loved her so much.
And now 3 months later and I don't know if I will ever be "alright" I don't know if I'm meant to. I am ill-equiped to deal with this kind of loss. My entire life when I have had any kind of problem, big or small. She was the one I turned to. The night before her Memorial I had a dream that she was holding my hand. I woke up and I could still feel her hand in mine. I tried to call out to my sister and my husband but all that came out was a sob. I have had several dreams like that and it takes days to recover. I try and stay positive. My Mom believed she was saved, she knew where she was going. I try and take comfort in that. I really do. I would be lying if I said I don't want her back because I do desperately. I wish I could have just one more moment, one more conversation, one more kiss, hug, smile.