Welcome to a page of my book, "Exploring Home." This is an excerpt from that book- pages 4-5.
Someone asked me once what my biggest fear was. I replied, “The day I lose my mom.”
At that time, my mom was in the midst of her cancer treatments. It was sixteen months of complete hell, one day consisting of bad news from her scans to the next day full of hope. False hope, but hope nonetheless. It was a rollercoaster. My emotions were everywhere, but each day when she was by my side I had a smile on my face and I told her, “At the end of this, it’ll all be okay.”
Unfortunately, “Okay” ended with her spending her last days in a hospital bed, heavily medicated.
My mother had very few words with her visitors during that time, and when she did they were incoherent. It was a constant puzzle, trying to unravel and decipher those words that we received from her. Although grateful for them, we were rarely able to understand them. I barely left her bedside over those ten days, praying that she’d somehow make it out of her medicated hell, and I dreamed of the day she’d open her eyes and say to me she felt better and she was ready to go home, even though I knew deep in my heart that would never happen. I had never felt so certain about her impending fate, yet my soul desired more days with her, even if they meant her lying lifeless next to me. No matter what I did, no matter what I said, no matter what I prayed for, her heart never stopped. I just wanted her suffering to stop.
And then, that day arrived. Her final breath was taken, and without any sign or notice, she left us.
But I thank the universe for those days, though I wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy. I believe my mother knew I was there and she heard all my words. I will forever treasure that time we shared for me to say goodbye and for her to tell me she loved me, even though those words never left her mouth…