My mother Lucy, was in pain for a year before doctors found a tumor. We waited two weeks to receive test results on whether it was beneign or malignant. I sped the hour long drive from my college campus to my hometown, where my fanily was waiting for the news. As I walked into the hospital room, I found my mother surrounded by family and doctors. No one had to tell me in words, what I didn't already see in my mother's face. She was given 6-12 months to live. Me and my brother Danny, held on to our only parent, and sobbed, wondering how we could ever live without her. My father had died many years ago, and our mother was our only guidance, our support, our life. We held on to each other as the aunts, uncles and doctors quietly left the room.
Mom was home during the month of March. During that month, our house was filled with visitors. Knowing that someone you love is preparing to die, is exhausting. I was sometimes upset that our home was so busy, and I couldn't spend much time alone with my mom. I wanted her to myself, and I acted selfish that way.
It was the beginning of April, the day mom was readmitted to the hospital, blind to the fact that she would never see her home again. The last month of her life was the most precious of mine. I was able to spend every night at the hospital, by her side. We had long talks, we laughed, but we didn't cry a lot. At least she didn't. Each morning at 6 am, she called my name until I awoke. I made coffee, we showered, and waited for the visitors. She enjoyed seeing so much of our family during this time, she often said, "I have never been so loved." I walked her to the shower until she had to rest every other step. I wheeled her until she was too weak to move. She never acted angry or bitter towards her illness. She kept us positive with her humor. Often times nurses would peek in to see what we were laughing about. I often sat near her stroking her hand, knowing one day that there would not be anything I would not do, to touch her once more. My mother was the true meaning of the word. No words can describe the patience and heroism of a mother's love. I know that I will never be loved that way again.
On June 6th, she sank into a coma. On June 8th surrounded by family and friends, as Danny and I held her hands, my beautiful mother Lucy, 57 years old, died. As I numbly stood there in disbelief, comparing the striking similarities of our hands, people came to console me, but all sound seemed absent. I thought of her giving and compassionate character, the hardships she endured, her tremendous accomplishments, the limitless love she gave me and Danny.
I was scared, and so incredibly lonely without her. I kissed her goodbye, and left the hospital for the last time.
You can send email to Nicole at: firstname.lastname@example.org
anniversary date 6-08-96
date of post 12-22-96