On October 24, 2001, my beloved mother trying to get home in time to fix supper for my father, was crossing a busy intersection on foot and was struck by a oncoming car. She sustained a broken shoulder, pelvis, and leg however did not have any life-threatening injuries. However, within the first 24 hours, she started having breathing problems and was put on a respirator. Then days later a staph infection set in and after two months of suffering and praying, her lungs finally collapsed and she passed away December 26, 2001. What angers me the most about this tragedy is I feel if only I had been more active in her hospital care and been at her side 24/7 that I might have been able to prevent this from happening to her. If I had not listened to others telling me to go back to work and stay home and take care of my son, who is 15, that would have helped her live. I am so scared that she gave up on life because of my not being there telling her that I loved her and to hang on to life because we needed her around. The pain and the guilt of not being the daughter she needed is so overpowering me that I wonder will it ever stop? I am an only child and my father is still living, yet we only see each other once or twice a month and we talk even less. I don't know how to bridge a gap that is growing bigger and bigger by the hour. We live in the same city, yet it feels like we are on two different planets. Then to make matters more complicated, I was injured by being hit by a car on January 14, 2002 and have spent the last 6 months recovering from a badly broken leg. I have been so wrapped up in my own healing process that I put a back-seat to my dad's and my grief. Although it comes in waves like tonight. I want to tell my mother I love her and always have and I will take care of my dad as soon as I myself get better. I also want her to know that I will never forget her love and passion for God and for others and for family. She loved life and was full of life. I miss you terribly and I honor your memory.
Thank you for being my mother, Shirley Jean Whitehurst