Mom died on Saturday night. To write those words again tears another hole in my heart. Another void in my stomach.
I'm numb. Or in shock. Or both.
She was supposed to die on Tuesday. Then Wednesday. Every day the doctor came in and told us, "Not long now." 24 hours. Tomorrow. Soon.
"We can't do a thing but wait."
The hospital room was packed. Bed with mom. Chairs surrounding with her children. My father. My aunt. Our friends. We slept contorted and twisted and draped over the bed, holding on to her hands, her feet.
"When the big hand goes round again."
For 5 days my mom lived on love and determination.
After some discussion, we left the room on several occasions to have what would pass for family dinners in the hospital cafeteria. At first we thought maybe she was waiting for us to leave before she would pass. Towards the end of the week it became evident that she wasn't waiting for anything. She just wouldn't give up.
"You can lose yourself in your courage."
I voiced that opinion Saturday morning. Mom never had any intention of stopping. She kept going until her body couldn't. To sit for 5 days and watch you mother die... I guess I don't have a right to talk about what's tough or not anymore.
The doctor and nurses told us she has a strong heart.
Yeah, no kidding. We could have told you that. As if it was some astounding diagnosis. As if it was some great revelation that could not be explained. If it wasn't for the aggressiveness of the cancer in her liver, making chemo impossible, Mom would be here right now.
(Fuck you, cancer.)
"When the time we have now ends."
I held my mom's hand as she died. I held her hand.
My mom died and it hasn't even begun to sink in. What are we going to do without her? What am I going to do?
"Can you still hear the last goodnight?"
My mom died and I held her hand as she took her last breath. I felt her hand get cold. I saw her expression change. I lost my mom.
"Close my eyes and believe where you are, an angel for me."
1 comment:
I am so sorry...
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