It was our The End

“May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.” Irish Blessing

It was our The End

It was our The End

“What are you doing?” he asked, startling me, he didn’t actually want to know what I was doing it was obvious what I was doing. I was washing dishes.

 

I just stood there looking out the window, my hands sudsy going through the repetitive washing and rinsing motion; my body ached, and my chest heavy, and my throat swollen, and my eyes burned… the all-consuming ache felt as if it were going to suffocate me.

 

There are certainties that one can not escape; no hiding or running from because it will find you. So, I dig deep, and I dry my hands, and turn to the Sailor, and lay my head on his chest, his arms taking me, breathing in his scent and feeling his embrace; I whisper, it is time.

 

Death is calling…

 


I never thought of her dying; she was vital and active and funny and to busy to die, but mostly she was my Mom. Moms are forever!
Mom Daughter, mommetime blog, relationshipsOur relationship had many layers, not all good; not all bad. Despite our complicated Mother Daughter relationship with its conflict and hurts; I loved her. She didn’t deserve all the cruelties she faced during her short time on this planet.
It was a Fibroid, six months earlier the Doctor said it was a Fibroid; “no worries,” he said. Damn-it it is a fucking Fibroid because the Doctor said it’s a Fibroid; therefore, it is a Fibroid! But, it wasn’t a Fibroid; it was Ovarian Cancer, ovaries are so  small, and it spread, and it was real bad.
I sat there next to my Mom as the Doctor delivered a death sentence. It got dead quiet; mind dizzy body numbing terrible –and then he said he was sorry.
She did not cry. She did not jump across the table and strangle the man who mis-diagnosed. She said, “everyone is going to die; I’m just one of those everyone’s, and I’ll do what I do; I’ll fight it.”
And, that is exactly what she did, and with the help of an Oncologist, and wonderful, loving, extraordinary nurses; she fought it –Surgeries, and medicines, and chemotherapy, and more stuff.
She did it, and she lived. She did not sit around busy dying; she got busy living, and she laughed, a lot.
And then one day surprisingly her Oncologist tells her she is responding extremely well to the treatments; she got a reprieve, no more chemotherapy. She felt good. She went back to work. She kept doing what she always did; living.
Mom Daughter, mommetime blog, relationshipsLiving close to my Mom, sober, living my amends, spending lots of time with her; having ups and downs, semi-co-dependent, ebb and flow kind of relationship, but anyway, there was something remarkable about her, and I enjoyed her company. She never met a stranger that she couldn’t talk to, and she was fun.
We sat sipping many a coffee’s while watching my daughter play, and she loved her grand baby. She was a good grandma. We were healing some of the harms caused, and finding acceptance of the things we could not change.
And then one morning my phone rang, and on the other end there was silence followed by a barely audible voice, a friend of my Mom on the other end… “Amy… there’s been a horrible accident, it’s your Mom, she’s alive, but hurt real bad.”
What if I had gone to her house that morning?! She had left her coffee in the microwave, what if she had gone back inside to get it?! What would have happened had she overslept that morning?

He told the police officer that the traffic light was green, his phone rang; he went to answer his ringing phone, and when he could not find it by touch he looked down. But the light wasn’t green, anymore, the light turned red, and he couldn’t stop the eighteen thousand pound dump truck he was driving, knocking my Mom’s small convertible Mustang several hundred feet.
A crushed pelvis and skull; she’d have to have brain surgery that required a titanium plate attached to her skull, followed by months of physical therapy for the pelvic bone and a bunch of other treatments.
And, then her Cancer was back.  The cancer was back. She was to weak for treatment. She fought through brain surgery; she fought her way through physical therapy; finally as strong as one can be in that physical condition she underwent chemotherapy, but she was done. Her body done. She found acceptance.

I scooped up my keys, and made the drive to the Hospice Center; it was night, and the moon was high and huge and a chill in the air. I rolled the windows down; feeling that chill and I cranked up the radio, and I sang, and I cried.
I walked the hallway, towards my Mom’s hospice room, and before me a mural on the wall was a tree of life, seeming odd; not so much now.
I held her fragile beaten body, and with my face next to hers, feeling her closeness one last time; I whispered, “I love you, Mom!” She whispered, “I love you, too.”

 

Death doesn’t wait, and just like that… It was our the end…
“May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.” Irish Blessing


Crazy hard |beautiful life. Thank you for visiting…

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