(no subject)
So, this is an essay I wrote for school last year. Kind of sums up what I went through immediately after my Mom died. Just thought I'd share:
You wouldn’t even have recognized her. Alright, I take that back you would have. You could look right past those frail bony arms and the skin so sallow it looked almost transparent, and into the eyes and soul of my mother. Her smile was just as bright and beautiful as it had been every time I made her laugh. Her spirits didn’t dwindle even as the life was slowly draining from her poor body. My mother was a fighter that just wouldn’t give up her battle with cancer, until her soul just gave in and surrendered to the awful disease.
She had a bed in our living room so that she was right in the center of the action. Nurses and counselors from the Hospice center were in and out of our home regularly. This all took getting used to but we all knew it was for the best. My mother was so happy with her life. Her children were growing up fast; she was working again in a job with friends she loved. She was more in love with my father than she had ever felt before. I found myself asking why constantly, why her? Why me? Why my family?
"The summer after graduation is supposed to be a summer full of parties and part- time jobs, the beach, and hanging out with friends," I said, matter-of-factly. My father felt that I was ignoring what was happening at home, hiding from the reality that my mother was dying. And why shouldn’t I have been? It was easy to pretend that she wasn’t for a long time. As long as my mother was still in work I could believe that she was doing okay and that she would overcome this. As long as the doctors told us that the chemotherapy was working, I felt I had nothing to be upset about yet. I didn’t want to mourn prematurely.
Summer continued and my mother stopped working. Her job was draining her, and though she hated to leave, she simply couldn’t go on as she was. Reality struck me. I could no longer hide from what was going on, I was losing my mother and I needed to spend time with her. I didn’t exactly take my own advice.
I tried my best to balance time between my friends and being at home helping out, but my friends always won over. I couldn’t stand being in our house, the sick house, for another minute. My escape was to leave, and leave I did. I spent less and less time at home. I was beginning to feel better not seeing the reality that was taking place at home, but this was only temporary, and my head had to come down from the clouds.
My realization came through a series of talks with my father and grandmother. What they said cut me deep and made me realize not only was I hurting my family and my mother, in the long run I was hurting myself. My father told me about how he wished he spent more time with his father before he died, and that when I was older I would realize my mistake and wish I could make up for lost time. My Granny described to me how my mother would lay in bed and call out for my sister and me, and how she really believed my mother was holding on longer than she should have because she was waiting to hear from me. She needed to hear that I was going to be ok. She needed me to tell her that my life had been good and that it is only going to get better.
"Your mother needs to hear from you that you love her, and that she’ll always be in your heart," Granny said with tears in her eyes. So that’s what I realized that I must do, and I must do it soon.
It was a quiet afternoon in my house that I found myself alone with my mother and the words and tears just poured out of me. I spoke from my heart and soul and just held my mother’s hand. I spoke of my childhood, how loving and fun she made my life. How she dedicated herself to making her children happy and giving them all of life’s pleasures. I thanked her for just being my mother and for making me the woman I have become today. I told her that in everything I do with my life, I’ll always be thinking of her and what she would think about the choices I will make. I told her I loved her; we all loved her. I knew this was the last time I would have this time with my mother. And I cried.
A week later, my mother passed away in her sleep. She was comfortable and surrounded by my family. My father held her as she took her last breath, just as he promised he would so long ago.
I am forever grateful that I was able to say such a strong, heartfelt goodbye to my one and only mother. And may she rest in peace in my heart forever.
You wouldn’t even have recognized her. Alright, I take that back you would have. You could look right past those frail bony arms and the skin so sallow it looked almost transparent, and into the eyes and soul of my mother. Her smile was just as bright and beautiful as it had been every time I made her laugh. Her spirits didn’t dwindle even as the life was slowly draining from her poor body. My mother was a fighter that just wouldn’t give up her battle with cancer, until her soul just gave in and surrendered to the awful disease.
She had a bed in our living room so that she was right in the center of the action. Nurses and counselors from the Hospice center were in and out of our home regularly. This all took getting used to but we all knew it was for the best. My mother was so happy with her life. Her children were growing up fast; she was working again in a job with friends she loved. She was more in love with my father than she had ever felt before. I found myself asking why constantly, why her? Why me? Why my family?
"The summer after graduation is supposed to be a summer full of parties and part- time jobs, the beach, and hanging out with friends," I said, matter-of-factly. My father felt that I was ignoring what was happening at home, hiding from the reality that my mother was dying. And why shouldn’t I have been? It was easy to pretend that she wasn’t for a long time. As long as my mother was still in work I could believe that she was doing okay and that she would overcome this. As long as the doctors told us that the chemotherapy was working, I felt I had nothing to be upset about yet. I didn’t want to mourn prematurely.
Summer continued and my mother stopped working. Her job was draining her, and though she hated to leave, she simply couldn’t go on as she was. Reality struck me. I could no longer hide from what was going on, I was losing my mother and I needed to spend time with her. I didn’t exactly take my own advice.
I tried my best to balance time between my friends and being at home helping out, but my friends always won over. I couldn’t stand being in our house, the sick house, for another minute. My escape was to leave, and leave I did. I spent less and less time at home. I was beginning to feel better not seeing the reality that was taking place at home, but this was only temporary, and my head had to come down from the clouds.
My realization came through a series of talks with my father and grandmother. What they said cut me deep and made me realize not only was I hurting my family and my mother, in the long run I was hurting myself. My father told me about how he wished he spent more time with his father before he died, and that when I was older I would realize my mistake and wish I could make up for lost time. My Granny described to me how my mother would lay in bed and call out for my sister and me, and how she really believed my mother was holding on longer than she should have because she was waiting to hear from me. She needed to hear that I was going to be ok. She needed me to tell her that my life had been good and that it is only going to get better.
"Your mother needs to hear from you that you love her, and that she’ll always be in your heart," Granny said with tears in her eyes. So that’s what I realized that I must do, and I must do it soon.
It was a quiet afternoon in my house that I found myself alone with my mother and the words and tears just poured out of me. I spoke from my heart and soul and just held my mother’s hand. I spoke of my childhood, how loving and fun she made my life. How she dedicated herself to making her children happy and giving them all of life’s pleasures. I thanked her for just being my mother and for making me the woman I have become today. I told her that in everything I do with my life, I’ll always be thinking of her and what she would think about the choices I will make. I told her I loved her; we all loved her. I knew this was the last time I would have this time with my mother. And I cried.
A week later, my mother passed away in her sleep. She was comfortable and surrounded by my family. My father held her as she took her last breath, just as he promised he would so long ago.
I am forever grateful that I was able to say such a strong, heartfelt goodbye to my one and only mother. And may she rest in peace in my heart forever.