|
As nurses fluttered in and out of
the hospital room it was hard to keep my mind
focused. I looked from one solemn face to another and
it left me feeling numb, for the impending event was
about to forever change my life.
It seemed such a cruel twist of
fate that this could be happening at a time when the
relationship between Mom and me was greatly
improving. Or was it this tragedy that finally put
all the pieces of our lives together? Ours was a
constant battle of wills. I always saw my life in
sharp contrast to hers.
Her life seemed to be
co-dependent to my father's drinking and social
insecurities. Over the years she became emotionally
beaten down by a husband who saw the world through the
froth of a beer glass that was always half empty. She
always gave up too easily. I guess shrinking into
a self imposed shell was easier than striving for her
own self esteem. I remember resenting these things
about her. Looking back on it now I guess I just
didn't understand.
When I got married I vowed to
have a fulfilling relationship with my husband, where
companionship and open communication were a welcomed
necessity. Years later I knew that Mom felt like I had
accomplished more in my early years of marriage than
she ever could.
As a child I expected more out of
her, both emotionally and spiritually, but I didn't
comprehend that she had stumbling blocks and issues in
her life to deal with that almost seemed to paralyze
her. Years later I would realize that there was a
name for it--clinical depression.
All of this seemed pretty
fruitless now as I sat at her bedside, clutching her
almost lifeless hand. Looking down at her helpless
body I found myself furiously praying for God to give
us just a little more time.
With nurses coming in and out
every few minutes our privacy was greatly sacrificed.
I sat there coming to terms with the inevitable, while
memories flooded my mind.
The last few months had been
bittersweet in forming the bonds of our
mother/daughter relationship.
The tragedy of cancer had brought
us together in a way that nothing else ever could.
I always wondered what it would
be like when Mom died. For years she suffered with
emphysema and yet, through it all, she continued to
smoke. I got indifferent to her condition. So many
trips to the hospital. They'd treat her acute problem
of barely being able to breath, and then she'd return
home to her deadly habit of chain smoking. Soon I
began turning a deaf ear to her mounting complaints.
There was no turning a deaf ear
to what the doctors had to say now. Mom had lung
cancer that spread to her spine and liver. The only
thing doctors could guarantee was that, medically,
they could keep her comfortable. There would be no
getting better. I braced myself for the worst.
I felt great fulfillment
providing for her needs. She followed doctors orders
to the letter. When chemotherapy was suggested she
was all for it. This was no longer the weak willed
woman I knew, with the throw in the towel attitude,
when the going got rough.
She was a trooper in every sense
of the word. She was fighting to endure. I saw a
strength in my mother that I had never seen before and
I was deeply proud of her.
It took a devastating illness to
bring us closer together, but there we were sharing a
space with love and compassion. I was her eldest
daughter and she was counting on me. I took pride in
that too. I was finding comfort in my thoughts when
the doctor's presence brought me back to reality.
It was time to disconnect Mom
from the breathing machine that was helping to keep
her alive. Her body was slowly shutting down and the
force of the machine pushing air into her lungs was
causing her needless pain. She lay there frail, but
fully alert. As we heard the sound of the machine
click off we all stood around the bed waiting for
something to happen.
I wasn't ready for this to be
happening but the look on Mom's face told us that she
was. For a few long minutes she took the opportunity
to look at each of her children. She was much too weak
to talk, but she stared with such intensity I knew her
soul was soaking up the last glances of the people she
loved so dearly. I could tell by the tears in her eyes
that she was saying good bye.
She lay for hours, in and out of
a coma. Occasionally she'd nod her head when one of us
would lean over and whisper in her ear that we loved
her. I took comfort in the fact that she knew I
loved her. It was important to me that she knew. She
left this world in quiet dignity after giving it the
fight of her life. My mom was 63 years old. Diagnosis
to death had been only a matter of 2 months, but they
were the most important 2 months I had ever shared
with my mom.
Months after her death I found
myself going through suitcases of pictures from her
attic. As kids, my brothers, sister and I would
rummage through them, laughing at all the old
pictures. Looking at the old photos of Mom, I now see
a beautiful lady. I never really looked at her as a
woman, independent of us, until she was gone and I was
a woman myself.
Today I am a middle aged woman
with grown daughters of my own, and though it's been
11 years since Mom went home to heaven, I still miss
her terribly.
There are some things I regret
about our relationship. I regret we didn't have more
time. I regret the loss of not having a mom to share
these gray haired years with. Nobody knows why things
happen the way they do but I believe that everything
happens for a reason.
In the end my mom showed me what
it's like to have courage, even when the odds are
stacked against you. There was a time when I was
adamant about never turning out like my mom. Now I
only pray I'll have half the grace she possessed in
her greatest time of need.
I know that she's smiling down at
me. I know because I'm consumed with peace when I
think of her.
Lessons are sometimes taught when
you least expect you have anything to learn. I've
learned a lot from Mom's death
I've learned that as along as God
creates mothers and daughters they will always share a
complex bond. When death inevitably separates their
union love will fill the soul and memories will live
deep within the heart. I am grateful for the quality
time I had with the woman I knew as Mom, but came to
know as friend.
*Author's note
Two days after my mother's
burial I was admitted to the hospital for a scheduled
surgery. It was suspected that I had ovarian cancer.
Watching my mother die and then having to return to
the hospital to face an uncertain fate was the
scariest thing I have ever experienced. Ironically
it was drawing on my mother's example of strength and
courage that got me through my own medical ordeal.
I am happy to report that surgery
was performed, no cancer was found and as I travel on
this never ending road to recovery of my heart and
soul, I thank God for these lessons of life that I am
only too grateful to learn.
(c) 2004 Kathy Whirity |
