The Saturday preceeding Mother's Day, Mom looked really good. She felt much better, too. She was able to have conversations with everyone, though she did need to nap periodically. I had taken the girls to see her, and she had so many visitors that the waiting room in the cancer center was full. My cousin was going to come over to the hospital and take the girls to her house. I didn’t really think that Addison would go, but Anna-Lee was thrilled to be doing something other than running about in the hospital all day. Mom had been glad to see them, and though they didn’t want to spend every minute at her bedside, it was good for them to see her.
Later that evening, my sisters, Addison, and I made a trip to the mall to get Mom some Mother’s day pajamas. Macy’s was a bust, so we fought our way through the crowds to JC Penney, where we found pajamas for her. Addison pushed her stroller around everywhere much to the chagrin of the people who crowded the aisles. (That's the main reason I don’t make trips to the mall). As we stood in line to check out, Addison sang the "Today is a Good Day" song she had learned at day care and danced, watching her reflection in some mirrors.
I had told Mom, when it was just me and her, that I was thinking of writing a memoir about all this. She thought that that was a good idea.
“You know I’ve been keeping a journal, and then there’s the captain’s log. You could use those if you’d like,” she offered, “I think it would be good for you to write about this.”
On Sunday my husband and the girls picked yellow roses from my rose garden to take to her for Mother’s day. The expense of travelling back and forth to Lexington had put a strain on our gift budget, but I decided to get Mom a deck of cards. I figured she might like to play solitaire or a hand of rummy with someone. The sibs and I went into her room to see her—just us, to give her the presents and to talk.
She wanted to know if we were all right with everything, if there was anything we wanted to talk about.
“No, Mom, I’m not all right,” I said, when she asked me specifically.
I think that we all knew that she was going to die. We knew that there wasn’t much left that could be done; prolonging her life was their only option now. There wouldn’t be a turnaround; they could only buy her time. We thought weeks, months. I don’t know what we thought.
“You know, I’ve already been through all this shit before. And I really don’t want to do it again,” you’d think that the past would have prepared me for all this. But nothing can prepare you for the death of a parent.
The worst thing about it is that I can’t remember everything that was said. I can’t remember every minute of those last good days with her.
All I could think of then, and all that I can think of now is, how do I live life without my Mother? How can I have this baby without her there? The worst of it all is that my children love her so much. When Addison cried, she cried for her GG. Anna-Lee would pick up the phone and call her, sometimes to tell her how mean I was when she was in time out, or sometimes to ask her for something that I couldn’t or wouldn’t get for her. Mom had taken care of them so much. Finals weeks, weeks in the summer time; any time she could and I needed a break. Her goal was to get better and take care of this new baby while I was in school this fall.
My husband had to work Sunday night. We had to go. But I promised Mom that I would try to be back later in the week.
But they called me and said that the doctor wanted us all to be there when she made her rounds between 4 and 6 on Tuesday. I packed our bags, picked up Anna-Lee from school, and we headed to the hospital.
My cousin came to the hospital and took the girls home with her. I thanked her profusely, but, like she said, that's what family is for. My husband was going to work that night, and as much as I wanted him to be there with me, to have him take the girls home, he needed to work. When his mother was sick my Mom told him that no matter how hard it was, no matter how the others made him feel about it, he had a family to take care of. Even when he wouldn't talk to me, he would listen to Mom.
The doctor said that she had most likely gotten some kind of infection, possibly from draining the fluid off of her belly. There wasn't much that could be done now. The doctor leaned very near Mom's face and spoke to her, and when she awoke, she told her that the cancer had just spread everywhere. She had fought a good fight, but the cancer was winning. The infection was what was killing her now, that they could either do nothing, or send her over to ICU to treat the infection with antibiotics. Did she want them to treat her for the infection?
"I think it's our only shot," Mom said, before she closed her eyes again.
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