Friday, November 17, 2006


I've hardly been able to find the energy to blog lately. So much of what's on my mind these days relates to my efforts to make sense of my mother's death. It's deep. It's personal. And it's very difficult to parade the rawness of such emotions before the world.

I was reminded today of a night that occurred several days before my mother's surgery. It was the night following her diagnosis on August 25. That was the last night I was able to spend with her. Even though she knew she had bone cancer and was scheduled for major surgery in just a few days, the two of us watched America's Funniest Home Videos and laughed like we had not a care in the world. I will hang onto that memory for the rest of my life.

Later that night, as she slept fitfully, her rest interrupted by frequent cough attacks, I scavenged a magazine from a nearby waiting area. Who knows what prompted me to record the following quote, but I did. On the only paper I could find, a long piece of hospital toilet paper, I preserved these words:

"No story is without hope - even when it includes a wrenching chapter that involves the death of a loved one. Hope grows from the knowledge that we never have all the data at hand, that the world holds possibilities we cannot anticipate and sometimes can barely imagine."
(from Lessons in Hope by Keith Ablow, MD, September 2006 Good Housekeeping)

I must have sensed even then that my story was about to include a gut-wrenching chapter. What I didn't know was how quickly that chapter would be written.


Bernadine said...

I can definitely relate to how you're feeling. I just lost my mom less than two months ago. It still hurts like crazy and every day I try to make sense of why she's no longer here with me.

Angie said...

Funny you should say that (your post on my blog), because I so admired your faith and strength during your ordeal with your mom! I thought a lot about you and your family this week. I have had you in my prayers. I will keep you there as I know this is a difficult time for you.

I have reflected a lot on our conversations about your mother and have seen so many similarities. Yet the differences blare at me. When I was driving my mom home from the hospital at week three, my mind turned to you and your situation at the same time.I am grateful for every day that we have. I just hope that my mom will not suffer. This is such a scary place to be. And the decisions are awful. Taking over your mom's life when she was still so active is hard work. But, we are trying to treasure every moment. They are precious.