As I am sitting here at my laptop, the tears are falling. It seems as though they have been falling more frequently in the past several weeks: I don’t feel like myself. I feel like this overwhelming sense of sadness, a sharp ache of missing someone so important to me in my every day life. I feel a deep hole in my heart that I don’t know if I can ever fill again. I feel regret for all of the things that I had always wanted to do or say, and I didn’t get the chance. Even in the moment when I knew that was likely going to be my only chance, I still couldn’t find a way to say these things. Something I don’t talk about much is the overwhelming sense of guilt I feel. I should have known. How could I have overlooked something so serious? I should have seen something wasn’t right. Where was my head? Where was I when this nasty, disgusting thing was taking over my mom? Why wasn’t I there?
The flashbacks have started again, and I can see the time I spent with her in the hospital, as though I am reliving it every night; starting with her starting the chemo. I remember being in the room with her, listening to what the nurses were saying. I remember them wearing three pairs of gloves and two protective gowns because of how serious the stuff was they were about to put into my mother. The nurse explained that they would have to test her veins every so often, because if the line came out, the chemicals they were injected would eat away her tissue and vessels. I’ve never watched a nurse so closely in my life. I’ve never watched a clock so closely in my life. I remember the absolute relief I felt when the doctor stated that he thought the treatment plan was promising. And that all came crashing down three days later. Mom was back in the hospital.
I can see in my mind the moment I walked into the ER and saw mom. It was like she was a different person. Her lips were swollen, she couldn’t talk normally. She was obviously uncomfortable. It was the worst feeling in my life, up until that moment. I hated seeing my mom so uncomfortable. It broke my heart, and it just continued to get worse and worse as I saw the stages my mom was going through during the next week.
I remember the chaplain coming to speak with the family. At first, it was comforting. I didn’t want to turn away from God during this terrifying time. Then, his presence scared me. After this, I wasn’t ever too far away from mom. She was moved several different times. I followed. I felt compelled to be there with her. I remember sitting next to her bed in several different rooms. I remember her eyes finding mine, holding mine. I remember the calm feeling I had during these moments, like everything was going to be okay. Like she was going to be okay, no matter what happened. I never let go of the hope.
Then, after a couple of days, the hospice group came and spoke with the family. They wanted us to sign a DNR. A DNR? I want my mom to be given the chance to live! Why would these people suggest a certain thing? Why were the hospice people telling us we would no longer be able to take care of mom. I wanted to yell and them, and tell them to keep their opinions and ideas to themselves. I hated them. I hated the thought that they might be right, and mom might not be able to live life the way she wanted to. I hated it.
As the days progressed, I didn’t want to leave mom alone. I stayed with her one night when she had been moved to a unit that was a little more watch and care. They gave me pillows and blankets and couch to sleep on. I didn’t sleep at all that night. That was the night I knew that things would never be the same. My mom stopped producing urine. Her breathing became irregular. She stopped responded. Throughout the night, mom’s eyes found mine several times. I think in these instances, it was my turn to comfort her. I knew what this all meant. I wanted my mom to know that I was there for her, that I cared for her. That she would never be alone. Again, even though it was me trying to comfort her, there was something in her eyes. Her eyes. They stay in my mind at all times. I don’t completely understand what she was trying to tell me, but the feeling I got was love and hope and strength.
After mom was gone, I felt her presence a lot. I felt her with me often. Now, I miss that feeling. Did she go away? Am I going to fast to feel it? Feeling her presence almost kept me at peace; kept me calm. Now I find myself searching for any signs that she may still be present and being “disappointed” when I don’t think I can find anything.
The few good friends who have stuck with me through this situation have listened, but I don’t know if this is something very many people can fully understand: the guilt, the frustration, the sadness, the feeling of being alone; the regrets. Most of all, no one can feel that hole in my heart that was once filled with my mother’s love, laughter, and joy.
I try to live life to the fullest, because I know that’s what my mom would want for me. It’s just some days this is hard. I question why this had to happen. Why this had to happen so fast. I question why my mom….
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