My mother was told in October- specifically on the day after her birthday – that she had advanced pancreatic cancer and “very little time” left. I think I heard the words “three month” but even I knew that was optimistic. As it was she died on the 17th, a week after she found out the diagnosis. We had prepared for a longer time – prepared by getting things; I don’t know how I was preparing to get through the actually process emotionally – Mother’s and mine.
But she died. And that was that. Only it wasn’t that. It wasn’t a step-by-step powering down; it was a quick brownout and then, like that, it was done. It was not a Tuesdays with Morrie situation. Had she made it three months, she would have passed away this month, this January and I don’t know what we would have gone through or what she would have endured.
I wonder if we had not told her the diagnosis right away – if we had put her on the sofa and told her she just had to sleep and rest and watch DVD movies and the Colts games and plan for when she had built herself back up. Probably she would have pushed it, not rested, tried to hurry building up her strength and caused herself intense discomfort and eventually the emotional agony of knowing we had deceived her.
She was not one to take things lying down; she was so feisty. I wish she could have a had a couple of weeks of comfortable interaction with the world, the saying of things that maybe she wanted to say. But I suppose that was not her nature.
My mom lived ten months after her diagnosis of brain cancer. The first few months were hope filled but by month three they knew that there was no hope of a cure. It was inoperable (at least it was at that time, today they would probably split her brain and operate on it) so we all prepared ourselves for mom to die. I still remember the day I said goodbye to her. I was 22 years old, moving 1500 miles away to Chicago, taking my young family and following my husband to a new job. She had gone into the hospital the night before with a problem. So here I was in the hospital and everyone says… hey, we’ll leave you here with mom, take your time, etc etc. And I was standing there thinking… what do I say? In my heart I knew I’d never see her again. She couldn’t speak by that time so all communication was through her eyes and my words. Oh my words, endless babbling of not knowing what to say. How do you say goodbye when there is so much to say yet you don’t know how to say it? In the end I just hugged her and told her I’d be back in a month after we got settled in Chicago. I assured her we’d be there no matter what. I was. She died three weeks later and that month I promised was at her graveside. At that time, and many times since then I have wished that I had said so much more, there was so much to say but I think she knew what I wanted to say. Maybe she’s heard it since then. So even though we knew, and we thought we were prepared I don’t think you ever really are ready and I’m not sure you ever really have the words even though you think them.
And now 28 years later (on the 24th of this month) I still miss my mom.
So the lesson I have learned. I don’t wait to tell my kids, my husband, my friends until the “right time.” If I have the words, I use them then and there. I don’t want to be struck speechless with words bouncing around in my head unable to come out. No regrets allowed.
Thank you for what you expressed so candidly and gently and so well; and thank you for taking the time to do so.