Thursday, October 18, 2007
Cold Dark Room
While I lay on a bed in a cold, dark hospital room, all alone and scared, not knowing what the future would hold, or how I would go on, listening to the machines, praying for a miracle and hoping beyone all hope that I was having a bad dream, my best friend, the very woman that gave me life, took her last breath. Time of death 7:20 a.m.
The cancer beat her. It took her from me and from my family. How could this be real? The doctors told us we had two years, it had only been 3 months. How could she leave me? How could she leave her grandchildren? Why oh why would she go?
As I stood there looking at her lifeless body, shrivled and frail, not a hair on her head, I wondered how I was going to tell my brother and sister. I was all alone and hurting deeply but I had to be strong. I was the oldest and I had promised to take care of them. How could I tell them that their mother was gone? How would I tell them that cancer had won? Where would I find the strength? I felt as though my heart had been ripped right out of my chest. I was numb.
First it was my little sister. She was a young mother that had leaned on our mom her entire life. She had never stood on her own two feet and looked to her for guidance and support. How was I to tell her that her rock was gone? I didn't want to do it. I didn't want her to feel the pain that I was feeling but I had to tell her. She was so stubborn and in such denial and I had no choice but to tell her over the phone. I will never forget the sounds that came from her as she weeped and whaled as I broke the news. She made it to the hospital in record time, ran into the room and grabbed her and hugged her, begging her to come back to us. My heart broke all over again.
Then there was my baby brother. He was only 18, just a boy, a mommas boy. He had not left her side for days and I begged him to leave and go get some rest. Now I had to go tell him that she was gone. My daddy accompanied me to the house where my little brother was sleeping. As he walked out of that bedroom, he knew. He screamed and yelled and asked God why. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life. He blamed himself for leaving, he blamed God for taking her, he was a lost little boy and all he wanted was his mommy.
That was 8 years ago today. I will never forget that day. It is burned into my brain. Our lives changed that day and will never be the same. I not only lost my mom and my best friend that day, I also lost a part of myself. She was only 42 years old and had so much to live for. I will never understand why she left us. Why God didn't heal her or why there is no cure for cancer.
What I wouldn't give for one more day. To hear her voice one last time. If I could hug her one last time I would never let her go. I miss my mommy as much today as I did 8 years ago, maybe even more. There is so much that I want to tell her and so much that I want to ask her. There is so much that I want her to see. I want her to see her beautiful grandchildren and how wonderful they are. I just want my mommy!