Monday, October 7, 2013
One week ago today I lost my mom. She got up in the middle of the night on Saturday to get a drink and my dad heard something in the kitchen. He got up to check on her and found her laying on the kitchen floor unconscious. By the time she got to the hospital and went in for a CT, she had a seizure and was in a coma. The CT revealed that not only did she fracture her skull when she hit the tile floor, but it had damaged her brain and caused massive bleeding. She was airlifted to a trauma hospital. In record time, all of our immediate family and my mom's closest friends were sitting in the trauma hospital waiting room while they did emergency surgery to relieve the bleeding on her brain. I just knew. I can't explain how but when we jumped in the car at 2am and were speeding 90 mph down the interstate, I just knew I would never talk to my mom again. I would never hug her again or hear her voice. She wouldn't be at my wedding and that my kids would never be spoiled by grandma.
For the next 36 hours we prayed for her to show some sign of brain activity. To hear one word of positive progress. But we didn't. There was nothing they could do. As I sat there holding her hand, I told her how much I loved her and how thankful I am that I got to be her daughter. How proud I am to have a mom who was so selfless and unconditionally loving to everyone she met. I promised her that we would be okay and that I would make sure to take good care of my little brother and step dad. I know she would be worried about that.
I cannot begin to explain the feeling as I stared at her heart monitor when it said "0". How can my mom who has always been so full of life be gone? It still doesn't seem real. I don't know if it ever will.
And then, something amazing happened. As my brother, sister and I sat in the waiting room telling stories about my mom, we laughed. I knew that was her strength in each of us telling us that we were going to be okay. She had done her job.
I know that this was God's plan for her. Her cancer had come back after being in remission for 11 years and I knew that she didn't want to fight it again. I find comfort in knowing that she won't have to go through treatments again. She isn't sick anymore. She is free. I also find a lot of comfort in knowing that the last words I said to her on Friday were, "I love you".