It rained yesterday. It hadn’t rained for weeks and it rained yesterday. Somehow that seems fitting.
After a brief fight with gastric cancer my mom finally succumbed yesterday, September 11th, just before 5PM, a little over 5 months after being diagnosed. I’d love to say it’s been easy and painless but it hasn’t. I’m incredibly sad but I also have a lot of relief. Her suffering is at an end. Nobody wants to see their mom suffer.
My mom never had it easy. Growing up in Pennsylvania and Texas, her mother was quite unbalanced, constantly suspicious of her husband — possibly for valid reasons… who knows? — who took it out verbally and physically on my mom. Mom took to simply disappearing whenever she could. Eventually she had to go back of course, and suffer whatever punishment her father inadvertently caused. Mom had two younger sisters and an older, mentally disabled brother. The other kids weren’t targeted, just mom.
Early years
When she was 12 her father took off. After a short time, mom decided to run away from home and join her father and his new wife. She wouldn’t see or hear about her sisters — roughly 6 and 4 at the time I believe — for about 50 years. Obviously that’s a big decision, that’s life changing. That should be an indication of the level of unhappiness at home.
Her teen and early adult life are unclear to me. I learned some things recently that I didn’t know. My mom was engaged with someone else before my father. She and her friends were quite the wild bunch (relatively speaking) in her twenties.
Mom had wanderlust. That’s how she found herself in Pakistan in the 60s, working as a secretary at the US embassy in Lahore for USAID. The times were unpleasant for Americans in Pakistan for reasons I can’t quite recall right now. As a result, the embassy had no Marine security detail for quite a while. Eventually a contingent was allowed in but they were not allowed to wear uniforms. The NCOIC of that Marine contingent was my father. Mom says all of the single ladies at the embassy were aflutter and dad said the young Marines under his watch were similarly excited. Their attraction was mutual, and they had to work together to execute a Marine ball which brought them closer. They were married soon thereafter and honeymooned in Afghanistan.
Married years
Mom holding Julia one of the first times
All was not roses between her and my father, even early on. I recently asked mom whether they had anything in common. She honestly couldn’t come up with anything. Aside from sex. That they had in common. But even that eventually soured as dad’s thoughts on the matter differed greatly from my mom’s. Then there was my father’s family. Very simple farmers in Louisiana. I think meeting them was an utter shock for my mom. Their interactions and interpersonal dynamics were completely foreign to her.
I learned something else recently that I never knew. I always marveled that my mother never divorced my father. Sure, it was my greatest fear. But I knew that things weren’t good. I couldn’t fathom why she stayed when it seemed like things were never good. Well, mom did try. What to me was a memorable vacation with my “cousins” in California when I was 10 was actually a failed attempt to leave my father. It was all planned out. They had a room for us, everyone involved — except me — knew. Yes, even my father. Mom even had the support of her in-laws which says something about the state of their relationship. When that day came, though, Dad simply came with us. I cannot imagine the awkwardness that had to have been behind the scenes during that trip. I didn’t know a thing. But Dad simply wouldn’t leave. And that was that.
Mom feeding Julia a bottle at her home in Pensacola in 2004
I remember her transporting me all over creation to whatever was going on. We weren’t well off. We were lower middle-class for much of my early life. But I didn’t know that. By most accounts I consider myself spoiled. I never wanted for anything. That could be construed as good or bad depending on your outlook. But that’s an amazing illusion to provide your child. They struggled to make ends meet and yet gave every appearance of everything being fine, fiscally and otherwise.
Mom cheering for me at the Marine Corps Marathon in 2009
I never doubted my mother’s love. I’m well aware that that’s not guaranteed. But it’s a wonderful thing. The word “unconditional” gets bandied about often, but that’s the one truly unconditional love that I really believe in. That’s an immense comfort to have.
The beginning of the harder years
My father passed away in 2005. It was a hard time for my mother, even leading up to it. My father’s accident in 2003 and the cancer that eventually killed him created a pretty horrible situation for them both. Mom took care of him until his death almost entirely by herself. That was exhausting in many ways. When he passed it took quite some time before she recovered physically and emotionally. She had many things to get through to reach a point of peace. She had regrets. There were things she finally reached a compromise with in her mind to where she could view her relationship in new and perhaps more comforting ways. I imagine it’s a process that everyone has to go through to make peace with themselves.
Once she reached that place I had hoped that she could finally get some freedom and be able to do the things she had always wanted to do. And she did, somewhat. Except that she was getting older, too. Her knees had been causing her problems for years. She had one and then the other replaced within a short period of time. Those surgeries were hard on her and her knees never did become what she hoped they would be. I think part of it was that she didn’t necessarily follow the exercise regimen she was told to do to strengthen the muscles and provide the support they needed.
She traveled. She bonded more with her recently rediscovered sisters. They had tracked her down via social security and cautiously reached out. It was a difficult thing for all of them as both sides had fears of what 50 years of separation would do to them. Eventually, though, their relationships blossomed and I’m glad to say I have wonderful aunts that we have good relationships with, too. Her last really good trip was a cruise last year to Alaska with her youngest sister, Laurel. I think she truly cherished the memory of that trip.
Mom, Cat and Julia at a Hurricanes game in 2006
She went on another trip earlier this year to California with her neighbor and had a hard time. When she got back it took her a week to recover. She was just exhausted. She thought it was her thyroid. She eventually got better, but her energy level never quite recovered and things were a bit tougher over all.
The diagnosis
During Julia’s spring break we took a trip to Atlanta and Mom babysat our cat, Twinkle. On our way home we tried to reach Mom to let her know we’d be there soon to pick up Twinkle. I couldn’t reach her. Finally I got hold of her and discovered that that she was at the hospital with what she thought was a heart attack. She had incredible pain and had driven herself to the ER.
An EKG revealed nothing at all wrong with her heart. Further investigation revealed something on her liver. That was a distinct shock to us all. Even more tests finally located the root of the problem: a sizable mass in her stomach. She received what would be her death sentence on her birthday, April 9th. 4th stage Gastric cancer, metastasized to her liver.
She began chemo shortly thereafter. Her sister, Laurel, came down to help her through it. At first everything went really well during her first chemo treatment. She got all of it, then settled down to recover before her next round. She got weak. Really weak. It came to a head when Cat struggled to bring her back to the oncologist, walking 2 steps down the hall following Mom with a chair for her to sit and gasp to try to get enough energy for the next two steps. She made it into the oncologist and curled up on a coffee table in the lobby, shaking and vomiting. Thankfully, they admitted her to the hospital because she was getting dehydrated. She’d spend 5 days in the hospital recovering from the chemo.
That was the only round she did, she simply couldn’t take it. If the doctor could have said “if you endure this chemo you will have another year of quality life” maybe it would have been worth it to her. But he couldn’t say that. He could offer us no insight into what the actual benefit would be. Would she get an extra week? Month? No telling. For Mom, that wasn’t worth it. She said no more, just keep me comfortable. She went under the care of Hospice.
Mom fought that chemo for a long time. Julia had her very first ballet recital ever and Mom went. I wheeled her down to the van, drove her there, and wheeled her into the theater. She survived the entire performance — all 4 hours of it — and I wheeled her back out to the van. She heaved for 10 minutes in the car, a sound that ripped my heart. She suffered for it but she wouldn’t have missed that performance for the world. I got her back into her condo and into bed, where she stayed for 12 hours to recover.
Mom in her condo with her best friend in June
That’s how it went. Slowly but surely she cycled up and down. She’d have weeks where she’d get out by herself and drive. She’d have weeks where she wouldn’t. We had a 2 week vacation scheduled during the summer at the beach with our friends that we were torn over. At one point we actually canceled it, eating the cost because we figured she’d need someone there with her to help out. The week after we canceled she was again on an upswing, driving around and acting like her normal self. So we went.
I talked to her every morning and every evening. The first week went perfectly. Tuesday of the following week she said she had some bad breakthrough pain that the Hospice people gave her morphine to help control. She still sounded okay, but I was beginning to worry. Thursday she was tired, but Friday she was exhausted. I talked to her in the morning and she just said “I’m asleep.” I asked if she wanted me to let her get back to sleep and she said yes. That night, same thing. Cat and I decided to go back a day early. On Saturday it took me four attempts to get her on the phone. Thankfully we were on our way back. When we reached her in the early afternoon she was practically incoherent. She couldn’t recall if she’d eaten, couldn’t recall what she’d taken, there was food out everywhere. I spent the night that night to help her and Cat and I took turns for a while. We got her on a regular pill intake and she gradually recovered. But that’s how the cycles started.
Her first day at HeartFields, three weeks ago
Nearing the end
By late August we determined that she couldn’t be left alone any more. All of that story can be read about here. So three weeks ago she went into HeartsField assisted living. At the time she was still aware. Her first day she went down to the dining room and had lunch. That didn’t go well, but she still ordered some good food to her room. Two weeks later she was bed-ridden and moving towards unresponsive. One week later she died.
We were there with her, thanks to my wife. We both knew that she couldn’t have long left. Her breathing was getting more and more labored. She was now on 1ml of morphine every two hours. She was essentially drowning which is possibly the worst sound I’ve ever heard. It’s almost impossible to sit there and listen to this poor, dear woman struggle so hard for breath, rattling and gurgling. This is obviously a topic for another post, but just sitting there and knowing how hard that must be and being helpless to do anything but watch and wait seems unfeelingly callous and inhumane. But that’s all we could do.
I was watching her from across the room. Her eyes, which hadn’t opened for over a day, popped open briefly. I pulled my chair over right next to her and laid my hand on her shoulder. I told her that Cat and I were right there with her and that we loved her and there was nothing to worry about, nothing to fear. She immediately started breathing slower, less deeply. It’s like that reminder let her let go. It was incredibly profound. We reminded her of everything we wanted her to know: about Julia, how Julia would never forget her, thanking her for everything, reminding her of everyone who loved her. At the very end we sang “You Are My Sunshine” to her, a song that I associate very strongly with her as she used to sing it to me when I was sick as a child.
I will miss my mother. I’m not quite sure how you’re supposed to continue when that unquestioning, unflagging support is yanked out from under you. I could always count on my mom. Always. And now she’s gone. That’s hard.
Those who know me know I don’t subscribe to an afterlife. We tell Julia that Grandma is in heaven, and I know that Cat believes that and I’m glad for both of them. Again, fodder for another post but one thing religion provides is a salve for the soul and for that I’m grateful. For myself, I will simply be glad that mom doesn’t hurt anymore, that she doesn’t have to have disappointment and pain, that she doesn’t have to fight for every breath and be scared.
That’s enough for me. Thank you, Mom, for everything. I owe you my life.
5 Responses to “Rest in peace, Mom”
Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry for your loss. What an incredible journey she had, and how lucky she was to have family like you and yours.
I’m crying as I type this, in sympathy for the pain you must all be suffering, and in silent prayer that her journey after death is as beautiful as the love she felt from you all your life.
You are all in my thoughts and prayers tonight and in the coming days.
Bryan,
I am very sorry to hear of your mother’s passing. I am glad that you have found comfort in that she is no longer in pain.
My condolences, Bryan
CF, I’m sorry you lost your mom. I lost my mother almost the same way a few years back and it’s something I don’t think I’ll ever get over. It’s not easy to recover losing your biggest supporter no matter what you do but if she was like my mom then you just gotta figure she’d want you to get over it and carry on.
Carry on CF.
Brian,
Truly sorry to hear about your Mom’s passing but I’m glad she is no longer suffering.
My Dad passed away this Summer due to liver disease and we were in hospice care up until the end. Being helpless and watching a loved one die is one of the most difficult things I have done. I still am having a hard time with it from time to time.
There is not a whole lot to say you haven’t already heard but just know that friends are thinking about you and your family and we are sorry for your loss.
-=Todd=-
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