My mother gave birth to me when she was 44 years old. When I was about 5 years old, she became sick and was in and out of the hospital all the time. When I was nine, on a very hot day in July, she died. She had esophageal cancer, that metastasized to her lungs. She was in the hospital when it happened. They operated on her, believing that her cancer had been reduced by radiation therapy, and found that they were wrong once they got inside. I saw her on Tuesday. They let me visit her in the hospital, something I normally was not allowed to do since visitors had to be 12. She told me she was coming home on Thursday and not to worry. I cried my eyes out the last time I saw her, and I'm not sure why. I just loved her so much.
Thursday came with a frantic phone call to my dad from my older sister. Get to the hospital, Mom's not doing well! I remember his nasty mood that day. He had to drive 40 miles to the hospital, in city traffic, and he was not happy. He was more grouchy than usual that morning. He dropped me off to spend the day with my sister-in-law, along with my 14 year old sister. We lived far out in the country and had never been to a sitter, and staying with someone other than our parents was very unusual. My SIL was a jolly, care-free young woman with 3 kids that she'd load up and haul around all day long. She never stayed home, so we were running around with her that day. She took us to a little drive-in ice cream shop and we were waiting in the car with my niece and nephews when my cousin came up and said "I'm so sorry about Aunt Evie!" My SIL came back to the car and was chastising her....oh now, that's not true. Then we all looked up and saw my dad riding into town as a passenger in my brother's car. He was slumped over. Later my sister-in-law would say she knew it was true when she saw that.
We went home. It seemed like there were hundreds of people there. My mother had so many friends. She never worked outside the home, but she had cultivated so many friendships. (Looking back now, I don't understand how that was possible - where did she meet all these people?) Nobody actually told me what had happened, but I knew. Mom was dead, gone, just like that. My 19 year old sister did try to comfort me, and told me she would be my mom now. It wasn't the same. She didn't live with us (and I do not blame her for not moving home). But she did try.
July always brings these memories to me. My mother's death brought on the worst days of my life. After all these years, I have mostly forgotten those days in the interest of self-preservation. But I will never forget the day that changed my childhood forever.
It's been 44 years since that day. I decided a long time ago to let the pain go because hanging on to that hurt would never help anything. But in July, those memories always come back to haunt me and remind me of my mom that I love and miss so much.
2 comments:
Oh, Mary, how tough that had to be. I need to tell my mother how much I love her. I can't imagine. Lots of hugs....
heh there mary....i didnt know any of this and i am so sorry. it will be one year sept 4th for me, and i still say "im going to call my mom" and stop. 44 years is a long time not to have your mom around. thank you for sharing your story and letting us know. i am enjoying your blog as it is like reading a novel rather than a medical handbook. see you tomorrow. love you lady, judy from pgh
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