When I was writing last Thursday's post about attitude making a difference, I thought about my mom. I lost her to breast cancer a couple of years ago now. It doesn't seem that long, but wow, it's coming up on three years. It still feels as if I just lost her.
As I was writing about attitude, I thought about my attitude about her death. The doctor who gave us the terminal prognosis said she had about 6 weeks. We lost her in 6 days. I could have felt angry that I had five weeks taken from me, but I didn't. I was happy that she hadn't suffered and she was suffering, especially at the end. She'd also lost the ability to speak, to walk, to do almost anything the final four days. I know she didn't want to live like that.
I feel blessed that I was with her the night before she passed, holding her hand and talking to her about stories I wanted to write. She was in home hospice at my house, so I was there when she was in extreme pain in the middle of the night and my dad was lost as to what to do. And I was there the following morning when he woke me up and said she was gone.
But when I think back on those last six days, I have two distinct memories. They make me smile, but they're bittersweet.
The first is when we arrived home from the oncologist who had just given us the six week estimate of the time she had left. My mom was in bed, I lay beside her and my dad sat at her side and the three of us talked, we cried, and yes, we even laughed as we shared stories. It was the last time she was able to really hold any conversation. By the next day, speaking had become difficult for her.
The other memory, the one that definitely makes me laugh now involved pancakes. My mom wouldn't eat much of anything those final days, but we were able to get her to eat pancakes. (Loss of appetite is a sign we were told in stage 4 cancer.) It was only one or two small pancakes, but it was food.
My dad starts arguing with her, saying she has to eat something else, that she couldn't only eat pancakes. (I think this goes along with him feeling lost.) I looked at him and I growled, "If she wants pancakes, make her pancakes!"
We were laughing about this recently. He wanted her to eat chicken or something with more protein, but at that point, I was like the important thing is that she eat. It doesn't matter that it's pancakes meal after meal.
Talking about this made me cry--still--but it also made me smile. Pancakes will forever be tied to my mom now.
