Mama was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in April. I was at the appointment with her when the specialist gave her the news. He told her she likely had a year, maybe two or three if she was a candidate for surgery and treatment, which we soon discovered she wasn't. When we drove home from the appointment I asked her how she felt. She said it didn't feel real. I asked her if she felt angry. She told me she was sad. She said she wasn't ready to leave, there were more things she wanted to do. She thought she had more time. I asked her what she wanted to do. She said she wanted to come to Welland for a weekend, go shopping and hang out like we used to... that was mama's bucket list item: coming to Welland for a weekend, like she used to. We kept trying to make a plan, but her health kept declining. We thought we had more time.
A few days after the appointment mom sent me a message that said: "I am ok if you are ok so let's just be ok" I replied: "I'm ok if you are ok, so we will be ok" and she responded: "Yup we will make a vow to just be ok whatever"
My greatest fear during childhood was losing my mom. I also worried about the end of the world a lot - but to be honest, the thought of either was equally terrifying. When I was little she was my hero. She had magic hands, they made everything better. When I grew up she was my best friend. A best friend who I shared everything with. Even when she politely asked me to stop oversharing... As a child I never wanted to leave her side. As an adult I started every day with a message to her: "Good Morning Mama", and a phone call on my drive to work, sometimes a second phone call on my drive home. The daily phone call started over eight years ago when Shari was in a dark place, and we would check in with each other, compare notes and make sure sista was ok. The daily phone calls continued after we lost Shari. First to check in and make sure we were both ok. We weren't, and we talked about it. We talked about everything. We always did. We talked about our days, what was for dinner, what embarrassing thing happened - nothing made her laugh quite as much as a good, embarrassing story. We talked about trivial things, and we talked about serious things. When the world felt scary and bad she was my person. She had a way to always make me feel like everything was going to be ok. It's ok now...
When someone dies from cancer people always say they 'fought a courageous battle..' there is always this image of fighting. Mama didn't fight. She gracefully shifted from being sad that she thought she had more time into a very soft and peaceful acceptance. When mom went to the hospital there was a change. She cracked open like a shell, and she oozed love. She oozed peace. We all just wanted to be around her. One week before she died all of her grandchildren came to see her. I had noticed she always had a tissue in her hand, and I wanted her to have something to hold when we weren't there. Something for those magic hands that had always worked so hard, and given so much - those hands that always made everything better, to cuddle with. Julian and Nora brought her this stuffed bunny. She named her Pamela and she never let her go.
Mama taught me so many things. How to fold laundry into perfect little squares. How to squeeze water out of a dish cloth 'the right way'. How to cook a turkey and make chicken paprikash and nookedlie. How to decorate a Christmas tree (while listening to Dolly & Kenny). There are so many more things I wanted to learn from her. I thought we had more time.
She was always strong. She was always beautiful. When it felt like the world was crumbling around me she had a way of making me truly believe that it's ok now...
I love you and miss you mama, always & forever... xo
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1 comment:
Such a lovely, moving piece about your special relationship with your mom. She gave you permission to be ok because she wanted you not to hurt and because she had found peace in herself. That was a gift for both of you.
You are a loving daughter and she was a loving mother. ❤️
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