Mom lingered such a long time.. I moved past my anger.. I moved on to fear. Every waking moment (and there were many), I was afraid. I think I liked the anger better, I could function, I wasn't paralyzed.
Mother had been brave, why do people use that word, brave? As if crying or wondering why, labeled you a coward..In the face of such a disease, why would you be expected to be brave? I watched my mother go from a stout matron to a diminutive, almost invisible child.
What a horrible thing, something to eat you from inside out, something to sap all the living out of you. For the first few weeks, I didn't sleep, I sat in a chair next to mothers bed, when my eyes closed I would feel guilty.. Finally I succumbed to exhaustion.
Her nurse had been gentle, concerned, very skilled but, she was my mother and soon we began to rub each other the wrong way, we tolerated each other because we both had something to give.. She gave her skills and I gave... my fear, my devotion, my something.
I didn't leave the house, simply put, I'd been afraid. Suppose I was gone and death came?
One day while sitting with mother, I asked her, if she was afraid. Her answer was elogent in itself..
"No, I am not afraid, I have lived well in my short years, I have no regrets, the fear I had at first has been put aside, I now accept my calling, I look forward to it.. It will be glorious and, this is the way you should remember it, I love you very much."
And she died, right there, she passed away, it was quiet, still peaceful, glorious in all it's silence..
I love you too Mom..