I Remember 8 Years Ago

I remember being so excited for my best friend's wedding weekend. I had just left the DMV. I was an official resident of Ohio (as if that's better than living in Indiana). The weather was a gorgeous Fall October day and I was cruising across I-74 heading West to Batesville. The windows were slightly down, John Mellencamp's Peaceful World was blasting on my radio. Even though I wasn't the maid of honor, since my best friend had 2 sisters, I was going to be the best bridesmaid ever. Her whole family was at the reception hall decorating and I couldn't wait to get there and help. First, I wanted to make a quick stop at mom and dad's house to say hi to my mom, give her a kiss and then go decorate the hall with tacky tulle and lace.


I remember pulling into the driveway and seeing the hospice nurse's car. A little odd because she was usually gone by 10:00 am. She was sitting in the dining room with my dad, both of their faces looked somber. I asked "What's up?" Determined not to let anything ruin the weekend I had planned. "Your mother took a turn for the worse" my father said. Followed by the nurse, "She won't make it through the weekend. You should take the day and say your goodbyes. She won't respond, but she'll hear you." WHAT?!? She won't make it through the weekend?!? But yesterday she was up, almost walking by herself, joking around with me. What do you mean she took a turn for the worse? The nurse responded "Sometimes, right before someone dies, they have their best days. They want you to remember them as being ok." She left my father and I sitting there blankly staring at each other. I looked over at her, lying in her hospital bed. It didn't even look like her. I had spent the past 10 months, with my mother, a cancer patient, and all of a sudden I didn't recognize her. I jumped up from the table and told my dad I had to go tell my friend I wouldn't be able to help her decorate.


I remember the 5 minute drive to the reception hall. I was thinking of how you tell someone your mother may not make it through the night and you can't be there to help her on her wedding weekend. My friend's mother first greeted me when I arrived. My friend's parents were good friends of my parents for 30+ years. She saw me and immediately knew something was wrong. She hugged me and that was the moment I started to cry. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity. It felt good having a parent take care of me, hold me, instead of me taking care of my parent. It was selfish I know, but it felt good. I stayed for an hour, told my friend I was sorry I couldn't help, but I would see her later that evening at the rehearsal dinner.


I remember walking in the house and I could tell that my dad just told her goodbye. His eyes were glassy, puffy. His face was flush. He told me he thought it was a good time for me to say goodbye as well. He left me alone in the living room with my mom. She wasn't even conscious. I sat there for a few minutes holding her hand. It was so cold. Say goodbye? How do you pack 22 years of love and affection into a goodbye? I started crying, uncontrollably sobbing, and laid my head on her shoulder. I told her how much I loved her. I told her I was so sorry this had happened to her. I told her life wasn't fair. I told her she was the best mother a daughter could ask for. I promised to take care of Dad. I told her I was going to miss her. I told herhow much I loved her over and over again. I wanted to make sure she left this world knowing at least that.


I remember sitting in silence with my Dad. There was nothing we could say. We knew exactly what each other was thinking. We were eating lunch later, when my brother walked through the door. He had flown in from Florida for my friend's wedding. In my brother's typical fashion he said, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I remember my father and I standing in our kitchen waiting for my brother to finish his goodbye. He came into the kitchen when he was done, tears in his eyes and said, "She looked at me and said I'm dying."

I remember being upset that she spoke to my brother during his goodbye. Why didn't she acknowledge me? Why didn't she tell me she loved me back? Why didn't she tell me she was going to miss me too?

I remember that night. I left my Mom and Dad to go to my friend's rehearsal dinner. I told my Dad to call me if anything happened. I checked my cell phone every 5 minutes. After the dinner our group of friends were going out to some bars, but I opted to go home to be with my Mom and help my Dad. It was surreal when I arrived back home. It was dark in the living room with only one lamp on low. My Dad was sitting in his chair next to my Mom. The TV wasn't on. It was peaceful. For a second I thought she had passed, but then I heard her breathing. The death rattle they called it. That's how you know someone is going to die.

I remember that night. I remember it was the first time in a really long time my Dad didn't have a beer or a Manhattan. I remember the 2 of us sitting in the living room, me on the floor my Dad still in his chair. I remember us reminiscing about the past 10 months, about the funny things my Mom did and said, about how she said she saw Jesus smiling down at her.

I remember helping my Dad administer her final dose of medicine, pain killers. I remember falling asleep on the floor on the mattress my Dad had brought down from upstairs.

I remember the next day, the 27th. She was still alive, barely. I got ready for my friend's wedding, had my cousin do my hair and make-up. I went to the church where I kept peaking out of the vestibule to see if my Dad and brother had made it. I knew if they were there my Mom was fine. I spotted my brother who smiled and waved. It was such a simple gesture, but reassured me that he knew how I was feeling and I knew how he was feeling. The ceremony started and no sign of my Dad. I knew it then, that she was gone, she had died.

I remember going from the ceremony straight home and walking through the front door. Most of my family was already there. My Dad said she had been gone for a couple of hours but didn't want me to miss my friend's wedding. My Mom would have wanted it that way. He said he wanted some time alone with her too. They were married for 30 years and 5 months, he deserved at least a couple of hours alone with her.

I remember going straight to her, she looked so peaceful. I remember crying like a little baby. I remember kissing her on the cheek and telling her again how much I loved her. I remember all of us, my dad, my brother, my grandparents, my aunt, my uncle, my cousins, and my cousin's wife all sitting in our living room just looking at her. I remember my aunt (my mom's sister) arriving with her daughter. I remember my aunt commenting on how beautiful I looked in my bridesmaid dress. I remember thinking "holy shit you remind me of my mom" and I never saw it before that moment. I remember the funeral home coming to pick her up. I remember my Dad, my brother, my dog and I standing in the basement while they took her away. I remember the 4 of us emerging from the basement and the house being so quiet, eerily quiet. I remember my dog staring out the front window, as if she was waiting for my mom to return, we were all waiting for her to return.

I remember 8 years ago like it was yesterday, yet I can't remember any time before that. Sure I remember things here and there, but when I think of my mom, I mean really think of her, I remember 8 years ago and I remember cancer. I miss her like crazy. Each year the pain gets a little easier, but there is always a moment when I wish I could see her, talk to her, get her response. Like when I met my husband, when I got married, when I find out I'm pregnant.

I guess the more I think about it, I remember more than just cancer: I remember my mom being beautiful inside and out. I remember my mom liking white zinfandel. I remember my mom loving to read books, smut books. I remember my mom being smart. I remember my mom's singing voice. I remember her sneeze and how I jumped every time she did it. I remember her enjoying cross stitching. I remember her loving Christmas and those silly Christmas sweaters. I remember where she sat on our couch. I remember her hands and how I envied her manicure. I remember her smile. I remember feeling loved.

R.I.P Mom. 10-27-01