One last goodbye

My mom has lung and brain cancer. Did I mention that already? Well, after speaking on the phone with my dad on Sunday morning, I packed my bags, loaded up the car, and drove to Virginia. Dad didn't ask me to come up, and certainly wasn't expecting me. But it was something he said... "I'd be surprised if she lasts longer than a day or two." Apparently Mom's condition had drastically changed. She wouldn't get out of bed. She wouldn't eat. She wouldn't drink. For two days. And when I arrived there on Sunday night at 11:00 p.m., I went up to her room to see her, to tell her that I love her, and to tell her goodbye. She was lying across the bed, a sheet twisted around her tiny body, and she was almost completely naked. I rubbed her bald head, and she knew who I was. She reached up and gave me a limp-armed hug. So I told her what I had to say, and then let her go back to sleep. Needless to say, I didn't sleep that night. I lay there awake all night, wondering if she would be alive when I returned to the townhouse in the morning. Part of me wished that she would pass away in her sleep. Not because I want her to go, but because she seems so miserable, and I think that would be a good way to die. I think she lost her will to live.

But when I did return in the morning, she had already eaten a cup of cereal with milk and had a cup of coffee. Was she playing possum? I don't know. She continued to eat and drink throughout the day, and even decided later that evening, that she was going to get up and come downstairs. Dad and I rushed up the stairs when we saw her teetering at the top, holding onto the rail. She can't walk on her own, but she had gotten out of bed, put on a tshirt and her tennis shoes, and had gotten herself to the stairs. So we brought her down, and she spent about an hour sitting on the couch and working on the word jumble. When I looked at her scribbles later, I saw that she actually had unscrambled a couple of the words.

This morning when I left, I said my last goodbyes. There wasn't anger or sadness or anything. Tomorrow she won't even remember that I was there. I only told her that I loved her and that I will miss her. And I won't be going back up there to see her again.