My mother is the strongest person I know. She survived as a young girl during Hitler’s regime, she married an American soldier and moved across the ocean to the United States when she was only twenty years old. She became as Americanized as any person I know. She raised five children and ran a farm. However the one battle she could not win was her fight with pancreatic cancer.
It began in the spring of 2001 when she began to experience heartburn on a continuing basis. Her doctor prescribed Nexium. By this time my mother had been a widow for seven years and continued to live on the farm she and my father had made for home since 1953. Mom’s health continued to decline and she found less and less enjoyment from eating and even passed up on the chance to celebrate Mother’s Day. By June she had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I remember when she told me. I thought she could fight it and win. After all she was a fighter and I had never seen her lose a battle. I was certain she could fight this battle and win as well. Unfortunately the cancer was so aggressive the doctor gave her three to six months to live. I refused to believe this could be true.
My brother moved in with my mom in June to take care of her. His reasoning was that she had cared for him when he was born premature and he was now going to return the favor. His wife was more understanding than most.
Mom’s health continued to deteriorate and my brother was with her every step of the way. He cared for her as a mother would care for an infant. By the first of July he was inconsolable and I remember him coming to my office and breaking down in tears. Watching your mother die is agony, watching her suffer is torture. I took a weeks vacation and told my brother to go home and spend the week with his wife. I moved in with my mom and saw firsthand the horrors of this cancer.
By now my mother had lost a lot of weight and getting her to eat was becoming increasingly more difficult. She had no desire to eat and who would if you wound up throwing it back up. In her weakened condition it became increasingly more difficult for her to make it to the bathroom and we put a bucket by her bed. I remember my mom telling me the one thing she hated to have when she was sick was having to throw up. Mom apologized more than once for being so sick.
I would go to sleep at night and fear waking up in the morning and checking in on her. What if she had slipped away from me during the night.
Those days I spent with my mother were some of the sweetest memories I will ever have. She still had good days and we would sit outside and just talk about this and that. My mom had a way of stroking your hand while she talked with you. It was during one of those many talks she gave me the diamond ring that my father had given her on her fortieth birthday. I wear that ring every day and treasure it.
After a week my brother returned and I returned to my life of being a mother and employee but was in constant contact with my brother. The day finally arrived when my brother called and told me it wouldn’t be much longer. I flew down to her house never even taking a change of clothing or even a toothbrush.
When I arrived at the house I was shocked to see how she had deteriorated. She was now in a hospital bed and semi-conscious. I sat by her bed and talked to her for hours. Did she hear me? I’ll never know but I wanted her to know she wasn’t alone.
That night I was sure she would pass away and my brother and I sat by her bed all night. In the morning as the fog rolled through the valley my brother and I told her to go home, but she hung on. Was she waiting for my sister to arrive? I think she was.
My sister arrived that morning and we spent the morning with the funeral home making the arrangements. By the afternoon she was slowly slipping away from us. As the three of us surrounded her bedside she slowly slipped away from us.
Now the hard part came. Calling our baby brother and telling him his mother had died and notifying our oldest sister who had distanced herself from the family. Both phone calls were impossible to make but had to be done.
I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air and my son arrived. When I told him his dear grandmother had passed away he was inconsolable. He had lost his grandfather when he was only twelve years old. Now at nineteen he had also lost his grandmother.
Pancreatic cancer had claimed my mother but it wouldn’t take the memories. Memories of mom at my wedding, at the birth of my children. Memories of mom and I sitting and talking for hours. Memories of shopping with my mom. Memories of camping trips with my mom. Memories, such sweet, sweet memories.
My mother didn’t want a funeral but just a memorial service and at the service you could tell how many lives she had impacted. She was strong and private woman but her love for her children was never questioned.
My mother’s strength has made me the person I am today.
More about Diana Dunham
I am a 51 year old mother of two young adults, happily married for 25 years and love living in FL where we moved to 4 years ago from upstate New York. I work for an aeronautical university in Daytona Beach, Florida and love my job. I would say I am a happily, contented person. My daughter is getting married in December and my son lives in NYC with his soul mate. Life is good!
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