taught me to ride my bike right outside the front door on the sidewalk. This is where I experienced my first love, first heartbreak, and countless other firsts. It’s also where I experienced the loss of one parent, and where I’ll lose my remaining one as well.
I came out here with the intentions of pep talking my mom up, telling her we can get through this and we’ll fight it. I’ve yet to believe my mom wouldn’t beat this cancer, even though she’d told me two months ago that she was going to die from it; I still refused to believe it.
It’s time to accept her fate. She has, my brothers have; I’m the only one still resisting it.
As much as I hated to hear it, Mom has decided to stop everything, no more doctor visits, no more medication except to manage her pain, she’s done. Her only request is to go home and be surrounded with family until her time comes. The doctors are monitoring her for tonight and setting up hospice to begin their visits tomorrow afternoon once she’s home.
It breaks my heart; this isn’t supposed to happen to my mom. It shouldn’t happen to anyone, but especially not her.
Sitting in my old room on the bed, I finally give into the tears I’ve been holding back. Once the dam is opened, I can’t stop. I cry for myself, for Mom, my brothers and nephews, and niece. For the baby I lost and the future ones who won’t get to bond with my mom. And I cry for the failures I made in regards to J.C. and what we could’ve had together.
Not long after my emotional breakdown starts, I feel the strong arms of my brother, Joseph, wrap around me. He doesn’t say anything, just holds and consoles me.
I don’t know when he came home; he was still at the hospital when I left with Christina.
After I finally pull myself together somewhat, he explains.
“I figured you’d want to stay with Mom tonight instead of me. I came home to switch places with you, if you want.”
Not wanting to pass up the opportunity to spend any additional time with my mom, I accept and before I know it, have a small bag packed with a change of clothes and am headed back to the hospital.
Two days later, we’re home and Mom is comfortable. The nurse hospice assigned to her is wonderful; she gets here at 8:00A.M. and leaves at 6:00 P.M.
I’m not sure what determines how long she’s required to stay, whether it’s my mother’s condition or her insurance, but I prefer to think Mom’s personality is what keeps Nurse Kandice around.
Mom’s personality doesn’t reflect someone who’s dying. She still hands out life advice to anyone who’ll listen, she still tells her wonderful stories, still smiles and laughs. She does stay either in her bed or a recliner now; she’s less mobile and tires quickly.
We were all shocked when the doctor told us that Mom has only a matter of months left to live. The only thing we can do at this point is to manage her pain and keep her happy and comfortable.
“Alright, Ms. Patricia, you want me to help you to your room before I head home for the evening?” Kandice asks as I begin putting away the dishes from dinner.
“I think I’ll stay out here, Kandice. Spend some time with my daughter while her brother is at work. She’ll make sure I get to bed.”
I nod my head in agreement and Kandice helps Mom get situated in the living room while I continue cleaning up the kitchen.
Once the kitchen is spotless, I walk into the living room to see Mom has already started to doze off. Not wanting our time together for the night to end just yet, I flip the channel to Dancing with the Stars, pull out my cell and scroll through Facebook for a few moments.
My phone chimes with an incoming text from Tessa.
Tess: How are you? Why didn’t you tell me what’s going on with your mom?
Me: Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to burden anyone and it was so sudden I didn’t think to call.
Tess: It’s okay, I get it. I just wish you would’ve let all of us know. You’ve been so distant
I came out here with the intentions of pep talking my mom up, telling her we can get through this and we’ll fight it. I’ve yet to believe my mom wouldn’t beat this cancer, even though she’d told me two months ago that she was going to die from it; I still refused to believe it.
It’s time to accept her fate. She has, my brothers have; I’m the only one still resisting it.
As much as I hated to hear it, Mom has decided to stop everything, no more doctor visits, no more medication except to manage her pain, she’s done. Her only request is to go home and be surrounded with family until her time comes. The doctors are monitoring her for tonight and setting up hospice to begin their visits tomorrow afternoon once she’s home.
It breaks my heart; this isn’t supposed to happen to my mom. It shouldn’t happen to anyone, but especially not her.
Sitting in my old room on the bed, I finally give into the tears I’ve been holding back. Once the dam is opened, I can’t stop. I cry for myself, for Mom, my brothers and nephews, and niece. For the baby I lost and the future ones who won’t get to bond with my mom. And I cry for the failures I made in regards to J.C. and what we could’ve had together.
Not long after my emotional breakdown starts, I feel the strong arms of my brother, Joseph, wrap around me. He doesn’t say anything, just holds and consoles me.
I don’t know when he came home; he was still at the hospital when I left with Christina.
After I finally pull myself together somewhat, he explains.
“I figured you’d want to stay with Mom tonight instead of me. I came home to switch places with you, if you want.”
Not wanting to pass up the opportunity to spend any additional time with my mom, I accept and before I know it, have a small bag packed with a change of clothes and am headed back to the hospital.
Two days later, we’re home and Mom is comfortable. The nurse hospice assigned to her is wonderful; she gets here at 8:00A.M. and leaves at 6:00 P.M.
I’m not sure what determines how long she’s required to stay, whether it’s my mother’s condition or her insurance, but I prefer to think Mom’s personality is what keeps Nurse Kandice around.
Mom’s personality doesn’t reflect someone who’s dying. She still hands out life advice to anyone who’ll listen, she still tells her wonderful stories, still smiles and laughs. She does stay either in her bed or a recliner now; she’s less mobile and tires quickly.
We were all shocked when the doctor told us that Mom has only a matter of months left to live. The only thing we can do at this point is to manage her pain and keep her happy and comfortable.
“Alright, Ms. Patricia, you want me to help you to your room before I head home for the evening?” Kandice asks as I begin putting away the dishes from dinner.
“I think I’ll stay out here, Kandice. Spend some time with my daughter while her brother is at work. She’ll make sure I get to bed.”
I nod my head in agreement and Kandice helps Mom get situated in the living room while I continue cleaning up the kitchen.
Once the kitchen is spotless, I walk into the living room to see Mom has already started to doze off. Not wanting our time together for the night to end just yet, I flip the channel to Dancing with the Stars, pull out my cell and scroll through Facebook for a few moments.
My phone chimes with an incoming text from Tessa.
Tess: How are you? Why didn’t you tell me what’s going on with your mom?
Me: Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to burden anyone and it was so sudden I didn’t think to call.
Tess: It’s okay, I get it. I just wish you would’ve let all of us know. You’ve been so distant
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