January 13-15, 2004

It didn't rain that day. I remember the sun was shining, and unseasonably there were still two foxgloves clinging to life outside her window. She lay in her rec room, which had been converted into a bedroom,  in some kind of state between this life and the next.

I had been awake for hours. Preparing to feed my toddler and get my Kindergartener out the door to school on time. Before I left I went to wash my mother's face. In an exhausted stupor I got the water too hot but when I placed it on her face she didn't move. I called one of our hospice ladies and she came to sit with mom while I took Haylee to class.

When I returned the nurse told me my mother was dying. These were her final hours, and even though I knew they were coming, something in me refused to acknowledge it. I called my brothers and sister to let them know what was happening. I don't remember who or how but someone came and took my children. I sat by her bed from that point on. My older sister joined me and we sat there vigilantly waiting for her to wake up. Since I had taken CNA courses I had to administer her meds and bathe her. This is the hardest thing I've ever done, to see my perfect mother broken and helpless this way.

The three moments that stand out most for me over the next two nights she rallied were: once she sat straight up looked right into the eyes of myself, my niece, and my sister and said, "oh you're here, well then I guess its ok to go." I remember my sister reading her the end of a book she had called Shepard's Abiding, and I remember that I got to hear her last words. This is my favorite memory.

Three years before that moment my mom let my family of four move in with her to take care of her. Every day she would tell me she wanted the same thing for breakfast, "Just a piece of toast with a little bit of peanut butter... lot of butter."
She ate that almost every day for the 22 years of my life I could remember so eventually I would tease her about it.
"What mom, you want an omelette? Steak and eggs? You got it."
My other answer was, " I know mom, I know."

So there we were... in her room...sun shining through the window down on her bed while I held her hand and sobbed to her, "Mom, I just want you to know that I love you so much!" She replied...
"I know, I know."  Those were her very last words. They are precious to me.

That woman was my world. She was my best friend and my biggest critic. She was the most gentle and fierce woman I ever knew. She was crazy at times, imperfectly perfect, artistic, a lover of books and music. She was the most loving human being I ever knew. She was my mama.

I miss her so much. I am sad my children will never get to know her the way I did. I know i'm not the only one who lost her. I'm not the only one to lose a mother even, and I know i'm not the only one who hurts that she is no longer with us in person.

She loved her sons. She loved her daughters. She loved her nieces and she adored her grandchildren. She was 4'11' and I loved being taller than her. Now my kids, and everyone else's kids, love boasting when they are taller than me. I pretend to be annoyed, but really I love it. I think secretly my mom loved it too.