An open letter to my Mom on the first anniversary of her death. A year ago on April 1, my life was torn and a part of me died with my Mom. A year ago today I watched my Mom die in the hospital. A year ago today a family permanently changed.
“I am not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”
“Every man must do two things alone; he must do his own believing and his own dying.”
5 The women were terrified and bowed with their faces to the ground. Then the men asked, “Why are you looking among the dead for someone who is alive? 6 He isn’t here! He is risen from the dead! Remember what he told you back in Galilee, 7 that the Son of Man[b] must be betrayed into the hands of sinful men and be crucified, and that he would rise again on the third day.”
Luke 24:5-7 NLT
My Mom was always be the Crab!
I have dreaded this day. Its a hard, cold day that I wish never happened. Today, exactly one year ago, at 6:24 in the evening you were torn from my life. One year ago today at 6:24 in the ICU of St. Agnes Hospital in Fresno, California you died in front of me, your husband, and daughters. My life is permanently changed. A mother’s bond with her son should never be broken. And yet in this case it has. Last night I grabbed a beer with a friend in Maryland. As I was driving home I reflected on my last night with you. Sitting by your bedside. Getting ready to leave and you having breathing problems. Staying and not leaving because I wanted to be there to support you. I finally left the hospital at 12:30 and collapsed into my bed wearing my cloths. The next thing I remember was Cheryl waking me up at 5:30 and telling me that you were moved into the ICU. On April 1, 2017 I went to the hospital and sat next to you in the ICU. Heard the doctor say that they have done all that they can do. But still I had hope.
I still had hope.
Hope that we would have more time together. All I wanted was 10 more years. 10 more years to spend time with you. Hear your laugh. Have some more hugs. Have some more phone calls and still have you as my Mom. That is all I wanted Mom. I wanted 10 more years. I knew death was going to come eventually but I didn’t think this would happen. I clung to hope so fiercely that I had to do do so. At 6:24 in the evening I watched you die. It was one of the hardest things I saw. i never want to watch another person die again Mom. To watch the blood pressure go down, machines do to zero or more was awful. Just awful. This wasn’t supposed to be like this Mom. What happened Mom? We were supposed to have more time together. We were supposed to do more in life. You left us too soon Mom.
This has been so hard Mom. This past year has been a living hell in a lot of ways. To celebrate a birthday and not have you call. Celebrate holidays and have that void. To face Mothers Day and not be able to send you a card, or give you a call. To celebrate Christmas and not have you here was hard. Mom the truth of the matter is that when you died I felt like a part of me died also. Physically I do not feel the same. I feel very different. My life has been shattered in many ways. Mom I miss you deeply. I would trade everything I have to take one more phone call, or spend more time with you. My personal belongings, car, career and more I would trade all that to have one more hug, conversation and more. This has been hell Mom. And in the midst of all this there has been taking care of Dad and helping out when I can. The real person that took your place Mom is Cheryl. She now does all the work at home. The cooking, cleaning, doctor visits, driving Dad to Stanford. She has done all that. Yes this is the same daughter who you used to get on about her leaving her clothes on the floor in her room. But I took Dad to Montana last August. And then in May we are taking him to New Orleans. We are taking him places he wants to see
I have done many things this year as I process your loss. I have had coffee the way you did. The other night I had Polish food that you like, potato pancakes and pirogi. I have attended theater here in Washington, D.C. and seen Ragtime. I have traveled to Kansas and saw the Eisenhower museum, which you have always wanted to see. I have traveled more in 2017 then I ever thought I would. This letter to you I need to get off my chest. I don’t know what I will do on Sunday evening. I am dreading tomorrow. I probably will spend part of it weeping and just want to maybe take a walk outside or watch the sunset or more. I would do everything I can Mom to bring it all back. I So with that I am going to face tomorrow and get through some how.
I love you Mom, I always will love you. My love for you will not change in death. You will always be a part of my life in many ways.