It’s been a long time since I have been to this site. My last blog summed it up. But on Sunday, September 20th, my mother took her final breath and went to heaven.  

My sister & I were by her side for days. It seemed like an eternity, but now when I look back, it was really just a blink of an eye and now she is gone from our lives forever. But she is also free from suffering, from pain, and she can hear again. My mother was deaf.

We took her on a Mother’s Day cruise, she had never been on one. She loved it so much. Mom lived her life to the fullest. Right up until the end.  

I am still numb, I don’t think it has hit me yet. I hope I am in a safe place when the reality that my mother will never call me again, never hug me again, never sit and talk to me for hours again or just laugh at my silly jokes. I will never hear her voice again, please God, let me be in a safe place when the pain comes and I can’t hold back the tears.

Mom, you will never know just how much I love and miss you.

The past few months have been a whirlwind for me.  

It all began one day while I was at work. It was a normal day, just as many others. Then I received a phone message from my sister, "Lisa, call me, it's Mom!" I called her back right away, my sister told me my mother was in severe pain, and she thought she may have fell and broke a rib. My mother & sister live in NC, I live in Florida.

Fast forward, a few hours and X-rays later, 2 masses were found, one on each of her ovaries. Huge masses. Still, we were in denial. After all, our history was very good, her mother, my grandmother lived to 94. Everything would be okay.  

Surgery, Friday, February 13th.  (Yes, Friday the 13th, I'm not superstitious, but hey) I won't forget that date.  

Cancer.  Cancer? This cannot happen. She is only 73. She is young to me, active, happy.

We wait for the biopsy results. What she is told after surgery is not the whole story. It has spread. It is bad. I get on a plane to fly to her. My sister and I tell her together. We sit at her feet and we tell her the most difficult thing I have ever had to tell anyone before. My mother is stoic. Brave. Serene. Calm. Peaceful. She knows where she will go when she dies; she has no fear at all. (Her words)

Chemo.

The first round is tough, much tougher then she expects. It does her in. She just about gets back on her feet and round two begins.  Not long after the second round, she gets double vision, etc.  My sister takes her to the emergency room.

Stroke.

I fly back again. I don't recognize her. It hasn't been very long, but she has no hair, she is weak, she is ill, she is miserable.  She is done.

Quality vs. quantity.  

Mom decides no more chemo, no more hell.  Whatever time she has left she is not going to undergo chemo and be so sick.  We are praying she will regain some strength. So far, this has not happened.

Hospice.

We had hospice come in to speak with Mom, my sister & I.  So many questions. I think Mom feels better now that she has a handle on what they will provide for her. I spent the entire time that the hospice nurse was with us, trying to keep the tears from showing up. Finally, I failed miserably. Mom, in her infinite wisdom said, "Soon this will all be over sweetie, then you can go back to your life. I am sorry you have to go through this."  Oh, great!! Don't I feel like crap!  This is not what she meant, she honestly was trying to console me, but the last thing I want is for "this" to be OVER.  

Don't misunderstand; I want her suffering to be over. I just don't want her to be gone. I don't know who I am going to call and share my stories about my daughters with.  I don't know who I will call and talk to about "anything" and know that she cares about everything I have to say.  I will miss our endless talks. I will miss her advice, her wisdom and experience, her quick sense of humor.  

Most of all, I don't know how I will ever, ever, ever not miss her.