My mother was diagnosed with lung cancer in 1999. It wasn't a really great surprise, as she had quit smoking fifteen years prior, but had been quite a heavy smoker before that. She fought long and hard and she lived two years longer than we thought, that we ever could have imagined.
I remember the last time I saw her alive. My three daughters, and husband, and I had made the trip to New York for an extended stay. We had more or less anticipated that this would be the last time that we would have any time with her. She was in good spirits. It was my three years olds birthday, and she still, even at 12, remembers the cake from that day. It was a difficult two weeks, fraught with many taboo subjects that come when one is facing death, and the others are being left behind.
I remember one morning, my two sisters and I stood in the driveway, after our three husbands had driven off to get some necessity like bagels, because of course, when you're in New York, one must always have a bagel every day. Suddenly, there we stood, my sisters and I, realizing that it was time for us to go in to her. To go in and face the reality of the situation. The reality of saying goodbye. Saying goodbye to my mother, who I adored all my life, truly, was mind boggling. But realizing that she had to say goodbye to her daughters, her babies, as she put it, was nothing less than devestating, and even that couldn't explain the magnitude of this conversation. She said a kind of goodbye, as best that we could all handle. It was so emotionally charged, but we were truthful and I think when we walked out of there we felt that we had connected on the levels we needed to.
It was as if all at once we three realized that the conversation had to be started, and we walked down the short hallway to her room, knocked softly on her bedroom door. "Come in", she quietly, hoarsely said. In we filed, like soldiers, ready for whatever we had to face. But in reality, we had no idea of what we were going to face. One sister sat on the bed next to her, one of us sat in the empty wheelchair, and one kneeled on the floor. She said, "I don't know how to say goodbye to my babies."
There was a silence in the air. A complete and total vacuum. She quietly pointed out how each one of us had positives in our lives -- our children, our spouses, etc. But she specifically said to me, "I know you'll be okay, because you have Pat (my mother-in-law". You will be okay because you have Pat." She continued on her converstaion with my sisters, giving them the same assessment of their home life. But I realized at that moment, that I would be okay because I truly did have Pat. Pat was my husband's mother. She grew up on the other side of the a few states. We were vastly different in many ways. But the reality was, that from the moment my mother met her, she knew that I was safe with Pat and that Pat would always take care of me.
Losing my mother was the most devestating thing that has ever happened to me. She was my mentor, my supporter, she, like most mothers, loved my unconditionally. But here I was -- with Pat, who was different from me. But she loved my husband, saw his flaws, adored our children, and truly loved me. So, yes, I would be okay becaues I have Pat. It makes me breath easier because Pat is much younger than my parents are/would be. She is amazing with my children. She is thoughtful. She lets me vent about my kids, and even my husband, her own son. She understands that I love them no less, but am just tired. She truly "gets my back". She is ultimately a gift from my mother.
This is a hard season. This holiday season, with it's truthfulness, and it's falsieties is hard. But my mother was right. I will always be all right as long as I have Pat. And when, God forbid, it's Pat's time to pass on, I hope to be able to care for her in a way that I didn't get to care for my own mother because she lived 1,000 miles away. I hope that I can ease her pain, and that I can thank her for the amazing things she has done for my family, and for me, for the last 21 years. I truly love her.
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