Bucket List
November 1999, New York Sara, Mom and Geoff
My mom started living on borrowed time when she got her final diagnosis, acute myelogenous leukemia, or AML. On the day she noticed a series of red dots on her body, not a rash, but spots that didn’t go away, she went to her dermatologist. The doctor, who recognized what it was immediately, played dumb and did a biopsy while we waited in the dark.
Being impatient and jumpy, I looked up the symptoms on WebMd. The online doctor notes quickly concluded that these ‘dots’ were “petaechiae” (pe-tay-key-ah), a symptom of leukemia and basically we were totally fucked. I felt my mouth go dry and told her what it could possibly be. We braced ourselves for the worst news possible.
Two days later, sitting across from the jolliest hematology-oncologist in the world, the doctor handed Mom her prognosis: six months, maybe less. Treatment was not going to be an option as her body would not be able to withstand another round of chemo like the last. My mom then asked the doctor her favorite question: “What would you tell your wife or your daughter to do if they were me?” He answered: “I would tell her to pack her bags and take the trip of a lifetime, do whatever she’d always wanted to do.” Shit.
I drove us home both of us in shock. She fell apart when we reached her best friend’s driveway. Shit.
The next few days, she sat in denial while I was determined to find another explanation, another option. There has to be another solution I told myself. I researched second opinions and called the leading hematologist in all of New York City, I think maybe the world. We pulled strings left and right and got in to see him. He was gruff and direct: he echoed the jolly doctor’s prognosis and said she was simply out of options, out of time. There were no experimental drugs left to try, her body would not be able to withstand the treatments. I drove us home again and we got drunk on margaritas.
She did and she didn’t accept the doctor’s sentence. She was not ready. She did not want to go. So instead of six months, she lived for another twelve. Typical for my mom.
During the next year, we didn’t talk about the idea of her dying on a regular basis, who wants to talk about that? But one day we did sit down and tell each other how we were going to be ok. It was teary and emotional. It was absolutely brutal.
Because we ignored the elephant in the room, that of her exploding timeline, I didn’t think it odd that she didn’t pack her bags and take off on a trip around the world, despite her love for travel. I simply didn’t believe she would die. She wasn’t going to need a bucket list. She was not going to die.
But she had made a bucket list, I just didn’t know it. I didn’t realize it until after she passed away, when I found the notebook she left for me to find. There wasn’t a list of top ten of places to go or new things to try, her bucket list had one simple thing on it:
In a drawer in her bedroom, my brother and I found letters addressed to us and penned in her beautiful long hand. I have no idea when she wrote them, she had been in the ICU for weeks so they must have been there for awhile. And I have no idea how she got through writing them, I can’t fathom writing my children letters good-bye, but she did somehow and wrote out everything she wanted us to know. She outlined her love and hopes for us: Stay close. Be healthy. Follow your passion. You are very loved. She would always be with us.
I have no idea how she wrote these things out. I can’t imagine what that was like. Although I do think she liked having the last word.
The letter is my most prized-possession.
In the same drawer, in two small boxes, my brother and I each found one hundred slips of paper, each with a special memory she had handwritten. Things like, how proud of me she was the first time I called her from a business trip to Zurich or how silly it was that I used to make her “smell my feet” to make her laugh.
I have no idea how long she worked on these or when she found the time to do it. I never saw her writing them down. These gifts were just waiting for us.
When she died, she was not ready to go. She fought and tried to keep her body in motion. She was a fighter until the end. Maybe she worried that she still had more to tell us, to make us feel loved.
But she needn’t have worried. We knew. We loved her too. I hope she knew how much.
Oh, how amazing to read about this journey in the last year you had with your mom, thank you for the sweet tribute to her, and for telling us about her gift to you. The letter and the hundred scraps of paper with memories… <3
This is powerful, well written and beautiful. If I’m being honest it made me tear up. Thank you for sharing this. It’s so very touching.
Sara, this was beautiful, moving, powerful, touching. Pretty amazing that you found the words. Thank you for sharing. xo
Wow. This is incredible, and your mom’s gift was incredible; truly a treasure. Thank you for sharing with us.
This brings it all back. I don’t know how you revisited it all & wrote it, and I am sure it was good for you to express it so beautifully. I still have the final letter she wrote to me. She told me to go into business for myself, a dream I didn’t think was possible. She told me how she treasured our friendship. She wanted me to keep “in touch with the kids over the years. They need the family connection.” I would have done that anyway, Sara. I need the connection to her. I absolutely know for sure that she knew how much you loved her.
This was such a gorgeous tribute to your mom. I love the letters, the love, the memories that she wrote, you found and then shared. Truly touching.
Your mother sounds like an amazing person. I feel honored to be reading about her, I can’t even imagine how honored you must feel that she was your mom. I’m sure she would have loved this piece and the piece you wrote last week. Thank you for sharing, truly.
What a beautifully heartbreaking piece. I am in tears as I type. This was such an amazing tribute to your mom and I’m so glad to have gotten to know her through your words.
Your mother sounds like an amazing woman and I can’t imagine the depths of how much she is missed. What a lovely, lovely thing she did, leaving you those notes. How painful it must’ve been for her to write them, but at the same time, what a labor of love.
Just beautiful, this post. Thank you so much for sharing her with us.
What a beautiful gift your mother made for you.
This is beautiful, thank you for sharing.
Tissue.. now.
This hits so close to home, but what a beautiful thing she did for you.
This makes me want to write letters and memories down for my children, just in case, so that they can have something wonderful to cherish like you do. Your story was so beautifully written.
I love this. It would be so easy in this world of constant distraction to go leaving behind loved ones who don’t know where they stand. Your mother fulfilled her bucket list beautifully, and she picked the most important thing in the world to do. Letting people know with words and actions that you care is a daily priority, but what a precious gift you have in those letters and notes. It’s a treasure that you can carry and pass on to your own children.
Oh Sara, this is so beautiful. I can’t imagine doing that either, and I can’t imagine reading it. But what an amazing gift.
Simple and hearbreaking and inspiring all at the same time. Your mom was obviously a wonderful woman – this is a perfect reminder of what is important in life.Thank you for sharing it.
Girl…this totally made me cry. What a selfless thing for your mama to do…how much time and love and thought she put into that…blows my mind. What a good mama. I’m sure she is sorely missed, and I am so sorry for your loss. THank you so much for sharing such an amazing, timeless story of love!
Sara, what a wonderful tribute to your mom – and what an amazing woman she was! I need to start writing memories down for my daughters as I barely remember what we did last week. Time with our loved ones is all that matters.
Thank you for sharing such a wonderful, personal story with us. Your mom sounds like a wonderful, caring person. How lucky you were to have her, and how lucky she was to have you.
This is simply beautiful. I have tears pouring down my face. Your mom was an amazing, strong woman. I hope I can be half the mother she was to you.
Your mom was amazing. So are you.