Ten Years
Dear Mom,
You’ve been gone for ten years.
When you look at it on paper, 10 years sounds like a long time. A decade, double-digits, a reason for a high school reunion. But when I close my eyes, ten years later, I’m immediately back in the ICU, listening to the hypnotic beeps of the monitors and the stifled sounds of the hallway, dizzy from the smell of sanitized hospital stuff and patients’ last breaths. I am instantly transported back to your bedside with my head pounding as I concentrated on your every move. I am again paralyzed with the fear of missing your last breath or the miraculous recovery I think I still held out for. I remember how badly I had to pee.
There’s really no other way to describe the night you died but to say time stopped and my world shattered. We were with you until the end, when you finally succumbed to the fight that your body could no longer take. You were brave, you were scared, and you were beautiful.
The beeping, the smells, the stifled air, it was all too much. And I really, really had to pee. I think I sat there for 18 hours, maybe more, not flinching. I don’t remember. I wouldn’t leave. I couldn’t.
You were lucid, even funny, then very confused. You talked to people who weren’t in the room and were nagged by a discomfort in your leg. Slowly your body started to shut down. Christy eventually coaxed you to where you needed to go. It took some time, as you didn’t want to leave. Truthfully, I didn’t want you to leave either and I think you knew that.
Eventually, we all told you it was ok to say good-bye. I told you to go. The words were almost impossible to form let alone say out loud. I sat motionless, watching you finally, gracefully go.
My world shattered. Time stopped.
I really had to pee.
I don’t like to think about you in that room and what it was like after you stopped breathing; after they disconnected that insufferable beeping monitor and the florescent lights that were too bright. You looked yellow, but somehow, in your true manner, still very, very beautiful.
I kissed your cold forehead and I knew you were no longer in the room. You looked peaceful. It’s absolutely true that when someone’s soul has left her body it is obvious. Yours had clearly, finally, moved on, and I felt some relief at that.
I don’t remember if I said anything more to you than: ‘I love you,’ because I’d never wanted to run away from anywhere so fast in my life. But then again I still had to pee…
In ten years so much has happened and I have written to you every day, in my mind at least. This is to make up for the fact that we used to talk on the phone every day, sometimes three, four times a day, and now nothing, silence. Since you don’t answer, I thought maybe if I started writing it down, you’d answer me in some other way. At least I can hope.
Love,
Sara
Always smiling and joking. Our last visit to the Emergency Room - 2000
Next month in July marks 11 years since my mother, Susan, passed away from cancer. I’ve held on to this post for awhile, not sure whether or when to share it due to its personal nature. Today, felt right. It basically shares one of the reasons why I’m blogging and revisits that evening in the ICU. I’ve been reading Meaghan O’Rourke’s book, The Long Goodbye lately and have found it deeply moving and cathartic. I guess this is why I decided to post this ‘letter’ now.
With love,
Sara
You are amazing, and I hope you know that. I truly believe that your mom speaks to you every day because you are an amazing mother, just as she sounded like one. Even though it may not seem like she’s there, she is. She guides you, comforts you, and most of all laughs with you. She is with you every step you take in your wonderful journey of life, and Anna & Jack are so lucky to have you in their lives, just as you were to have your mom for the time you did. I love you!
Thanks Aud for your super kind words. She was pretty great -not perfect – which is what I think made her great. I really wish you could have met her! It’s funny b/c I have a picture of your dad and my mom at our graduation lunch! xoxo
Oh, Sara. I am in tears reading this. I lost my brother in much the same way; in an ICU room, with beeping and lights and sounds. He was almost gone when I got there, I called his wife and I think he waited for her to come because he died about a minute after she walked in the room. Your mother was a beautiful, beautiful person and she had a beautiful, beautiful daughter and I’m so so sorry for your loss. Thank you for writing this; really. It’s wonderful.
jillsmo recently posted..Things I Find In My House X
I’m so sorry for the loss of your brother – it’s so surreal to be there at the end isn’t it?
That said I am so glad I was. That night has taught me so much about life and this journey.
Thank you for your support and your kind words – this was a tough post to decide to publish.
*HUGS* to you Jill. No I’m going to go over to your post so you can make me laugh.
This is so beautiful Sara. Thank you for sharing it.
Here via Jillsmo. First and foremost, *hugs* (if you’ll accept them from a random Internetizen). This sounds so very and painfully familiar – it’s been just over 14 years since I stood in an ICU room while my father left this world.
Your post is beautifully written, heartbreaking, and left me teary-eyed.
I will definitely accept hugs, even from random Internetizens. (Any friend of Jill’s is ok by me.)
I’m so sorry for your loss. Fourteen years probably feels like nothing right? I doubt it will ever feel distant, it’s too strong of an event. Thank you for reading and for your kind words. Now please accept my *HUGS* in return.
And a fitting remembrance of a soul who personified what it is to be human. Hardly a day goes by without a thought of her and the tragedy of her death so young in my mind. Life is so profoundly unfair, despite her struggles to emerge as a person in her own right she would have been so ecstatically fulfilled and happy to see her grand-children and know that you have made your own happiness in this crazy world.
this was such a beautiful post, sara. thank you for allowing us to share in your most precious memory (and thank God for mothers!).
dayka@ life+style recently posted..DIY TOOLKIT ESSENTIALS
Sara,
I am here from the red dress club and must tell you this post touched me deeply. It has been 20 years since my dad passed away from cancer and 14 since I was dx and this post…well it touched me. Thank you for sharing it.
melody
This letter has me in tears and brings me back to a time in my life that is so difficult to think about as well. I understand how cathartic the writing process is and hope that you continue to find that too. Sending a million hugs your way.
Jessica recently posted..My Kids Are the Messiest
This post was very moving. I am sure your mother would be very happy to see that you hold her memory so strong.
Kelly recently posted..Choosing Love
This is beautiful and I’m so glad you decided to share it. It makes me understand what it must have been like to be there, and how painful that would be. I wouldn’t have been able to leave either, even if I had to pee.
I love that picture of your mom – it shows her beauty and your beautiful spirit.
MamaRobinJ recently posted..On the Move: Guest Post & Some Other Stuff
ok so I’m supposed to go get my drink on and now I’m crying. gr88888.
I love hearing your stories about your mum. She looks like she has such spirit…I totally see you in her.
xoxo
Kathryn C recently posted..Dear feminists, put a lid on it
What a moving post.
thepsychobabble recently posted..Ten Steps to Not Writing a Blog Post
Oh sweet Sara! What a tremendous and lovely post. I am completely overcome…I am so sorry you’ve lost your mom. But I love the way you wrote this post as a letter. I hope it has helped in some small way. I also hope she answers…
HUGS!
xoxo
Erin Margolin recently posted..What Does Your Daughter See in the Mirror?
Hi Sara. I am dropping in from TRDC and I am so glad I did. Your post has me sitting here in tears. Thank you so much for sharing such a deep part of yourself with us. I can relate. I lost my seven year old nephew to cancer. I also lost my aunt to cancer who was my best friend. So this post definitely tugged at my heart strings and flooded me with memories of my own.
Marcia Loyd recently posted..Weighing In On A Controversy
I’m glad you shared it, thank you. It’s beautiful. It makes me ache for you, you never really get over things like that. You were lucky to have such a great relationship, I wish I had that kind of rapport with my parents.
Anastasia recently posted..Food For Thought-The Passionate Rant Edition
ok my first visit and you have me crying! i too said goodbye to my precious daddy taken with cancer on my daughters first birhday. i still miss him every day but i know he is with me. a few months after his passing my daughter was diognosed with smith magenis syndrome, it was the double shock whammy that crippled me. 2 and half years on i am just recovering but will always miss my dad! love and hugs. stopping by from the rdc linkup and glad i did xx