She fought until the end. She fought so hard. She held on and had trouble leaving us. She didn’t want to leave us. And, we didn’t want her to leave. She battled.
Surrounded by friends and family all day on Friday, she laid there taking her final breaths. She held on. She said her goodbyes to everyone. It was the worst part of it all. Watching her breaths slow down and then become more and more shallow throughout the day. She was comfortable. We talked to her. We all told her how much love she has. We told her it was going to be okay. She was going to be okay – she was going to be healthy again with her high heels on and her big hair did; with a glass of pino grigio. She wasn’t going to suffer anymore.
And then, as I laid on the couch next to her the clock hit 2 AM and her breathing changed even more. I could tell she was protecting me. She didn’t want me in the room. She is my mom, and that’s what mom’s do – they protect.
Jonathon held her hand and her nurse watched over her and I went up to bed. 25 minutes passed and her nurse told us it was time. We all came down stairs and surrounded by her family, mom took her final breath.
I can’t believe she is gone. It’s not real yet. It hasn’t hit me yet. She wasn’t supposed to go. There was supposed to be some kind of miracle. She was supposed to be here.
I never thought it would happen like this. I never thought I would have to talk my mom into letting go. I never thought I would have to hope for her to let go. That’s not supposed to happen. You’re not supposed to have to talk your mom into leaving you. You’re not supposed to be okay with thinking it would be better if she let go.
Because it’s not better. The only “better” thing is that she is free from suffering. Nothing else is better. It’s worse.
So at 4 AM, we put the house back together. And as we finished moving the last piece of furniture, we heard her. An owl was hooting; we’ve never heard one here at home; the dogs started to bark and run around the house; and the owl continued to hoot. And we laid in bed, and before we closed our eyes, mom told us it was okay, she was okay – the owl hooted.
Her arrangements have been made and the thought of the reality of it has never been more painful.