Missing My Mom

My mom got sick around the end of 2020. Not of Covid. Of lung cancer. The disease progressed very quickly, and she spent a lot of time in and out of the hospital. Her body started to get weak and, I believe, her mind did too.

It seemed like she just gave up.

When she realized she was sick, I believe she felt it was beyond her control. She solidified in her mind that she could not beat her sickness and that she was going to die.

It bugged me!

It bugged me that she talked so much about death. It bugged me that she seemingly so easily resigned to the fact that she was going to die. It bugged me that she refused to fight. It bugged me that the people around her were resigned to her death, saying things like “It’ll be any day now!” It bugged me that she called up family members asking if they were prepared for her to die.

It bugged me…

I wanted her to fight! I wanted the situation to be her strengthening moment. Her defining moment. Her freedom moment. I wanted her to buck up, resist the devil, and reclaim her life! I wanted her to be her own hero and come out of that sickness victorious!!

It wasn’t meant to be.

And I didn’t handle it gracefully. I was broken. Seeing my mother give up broke me.

In our last conversation, my mother complained that her body was giving out and she couldn’t do anything about it. She couldn’t do anything on her own. In her voice was acceptance, reconciliation, and self-pity. And in my voice… weariness and anger.

I couldn’t listen to her talk about death. I couldn’t listen to her give up on life. I told her that I couldn’t. I told her that I wouldn’t. We ended the call.

I didn’t know that would be my last conversation with my mom. If I had known, maybe I would have reacted differently. Maybe I would have listened. Maybe I would have prayed with her or encouraged her. I didn’t.

Three days later, when I finally called my mom back, she couldn’t take my call. Her health had deteriorated even more, and she had lost her ability to speak. She couldn’t tell me how she was feeling. She couldn’t tell me what she could and could not do. She couldn’t say anything.

But she could hear me. I got to say my last hello. And my last goodbye.

She was able to hear me tell her that I love her. She knew. That’s what matters.

My mom died on March 24, 2021.

I miss her so much.

Although I’m broken and unable to come to grips with my mom’s death - unable to believe it - there’s one thing I do understand, one thing I’m certain of …

My mother is finally free! She doesn’t have to worry, struggle, and stress anymore. She can finally live unbound.

She can finally get some rest.