My mother's battle with pancreatic cancer ended two months ago today. My sister and I were at her bedside as she drew her last, gasping breaths. Physically, she was unrecognizable to me, as the disease had devastated her body, leaving her gaunt and skeletal. The image haunts me still.
Mom quit her second course of chemo after Thanksgiving. She didn't want to talk much about her disease, but it's clear to me now that the combination of the disease and chemicals was too much for her, and she knew her time was growing short. So, she quit treatment and focused on feeling as good as she possibly could over the Christmas holiday. We had a wonderful final Christmas day with her, and then it seems she decided, "OK, I'm ready." Because as 2007 turned into 2008, her decline accelerated dramatically. I saw her on weekends, and every time I thought she couldn't look or feel worse, the next weekend brought a new jolt. This is a sinister disease, and it was so heartbreaking to see my mother succumb to it. But when the end was obviously happening, I believe it was a blessing that it took her quickly. She was only 60 years old.
Today, I suppose I am like many who lose a parent too soon. Mourning an incredible loss, and regretful of time unspent and things unsaid over the course of a lifetime. Ashamed of living life selfishly and burdening a sibling with the "front-line" caretaking responsibilities. Alternating between finding distractions and sudden bursts of emotion. Knowing that I'm not grieving this thing in the "right way" at all.
Her birthday is next week. Then Mother's Day...
Brian