The "Thing" I Didn't Want to Write About (My Mom and Cancer)

My dad thought it would be a good idea for me to put down on paper what happened today, along with my thoughts and feelings. So here goes...

Today I lost one of my best friends, and one of my biggest supporters. Someone who has been with me through my ups and downs.

My mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer one month and one day ago. She had been complaining about some mild back pain for a few days and we kept telling her that she needed to go in to see the doctor, just like she would normally tell us to do. But she didn't want to take her own advice until one night the pain got so bad that she couldn't sleep through it anymore. She and her nurse sister were pretty sure it was a gall bladder problem, and she just didn't want to have to deal with that over the holiday season. My parents went to the hospital and the doctors did some scans and ran some tests and came back with the worst kind of news anyone wants to hear:

 "I'm sorry but you have cancer, and there isn't anything we can do about it."

 You never think that cancer is going to happen, or that it is a possibility until it is right there in front of you.  Needless to say, we were all shocked and heartbroken. I went to visit her at the hospital and found out that I had been preceded by several other family members, and my parents good friends the Wilkensons. I was happy to stay for a few minutes, but I get claustrophobic and that hospital room wasn't very big so I was glad that Aaron leaving gave me an excuse to not stay very long. Rachel dropped me off, and I was going to get a ride back with him.

Well, she came home and we had a great Christmas season. Everyone was able to make it up this year, it had been several years since that had happened. I know it made Mom's Christmas that much more special.  And it was certainly nice to see everyone and get to see nieces and nephews that I haven't seen in a while.  My mom spent a lot of time sitting over the holiday season, and I want to say that I noticed that she was really starting to have trouble getting through the pain really only about three weeks ago. We just plowed through Christmas and New Years like our family always had (mostly). But like I said, about three weeks ago, the pain started to get to be more than she could take on normal meds, and so they started to up her dosage, and switch her to stronger narcotics. Now, the good part about the narcotics is that they do take the pain away. The bad part of narcotics is that they also start to make a person groggy. So as the next few weeks progressed, she would be fine for a few days, and then the pain would get to be bad, so the doctors would up the dosage. That would wipe her out for the next day, and then she'd be up and awake and alert for a few days until her body got used to the new dosage and the pain would start getting through again. So they would up the dosage and the whole cycle would start over again. Except that as the meds wiped her out it took longer and longer to recover, and she got worse and worse. It didn't help that she wasn't eating or drinking very much either.

Anyway, she started to slip away much more quickly this last week, and I think those of us who were here to see, got a sense that she didn't have much longer to stay with us.

On Sunday, we were at my parent's house as is customary for us. I went in to talk to her for a little while, and had a few nice moments of lucidity with her. Rachel and I talked about our kids, about the nice dinner we had had the night before, and about life and how much we loved her. She responded a few times at appropriate places, asking about the kids, and squeezed my hand to let me know she was there and that she loved me. Then she told us that she needed to say goodnight, because she was tired and to please let Dad or Molly know so they could come up and help. That was my last real conversation with her. I think it was appropriate, talking about the things that she would have been interested in on any normal day. But last night I got it into my head that I needed to go into work early so I could come home early and see her without everyone else hovering and waiting for their turn. I got up at 5:30, with is about an hour and a half earlier than I have been doing for the past couple of months and got to work so that I could get off at 2:30pm.  I tried to stay busy at work but I was pretty distracted, and when time came to leave, I am pretty sure that I left several things in different states of completion. I will get to them later. I got to my parents house at 3:45pm, and went into the kitchen to see how it was going. Molly told me it was not good. I asked if she had been awake at all today, and Molly said barely any, just enough for the lawyer and the witnesses to be convinced that she could sign the updated will that they had worked on the week or so before. I asked if it was still a medication issue, or if it was worse than that, and I think she told me at that point she hadn't been able to take any pain pills that day, but was still not alert. I walked upstairs and saw my dad, kneeling by the bedside with my mothers hand in his, telling her that he loved her. I hesitated a moment before going any further, but my dad saw me and got up. He had me sit down with Mom and asked me, if I could get her attention, to offer her a blessing. I took her hand and squeezed, but I didn't get any squeeze back. I looked into her eyes and told her that I loved her and that I was going to miss her. I sat with her silently for a few minutes, and then she looked right at me. I asked her if she wanted a blessing and I got what I will say is a yes and said that I would call Dad up. But as he was listening on the baby monitor, he was already rushing up. My mom then gave us another precious moment of lucidity and said "I love you." The speech wasn't very clear, and she had trouble getting it all out, but I heard it and that is how I want to remember it, that my moms last audible words to me and to my dad were "I love you." We gave Mom a blessing and my dad said that it was ok for her to go, that she didn't need to feel like she needed to stay, and that our Heavenly Father was waiting for her to come home. He ended the blessing, and I looked down at her. Her lips looked so dry, I wanted to do something to help, so I went down to get some ice chips. My dad gave her one, and she took it, but then immediately scrunched up her face in what may have been a mixture of discomfort and strong dislike, with maybe a dash of frustration thrown in (because after all, she wasn't really thirsty), and tried to spit the ice chip out. She put her hand up over her face and eyes and then she put her hand down, her body relaxed and we could tell she was going. We called for Molly, who had been all sorts of fantastic and patient and supportive and helpful. Molly came up and then my mom left. Quite literally 5 minutes after she received that blessing, and less than a half an hour after I got there. I am so glad that I listened to the promptings I received, that allowed me to be there for her final moments and to be there with my dad and Molly as she returned to be with our Father in Heaven.

I love my mom. I will miss her fiercely for the rest of my life, and look forward to the day, after I have had a good long life of my own, that I can run to her embrace, see her smiling face and tell her that I love her once again. I am so grateful for a loving Heavenly Father that has offered us a way to be a family forever. I know that this is NOT the end, that I will see her again and that we will be happy.

Mom, I love you so much, words cannot say. You have been my friend, my confidant, my cheerleader, my example. You picked me up when I was down, hugged me when I was happy and sad, took my own wife and kids under your wing. You made me feel loved and important. I will miss you while we are apart but I know, in part because of your testimony, that the separation is not permanent.

I miss you.

Love Nathan