The year 2016 was the last year that everything felt “normal”. Everything was like the years before and everyone had their health. My daughter was growing and everyone was around to watch it happen. My Mom was able to play the grandma you hear about, showering my daughter with sugar and toys. Sadly it could not go on this way; it was not meant to be.

Why couldn’t things continue as it was? It definitely was not perfect and the relationship with my Mom was tumultuous as always, a whole other topic, but all else was good and my Mom was able to watch my daughter grow and be there for her.

The year 2017 rocked my world. My Mom began showing signs that things were not normal. She had pain in her abdomen and she had been bleeding. That should have been an alarm to the doctors. But, they kept sending her home, writing it off as some other ailment. When the bleeding would not stop, they finally performed a scan on her lower abdomen and discovered she had uterine cancer. After all this time during which she complained, which was over a month, could the cancer have been caught at an earlier stage and she would have survived? I will never know. By the time they found it, she was Stage 4 and there was no cure.

After the cancer wheels were set in motion, it was doctor appointment after doctor appointment. She finally spoke with an oncologist who did a visual inspection and he saw it right away. I will never forget it. I was in the room with my Mom. We were asked if it was okay that a trainee could participate in the examination. With my Mom on the examination table, the main doctor asked this person, “Do you see the cancer?” I knew then, this was real. My Mom had cancer and it was bad.

The following oncologist spoke with us about the treatment and prognosis. My Mom seemed in good spirits. He was the one to order the chemo and answer any questions we had. One question I remember… “How long do I have,” my Mom asked. The answer came “2 years”. There wasn’t any emotion in his response. In fact, hardly any of my Mom’s doctors acted like they cared. It was business as usual for them.

Despite what we heard from the last doctor, we were hopeful. Chemo began and I was attending her treatments. However, as time went on, I stopped going. I don’t know why. Maybe I couldn’t watch it anymore. Something in me was pulling me away from reality at the time.

Eventually, chemo ended and my Mom’s cancer markers were good. Life seemed like it could possibly go back the way it was. Nope. That also was not meant to be because the cancer came back and it was everywhere.

My Mom tried to do chemo that round but couldn’t take it anymore. She would get so sick from the chemo. So… she stopped and went on hospice. There is a part of me that wishes that I pushed her to do something so she could have been with us longer but I didn’t. I didn’t really do anything. Maybe I was in a state of shock. It was all happening but not really happening.

At the end, she hadn’t eaten anything in a month and she was so thin and throwing up blood. The person I am today would have thrown a fit that she was giving up. I would tell her to fight… I don’t know why I didn’t then. She told me that no one knew how bad the disease was. I think she was suffering more than she was letting on. Oh, the regret I have and the time I lost.

I said before that we had a tumultuous relationship. We fought or I was irritated or she was irritated, more than we were fine around each other. I blamed her for a lot of things. Things she said or did that stuck with me for so many years. Things I have completely let go of now. I did have a moment with her in the end before she stopped talking. She said some things that were good to hear from her. I wish I said some things to her, but again, I didn’t. I was too caught up in my head.

After a few days, I watched her take her last breathe with my Dad and husband in the room, in the house we had 34 years of memories in before this time. My Mom’s decline seemed so fast once she had given in to what was to come. Once she stopped talking, her breathing would periodically change. Eventually she was only take breathes every few seconds until she wasn’t anymore.

I didn’t cry at first. I was numb. It wasn’t until the people from the funeral home came and put a sheet over her face that I lost it. My Dad tried to tell me she wasn’t there anymore. I just couldn’t help it and followed the men to the door and watched them drive away with my Mom’s body.

Life without my Mom was a huge adjustment and still is sometimes. My Dad was never the same. I went into this constant worry mode and wanted to ensure my Dad came over every weekend. That went on as the new “normal”. It still is kind of the normal. We of course have moments… we ask ourselves, “how can this be?” And have a good cry. Sometimes one needs a good cry.