Monday, September 30, 2013

Just love

It's been over two and a half years now that my father has been gone. Though the times that he finds a way to let me know he is still here are fewer and further between now, he does it when I seem to need it the most.

He's been around more lately, with the songs and the clouds and the vivid dreams.

I know why.

My mom is dying.

God, it hurts to type that.

I've known for a while now that this day would arrive. That eventually her body wouldn't be able to fight anymore, that at some point all the medical science in the world wouldn't be enough. I knew this.

I've prepared for it more than once, in reality.

I've kissed her goodbye a few times, never knowing if she would wake up from anesthesia. I've sat at her bedside for hours, heard the direst of news from doctors and nurses. I've been on the receiving end of panicked phone calls. I've stood sobbing alone in a parking lot clutching my stomach as the helicopter lifted off in an attempt to save her again, not knowing if they would be able to, not knowing if I would get to where they were taking her in time if she didn't make it.

She hasn't so much been living these last few years as she's just been staying alive.

I think a part of her went with him when he died. Too much of her.

November, 2009
Weeks after he was diagnosed

She's tired.

I think she is ready, though I can't say for sure.

I can't say because I don't know.

She moved far away just over a year ago now, and I haven't seen her since. She's been in and out of hospitals and rehabilitation places and care units most of that time. She's in the care of hospice now, and for that I am grateful.

So grateful.

There has been so much heartbreak and loss, so much pain and suffering. I hope with everything in my heart that there can be peace now.

The last few years have been full of conflict, it's true. Things haven't been the way that they should. We haven't been a normal mother and daughter, whatever that means. Nothing has been normal.

None of that matters anymore. When you strip away all the rest of it, there is just love.

Just love.

I love you, Mom.

We all do.

8 comments:

  1. Such a beautiful post, and one I can related to deeply. I lost my dad before my mom, and though there were no critical health concerns with my mom at the time, I (and my siblings) knew her time with us would be short. She didn't want to be here without my day. It hurt to watch, and just when we thought she had turned a corner and had started to emerge from the darkness, she died suddenly, in her sleep, alone. As great as the loss was, there was peace, for her and for each of her children knowing that she and my dad were together again. Because you're right, and as my dad shared on his last day when asked what's the big life lesson that really matters, in the end it is love, just love.
    My thoughts are with you, your mom, and your family as you navigate these rough waters.

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  2. I'm so glad you are writing about this <3 Big love to you and yours.

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  3. Just love. So perfect. oxoxo Love to you and your family.

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  4. Your family is in our thoughts and prayers.

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  5. Oh Kelly, I'm so very sorry. Holding you in my heart....sending love.

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  6. In the end, it truly is all that matters.

    I hope that if it's to finally be the end, it comes about in a way you feel at peace with, and that you get to tell her you love her, just to confirm what she knows.

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  7. I love you my friend. There is love. She knows. You know. Your Daddy knows. It is far from perfect: precious little in life is........but it is the very best you can do, with what you have at the moment.

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