“It was my turn to do everything for her”

This is Chapter 4 of the Grief Memoirs. Read the previous chapters here.

A few weeks after I left my parents for the holidays, I was chatting with them just to catch up on some news when my dad casually mentioned that my mom had fallen several times. She was having trouble walking. She would stand up and immediately fall down. This had been going on for days. They had gone to the emergency room because they were worried she might have hit her head at one point.

I remember being in my group care meeting on Zoom that night and mentioning how indifferent my parents were about it. One of the group leaders gave me a gentle hint that it was as serious as I thought. Mom had another MRI and days later an appointment with a radiologist. After just a few days, she was struggling to get up.

I was there on the phone call with the doctor when he told us the worst news. The cancer was spreading all along the spine. And not in small amounts, but in large amounts. There was nothing that could be done. He told us it was time for a hospice.

I remember telling my manager I had to fly home to Phoenix. She said, “Go get on the plane right now. Stop working, we can do this.”

I took the next flight home, alone again. I landed late that night and went straight to bed. I only said goodnight to my dad since my mom was already asleep. The next morning, I was awakened by my dad calling for help from downstairs. My mom was rolled to the foot of the bed, so wrapped in the sheets that I could barely see her face peeking out from under the covers. I untied her from her sheets and helped her sit back down on her bed. She had somehow lost even more weight since I’d last been there. Mom could barely move, and we quickly got some tools to get her around—a folding wheelchair and a walker from Walgreens. I watched YouTube videos on how to safely lift an adult so I would be prepared for whatever came next.

Even though I had prepared for months, I really wasn’t ready to go from being a child to being a caregiver.

My mother had taken care of me my whole life. She was there when I was sick or injured. She cleaned my house (sometimes to my chagrin). She cooked my favorite meals and let me take breaks. Now it was my turn to do everything for her. It hit me like a blow, but I also knew I had to do it. We all had to do everything for her to make her final days easier.

Hospice came by to get everything ready. They brought us supplies and information about what to do to keep Mom comfortable and how to get help if we needed it. A nurse came by during the week to check on her, give us more supplies, bathe her, and help with other medical issues as they arose.

We called the family so everyone could talk. Friends came over and brought us food, which my dad and I ate mostly. Mom wasn’t very hungry. She really wanted her mom’s beef stew that I had cooked for her, but she could barely eat. Her appetite quickly went from little to none.

After about a day, my dad and I decided to hire a caregiver that was recommended to us by palliative care. She came by once a day to help. We wanted her to help us move Mom, but as Mom was doing less and less, the caregiver would just sit with her after moving Mom in her bed or giving her a quick wash.

I wanted to spend as much time as possible by Mom’s side, but eventually the nurse told me to take a break, she had it under control. And so I left Mom’s room. I ate dinner at the table, did some yoga, or called home to talk to the kids. I didn’t know I needed this time, but it was incredibly important to take a break.

Within a few days, Mom was sleeping more than anything else. When she was awake, she spoke very few words. Thankfully, she was not in pain, but it was clear that her body was giving out. James flew out with the children, and in one of my Mom’s last lucid moments, she saw our girls in their room.

My in-laws would drive up from Texas and take the girls on trips to museums or just to their RV while my dad, James and I planned Mom’s funeral. We picked a spot at the cemetery, met with a funeral director and I called a priest. We didn’t know when she was going to die, but we knew it was coming. And fast.

After one of those days of planning, we decided to get takeout from my dad’s favorite restaurant. The girls had spent the day at my in-laws’, so it was just us adults. Dad and James drove to the restaurant to pick up dinner. I laid next to my mom and talked to her for a bit. Even though she didn’t respond, I enjoyed the time with her. I had told her all kinds of things over the last few days while she lay there sleeping, some stories about fond memories together and some dreams for the future. I could see and hear her breathing slowing. I texted James to come back quickly. I laid next to her and watched her take her last breath and pass peacefully into her bed.