Friday, May 11, 2012

One. Year. Ago.

It was terrifying times, May 2011.  On May 4th, I learned that my Mom had been enrolled in the palliative care programme.   We had hope for a clinical trial drug to give us more time.    But it was hard to be hopeful that the cancer would not take over her body.  In fact that is how the oncologist described it, the cancer cells were literally crowding out the healthy ones.

On May 6th, providentially as it turns out, our whole family went away for Mother's Day weekend.  The plan to go away had been in the works for a while, but by pure coincidence divine intervention, it was Mother's Day weekend that we were all to be together.

As we gathered, we knew our time with Mom would be short. We knew this would be, barring an extraordinary miracle, our last Mother's Day with her.   I think we all managed to focus on being together, being a family.  I took many pictures.

It was a truly special time.  We had a memorable Mother's Day brunch. For me it was magical, like we were living in a bubble.  I truly enjoyed the time I had with my Mom and the time that we would all be together. I did not focus on what was to come.  It was a good bye.

In the afternoon one of my brothers and his family had to leave.  The next day would be a quieter one.  That evening, Husband told me that when he gone for a walk, Dad had said the doctor had said he thought Mom had three to eight weeks. Three to eight weeks.

I believe that was the hardest moment of my life.

Three weeks? Three weeks is nothing. It's a blink of an eye. 

Husband tried to reassure me that it would be more likely to be eight.  Or even longer.  Mom had walked to the beach twice and apart from taking time to rest, looked no where near that kind of terminal diagnosis.

I don't think I breathed normally for most of May.

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