Her Final Breath

The most painful moment of my life happened one week ago. Accepting that my mom was going to die. Soon. In a matter of twenty-four hours, the prognosis went from her having a few months to live, to a couple weeks, then to a few days... and then only a matter of minutes. This came as a shock to my entire family. How could this happen?

Just days ago, my mom had been at home, sick, and having much difficultly breathing. She had been to multiple doctors over the past two months and, after having a number of tests and being put on medications and inhalers, the doctor told her to come back in three weeks. Now, she's no longer alive. She died of something that no doctor had found and told us about until a day and a half before she died from it. Let me clarify that this was not the cancer that she battled and survived from back in her 20's. This was a different cancer. An insanely aggressive cancer. A cancer with only a 15% survival rate.

I mean it when I say that this has changed my life. It's changed who I am. What I want out of life. Who I want in my life. It's changed what I believe about death.

Seeing my mother in the hospital was extremely difficult. It just didn't seem like her. She could hardly talk and I ended up getting maybe fifteen minutes of alone time with her the entire five days she was there. Nurses were in and out or she was too tired to talk/be talked to. All I could do was sit there and hold her hand. It got to the point where I just needed to be there at the hospital, even if I sat in the waiting room all day. I just needed to be there.

There are a few moments with her in the hospital that I will keep with me forever. They were short things she said or little ways she looked at me. Those were some of my last memories with her. Precious, precious memories.

No matter how selfish we wanted to be by keeping her with us as long as possible, my mom wanted nature to take its course with her. She was ready. When asked if she was peaceful, she nodded "yes." What a brave woman. To be able to stare death in the face and say, “I’ve done what I needed to do here. Take me when you’re ready, God.” I learned more about life during those five days than I have throughout all my years.

I watched the suffering my mom endured. I listened to her calmness. I watched every little move she made; the tapping of her toes to the raising of her eyebrows as she inhaled. I thought about what it meant to die.
To leave this Earth.
To leave behind the people you shaped and loved and held in their darkest moments.
To go onward to an eternal, new place.

I thought about the spiritual part of it and I thought about the physical part of it because I was experiencing each of those right before my own eyes. I knew my mom was days, minutes, and seconds away from no longer being there physically but instead becoming an angel.

On Tuesday night, after my mom’s best friends and one of her brothers flew into town to say their goodbyes, we all headed home for the night. I felt this deep pain that night as I walked out of the hospital. I just wanted to stay there. It was very difficult for me to leave. As soon as we arrived home, the hospital called saying my mom’s oxygen level had plummeted and we needed to get there as soon as possible.

My dad, two brothers, and I rushed back to the hospital. I’ll never forget the way my body felt as I drove. I was hyperventilating, my sight was blurred. I was living my biggest nightmare. I called my best friend and told her my mom might die that night. I couldn’t believe those words were coming out of my mouth.

As soon as we got there, I placed my mom’s hand in mine and tried so hard to find the words to tell her. What do you say to your mother as she dies? I have decades of moments I’ve yet to live that I wanted to share with her. Advice I knew I’d need and wanted her to give me the answers to. But, I couldn’t share any of those things. Instead, I told her how much I loved her, how wonderful of a mother she was to me, how I’d live a life in honor of her, and that I couldn’t wait to see her again one day. I asked her to watch over me and help me everyday.

For the next four hours, moving into the early hours of the next morning we sat by her side, holding her hands. We knew how it was going to end. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I didn’t want to miss a second. I wanted to be there for every last moment I could possibly share with her. As time passed, and her vital signs slowly started to weaken, her eyes closed for good and her grip was no longer there. In those final minutes, she lay on the hospital bed with her family around her and angels waiting patiently on the other side. My dad told her it was okay to go. Not long after, we watched and clung on to her as she took her last few breaths here on Earth. And she was gone.