11 Years Ago, A Lifetime Ago

September 10, 2000. It was a Sunday. I remember that only because I was getting ready to watch the Emmy Awards on TV when the phone call came. I have absolutely no idea what I did that day. It was my day "off" from taking care of my mother, who was dying.In September of 1999, she had been diagnosed with cancer. It spread rapidly. My older sister and I did the lions share of her daily care. Saturday was my sister's "day off" and Sunday was mine. Today had been Sunday and it was almost over. Having just put on PJ's, I was readying myself for an evening of TV, then bed. Then back to Mum's in the morning. Then the phone rang. That I remember vividly.

My sister's voice told me that Mum was near the end. I remember telling her that I'd be right up, The Emmy Awards totally forgotten. Everything forgotten. Just get there. My sister seemed surprised. She told me that I probably didn't need to be in a hurry as it would probably be a very long night and there was still time. I couldn't stay home. I couldn't take that chance. I had to go. Now. So I took off the PJ's, turned off the TV (I think) and went to Mum's. I don't remember the drive there. I just remember suddenly being there. And the TV being on. There were the Emmy Awards. Volume turned off, but the Emmy Awards just the same. And Mum. Unconscious. Grey. Stint in. Dying. Still.

Most of my brothers and sisters were there though I vaguely recall Michael not yet having arrived. My brother in law and one of my nieces were absent as well I think. They had had to go to the emergency room but were ok and showed up later. (I think) I remember watching my sister and sister in law wipe Mum's mouth out with a sponge type of thing that had been given them by the nurse for that purpose. I was shown how to do it but somehow couldn't manage so left them to it, feeling terribly, terribly inadequate. For the most part, we simply stared at the mute TV. How exactly are you supposed to watch your mother take her final breath? I don't think any of us knew. I know I didn't.

This had been a year coming. A very long year watching my mother be eaten alive by this horrendous disease called cancer. Watching her slip away a little more everyday. And watching her do it with a grace and dignity that defied anything I could ever replicate. My mother dealt with this disease the way she had dealt with life. Courageously, quietly and with grace. That was Mum.

It turned out that my sister had been surprisingly wrong in her prediction that Mum would linger that night. In fact, she died shortly after I arrived. Then the long night began. Again, I'm not sure how one is supposed to react when a loved one dies, but I do know how I felt. Numb. Odd. Bereft. Different in a totally undefinable way.

And so we sat. Brothers. Sisters. In laws. Boyfriend. Nieces. Nephews. And Mum's lifeless body. Yup, she died at home. Blessedly. And equally blessedly, the people from the funeral home were gracious enough to allow us all the time we felt we needed to say our good byes before taking her away. Odd the things you remember. But I remember that, and the gratitude I felt toward those people. There was some kind of odd comfort in Mum still being there, in the room with us. Finally, we had all said good bye and she was taken from the house. Again, a totally odd feeling. My mother was dead. The last of my parents - gone. I remember thinking "I'm an orphan" with some shock. It didn't matter that I was 41 years old. I was now officially an orphan. Like I said, it's odd the things that you think of at such times.

We spent that night in my mother's house, my brothers and sisters and I. It was, looking back, so civilized as to be almost uncivilized. But it was what it was. And it seemed to work for us.

I have no recollection of leaving. I know what we did as a family that night. I know it was very early in the morning before anyone left. I know I had a drink of scotch - neat (unusual for me), I know Mum's priest showed up at some point. I know I took her rosary with me when I left. I know the man who would become my husband drove me home. But I have absolutely no recollection of actually leaving. But I did leave. And went home. Home to my own home, where I had spent little time the past year. But home.

The worst part of being home was that it suddenly seemed wrong.....or something. Again, that undefinable something. Weird, off, odd, different. There.

Now the worst began. The moving on process. The learning to live without Mum. The horrible newness of life without her.

So it begins. I must heal. I must go on. Without her. This sucks.

So why, after 11 years, am I finally writing this? I'm really not sure. Possibly because so shortly after she died, my life changed in yet another huge way, in that I moved to Ontario. So soon after my mother's death, I left everything and everyone I loved to move over 1000 kilometers away. It was, it turns out, a mistake. But I didn't know that then. So I left in December. Probably not the smartest thing to have done but hindsight is always a 20/20 thing.

Having been home just over a year now, I find myself seeing my mother in crowds of people where I never did before. After all, I wouldn't expect to see her in Ontario. It's been an odd year for me. This first year home. A year of "firsts" in many ways. Dealing with my mother's death and my brother's death all over again in a different way has been something of a challenge. But it is happening. Slowly. And, I suspect, will continue to "happen", until it has finally hit home that now, both are gone. Mum. Michael. Both gone. And now I'm back. And dealing the best way I know how.

I will always miss her. Just like I will always miss my father and brother. But today especially, I am remembering Mum and her courageous battle in life and her dignified death. I love you Mum.

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