As I sat there, I could not believe the tension that grew inside of me. I looked around for the first time since I had walked in at the faces of my family. Their faces were flooded with anticipation and fear. I turned to the door and watched the doctor take what seemed like a long journey to where we sat. He slowly pulled up a chair in the midst of us. I tried to read his face so that I might predict what he was about to say, but his professional mood gave nothing away. I stared waiting for his mouth to open. After what seemed like an eternity, he began to speak. I heard him say that the biopsy showed that my mother did have cancer. Whatever happened after that is a big blur in my memory. I cried all night and managed to somehow pull myself together. This is how my mother's long struggle with cancer began.
After we brought mother home from the hospital, we tried to make things as normal as possible. We had long talks with her about many things, but tried not to upset her. She was strong and told us to hang on and that she would be fine. I felt relieved to hear that and knew that somehow she would be alright.
A week after we found out about the cancer, my aunt and I asked my mother if she wanted to do something exciting and fun. We were thinking in terms of a cruise or a trip to Las Vegas. I wanted her to have loads of fun while she felt well. The chemotherapy would be starting soon and we knew she would not feel like going anywhere then. She surprised us by saying that she did not have the urge to do any of those things. The only things she wanted was to re-decorate her house. She spent an enormous amount of time taking care of her house and yard. Along with me, her house and yard were her life. My aunt and I spent the next month working diligently in that house. Mother supervised, as she was the master of supervision. During this time Mother began chemotherapy so her big joy was the house and the progress we were making. When we finally finished she made a point to invite the neighbors over. She wanted everyone to see her beautiful newly decorated house. I loved watching her face beam with pride as people bragged on her house.
The next few months were difficult. She would spend three days every three weeks in the hospital taking chemotherapy. When she came home from the hospital each time the life would have seemed to be drained from her. She would be sick for a week or two after coming home. She would then begin to feel better. We enjoyed and took advantage of the times when she felt like talking, laughing, and having a good time. Then all the joy would leave us when it came time for her to return to the hospital for the next treatment.
The last hospital treatment of chemotherapy was in June. It have been about five months since we had found out about the cancer. Mother then went through radiation and next oral chemotherapy. She just refused to give up. As long as she did not give up, I did not either. She was everything to me and I meant to be by her side and help her fight every step of the way.
The hard and most frightening time came when I slowly began to realize that the treatments were not helping my mother but only making her ill. She stopped the treatments. I then realized for the first time that my mother was dying. I tried not to think about it and refused to accept it. I kept telling her how much I needed her to stay with me and help me through high school. She told me that somehow she was determined to be in that gymnasium when I walked across the stage to receive my high school diploma. I believed her and swore I would never give up hope.
The next few months, I busied myself with work and school. I played softball and hardly ever got home until late. I pushed the tears away and carried on with my life as if nothing was wrong. Many of my friends did not even know my mother had cancer because of the smiles I wore. I almost avoided my mother and the subject of her illness. This was my way of dealing with what was happening.
Then during September she began to go downhill more than she had been doing. When October finally came reality slapped me in the face. I began to look more closely at my mother. She looked so weak and completely worn out. I watched her stumble from place to place. I couldn't believe that this terribly weak and ill person was my once vibrant and busy mother.
On October 15th I called home from school during my lunch to check on Mother. The past day or two the nurses kept telling us she only had hours. My aunt told me when I called that the time was here. I came straight home after school. I walked into the den where I saw Mother in the hospital bed we had brought in. She could not speak to anyone. She only stared into space with glassy eyes that only knew pain. The day before she had told me she loved me for the last time. I went over and sat by her bed. I held her hand and cried for she looked so tired. I could feel her large bony fingers try to grasp my hand. I took turns with my family sitting beside her bed. Later that night my family and I were seated in the den intently watching a dear woman whom we all dearly loved and respected, fight desperately for every breath she took. Fluid had filled her lungs and body so that with every breath I could hear it gurgling inside of her poor body. She was struggling so hard. We all kept telling her that we loved her and that it was alright for her to let go. Suddenly the loud gurgling stopped. Her breathing had relaxed so that she was not fighting anymore. She was breathing softly and peacefully. I got up from where I was seated and stood by the side of her bed. I took every last breath with her. Long intervals were between each breath until finally she took one last soft breath. I knew immediately that was the last breath she would ever take. My poor dear mother was finally at rest.