Life throws rocks and my heart is a glass house.

     It has been one year since I lost my mom. 12 months. 356 days. 8,760 hours. 525,600 minutes. Each day has been filled with heartbreak. Longing for one more hug. One more talk. One more call for parenting advice. One more "I love you, God bless you" as I walk out the door. These things never come though. Just more tears, and heartache and memories. 

     My mom was my rock. She was a warrior. She had a tough life, but always kept her head high and her hopes higher. My mom was all about family. She cared for hers, she cared for others. Every friend I brought home was now a bonus child. She fed people when she couldn't afford to. She made holidays happen in times when it didn't seem possible.  She faced many obstacles in life and never let it get the best of her. 

     My mom raised us to be strong and independent. She raised us to stand up for ourselves and never let people bring us down. She taught us to survive. To survive a world of hate, people that aren't who they say they are, bad situations, broken hearts and every rock that life throws at us.  What she didn't teach us though, was how to survive without her. 

     Surviving life without my mom is the hardest thing I've ever had to endure. The hardest obstacle i've ever had to face. I don't have my mom to help me navigate this loss as she has all of the excruciating losses that came before hers. Losing my mom has broken me.Nothing in the world could have prepared me for this. 

     Nothing prepared me for her cancer diagnosis (that I knew in my heart was coming.) Even though i had been throigh this before, nothing prepared me for what was to come. I took her to every appointment, every screening, every biopsy. I was there when her lung collapsed after her 3rd lung biopsy, she was sent home that day and I took her to ER again the next morning.  I sat and waited in a hospital waiting room for 14 hours during her first surgery and I sat there for her 3 surgeries after. I went to every check up, every chemo appointment, every hospital stay… except the last one. The most important one. Even though it was out of my control, because I had covid I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself for not being there. 

     I called my mom when I got my diagnosis. I asked her how to make chicken soup and she told me she was having a hard time breathing. I was unable to take her due to my diagnosis, so I told her to call an ambulance. That was the last time I ever heard my mother's voice. That was the last time she ever told me she loved me and to feel better and get some rest. 

     For the following 2 weeks, while battling an illness that made me feel like I was suffocating; I called the hospital daily to check on her. She never answered the phone and I was always told she was doing okay. The hospital had teams upon teams including infectious disease, working with my mother during this time. I was told that my mother was "a very sick woman, but will be okay." This was not the truth. 

     Mom stopped eating. She became virtually unresponsive, except for the occasional Grunt or yes or no answer. Then came the phone calls. The "we need to talk about palliative care." "It's not a hospice situation. She still has some fight left in her." So we set up a family meeting, that I attended virtually. We decided not to give her a feeding tube because it wouldn't increase her quality of life. We didn't put her on life support because it wasn't what she wanted. Mom went from a palliative care patient to hospice in less than one day. After talking with my family and fighting with my dad we agreed to bring her home on hospice because she never wanted to die in a hospital. 

     We never got to do that. We never got to bring her home. The next morning, the day I got out of quarantine, I got the call. It was early in the morning, maybe around 9 am. Mom's blood pressure dropped drastically overnight and they didn't think she'd make it through the hour. Mom hung on though. She waited until everyone that could get there, got there. She held on all day. She listened as all of her kids and grandkids called and told her they love her. She listened while I held her hand and told her that I love her and it's okay. She listened when I told her that I'll be okay. That we will ALL be okay. 

     That might have been the biggest lie I ever told her. We're not okay. I am not okay. My mom passed away at exactly 8:30 pm on February 17, 2022. That was the moment my heart broke. 

     I miss my mom with every fiber of my being. Navigating life without her has been challenging to say the least. I have to learn how to rebuild myself. I have to learn how to be the best wife and mom I can be because my husband and daughter deserve that.  I have to remind myself that just because my mom died, doesn't mean I don't still deserve happiness. I deserve to LIVE, not just survive. 

     So mom, I hope you've found your log cabin in heaven. I hope you're pain free and happy. I hope you're smiling and laughing. I hope you're out there somewhere watching over me, guiding me and protecting my family. 

I love you. God bless you.