When it seems as though your last breath is upon you, do you want to know that it will be your last? Or would you rather be unaware?
Thinking about my mother’s illness, I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been for her to endure almost two years of being undiagnosed, of being in pain . . . going through rounds of chemotherapy. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for her to brave through the pain so that her colleagues would be unaware of just how sick she was and to put on the front for my father to ease his worry and pain. Though she was in the safety of the four walls of her own home, there was still so much that she couldn’t and wouldn’t emote.
Not until recently did I know that my mother did, in fact, know the moment she was dying. She knew it was her last breath. And there was nothing anyone around her could do to change what was about to happen. All the prayers and hopes for a miracle were dashed. All the upbeat and positive thinking, immediately squashed. In a split second, it was over.
What I did know of my mother’s actual passing is not far from reality, in fact, it is very much reality . . . but with very important details excluded. I was told that after waking up, my father went to see my mother. He said that she was somewhat awake and that he told her he was going to get cleaned up (or something to that effect) and would be back. And after he left, she was gone. That last sentence . . . there was some editing. What actually happened, broke my heart. What actually took place made my heart ache for my father. For, he saw her taking her last breaths. He heard the words “I’m dying” fall from her lips. He saw her take her last breath. He saw his partner, his friend, the mother of his children slip away.
Though I think I prefer the Disney version of what took place, I am glad to know that my mother wasn’t alone when she died. It makes me feel that all is right in the world that my mother and father were together as one exited. They started an incredible journey together and, really, it is only fitting that their journey ends together.
Knowledge. It can be a powerful thing. With her knowledge, my mother was brave enough to tell my father what was about to happen. I can only wonder if it brought my mother comfort or pain (or both) to let my father know that the end was right there.
Thinking about my mother’s illness, I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been for her to endure almost two years of being undiagnosed, of being in pain . . . going through rounds of chemotherapy. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for her to brave through the pain so that her colleagues would be unaware of just how sick she was and to put on the front for my father to ease his worry and pain. Though she was in the safety of the four walls of her own home, there was still so much that she couldn’t and wouldn’t emote.
Not until recently did I know that my mother did, in fact, know the moment she was dying. She knew it was her last breath. And there was nothing anyone around her could do to change what was about to happen. All the prayers and hopes for a miracle were dashed. All the upbeat and positive thinking, immediately squashed. In a split second, it was over.
What I did know of my mother’s actual passing is not far from reality, in fact, it is very much reality . . . but with very important details excluded. I was told that after waking up, my father went to see my mother. He said that she was somewhat awake and that he told her he was going to get cleaned up (or something to that effect) and would be back. And after he left, she was gone. That last sentence . . . there was some editing. What actually happened, broke my heart. What actually took place made my heart ache for my father. For, he saw her taking her last breaths. He heard the words “I’m dying” fall from her lips. He saw her take her last breath. He saw his partner, his friend, the mother of his children slip away.
Though I think I prefer the Disney version of what took place, I am glad to know that my mother wasn’t alone when she died. It makes me feel that all is right in the world that my mother and father were together as one exited. They started an incredible journey together and, really, it is only fitting that their journey ends together.
Knowledge. It can be a powerful thing. With her knowledge, my mother was brave enough to tell my father what was about to happen. I can only wonder if it brought my mother comfort or pain (or both) to let my father know that the end was right there.
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