Unfortunately, I don't enjoy Mother's Day as much as I used to, as the last one that I was able to spend with my mother was when we first realized that something was very wrong, that she probably had something more serious than bronchitis. The day started out wonderfully. My sister, her husband, the twins, Nicole and Taylor, Mom and I, headed over to Tugboats, a fun restaurant overlooking Hyannis harbor. The sun was shining, the food was good, but Mom barely ate, and didn't say much. She finally admitted that she didn't feel well. Her back had been aching for a few months now, and it sort of felt like bronchitis, and she thought she might have pulled a muscle too, maybe carried a tray that was too heavy. My mother was tiny, at barely 100 pounds, and five feet when she stood up really tall, but she was a bundle of energy, and could usually race around the dining room of The Riverway Lobster House, where she worked for nearly 20 years. She finally agreed to get it checked out, and get on some anti-biotics.
But there weren't any anti-biotics for what she had. When she didn't come home until nearly 1am that next Saturday night, I had a feeling she wasn't out for an after work drink. Sure enough, she seemed a bit in a daze, said the pain that night had been bad enough that she hit the emergency room after her shift. She asked if I'd mind taking her into the hospital the next morning for a cat-scan. On a Sunday. That's when I knew it was bad. When the technician smiled sadly and told us to call our doctor first thing the next day, I knew for sure.
Stage 4 Lung Cancer. They actually said it was the biggest mass they'd ever seen at the Cape Cod Hospital. It had already spread to her brain, which caused lapses in memory and balance. The prognosis was 3-6 months without treatment, 6 months to two years with. Mom didn't hesitate, she just said, "Well, let's start treatment then."
My sister and I were incredibly lucky. My mother was an easy patient. She didn't ask for much, and was so appreciative for everything that we did. She couldn't drive any longer, which was the hardest thing for her to deal with, the loss of independence. She spent her weekdays with my sister who is a stay-at-home Mom, and she loved being around the twins, her girls. Her favorite day of the week had always been Tuesday, when she'd make the two hour drive to my sister's house and spend the day there. She'd often make a batch of homemade blueberry muffins, or a rich beef stew to bring up to them. My mother was such an amazing woman, she really was. Her only real fault was that she smoked.
Every weekend, I drove her back to the Cape, to the house I grew up in in West Yarmouth. We fell into a routine of sorts. Her two best girlfriends, Glenda and Janie, and sometimes my friend Judy would come over on Friday or Saturday night, and we'd sit around drinking wine, and chatting. And there'd usually be chocolate. My mom was a chocoholic anyway, but the medicine she was on gave her a ravenous appetite for sweets. My brother-in-law once watched in amazement as she kept wandering to the cookie jar, and ate over a dozen chocolate chip cookies.
Food made things better somehow. After a sudden relapse, my mother's eyes lit up when Janie and Glenda showed up in the emergency room with a fresh blueberry pie and a bottle of red wine. We'd arrived barely an hour earlier. Mom ate the pie, we sipped the wine out of plastic cups, while the many monitors buzzed and chirped around us. When we came home a few days later, and Mom was feeling a little better, we went to the beach and relaxed in the sun. Glenda brought Mom's favorite sandwich, a BLT on soft white bread, with ripe tomatoes and sweet leafy lettuce from her garden. That was the best BLT I've ever had.
Toward the end, Mom lost her appetite for wine but still loved her cigarettes. She truly loved to smoke, and really never wanted to quit. She always had a 'what will be, will be' attitude, a big believer in fate. She loved discovering antiques at estate sales, going to lunch with her girlfriends, playing with her grandchildren, reading a good book, drinking warm wine (for some reason, she kept her wine under the kitchen sink instead of the refrigerator, said the cold bothered her teeth) and relaxing with her cat.
Her little black cat, Gizmo, stayed by her side the whole time, overly protective against something he couldn't protect her from. Poor thing. I inherited him and he was never quite the same.
My mother had a sudden surge of energy in December, and asked for lobster. Janie and Glenda came over, and I picked up cooked lobsters, coleslaw, corn on the cob and lots of butter. We had ourselves quite a feast, and Mom loved it. She finished with at least a half pound of gourmet chocolates, savoring every bite.
That was the last night out that she spent with her girlfriends on the Cape. A few weeks later, just after the holidays, she died peacefully at my sister's house, with all of her children with her. My brother flew in from Seattle, one of many trips he made that year. She had slipped into a coma before he arrived, but the wonderful hospice nurses told us that she could still hear, so we held her hand, and talked to her softly, telling her that David was coming. When he arrived, she actually woke up with one last effort and managed to just say two words, "love you." She slipped back into a coma, and passed a short while later.
Today of all days, she is most especially missed, but she was a special person, and a great mother, and I appreciate the time that we did have.
Happy Mother's Day
:) Pam