Today is my mom’s birthday. She would have been 65 years old. Even though she has been gone for almost 14 years, I still think of her every day. The big dates are always the most challenging for me. Her birthday, the day she died, the holidays, etc.
She died on December 18, 1993. I was 18 years old. It was only four short months after we were told of the tumor that was invading her brain. If I remember correctly, it was called a Glioblastoma. But, we didn’t find out the name until after surgery. It seems like it was a million years ago now. It was the very start of September and I was in the first few weeks of my first semester at college. That’s when I got the call from my dad. They found it and they were going to do some more tests to see what it really was.
From the time that she got to the hospital, I was there each weekend. I drove back and forth from school in Schenectady to Boston. Every weekend, my little red jetta would carry me. I became a pro at the drive. In the flash of an eye, it seemed, they wanted to do surgery. They saw more of the tumor and was the size of a baseball. I guess it was really two or three weeks. That’s when she had surgery at Mass General Hospital in Boston. I can remember sitting in her hospital room after she had come back from surgery. Her head was all shaved and bandaged and her face was all swollen and bruised. She looked like she had been beaten up. I guess thats what it looks like when they open your skull and dig around on the inside.
When the oncologist came in to discuss the findings, I tried to listen but I didn’t understand very much. Even now, I can remember all of us standing around the bed listening to the doctor, but I can’t remember what he said. Some stuff about the type of tumor, prognosis, and types of treatment going forward. More things happened and I still can’t place them all. In my mind, it was a whirlwind of emotions, panic, and chaos. I continued to drive back and forth from school. Mom began radiation treatments. They tattooed little “x” marks on her head where they shot the rays in attempts to shrink the tumor.
We had a birthday party for her on her birthday. The doctors allowed her to be released from the hospital for a few hours for a home-made birthday dinner at a family friend’s apartment right near the hospital. Mom had to be wheeled to the party in a wheelchair. And, she wore a beautiful hat with a flowery scarf to cover her shaved head and giant scar covered in metal staples. We had cake and everything. She even blew out her own birthday candles as we sang happy birthday to her. She turned 51.
At one point, they did a second surgery. When they went in, they found that the tumor had increased in size again. It was now the size of a softball or grapefruit. That was it. They continued radiation but that’s when it was really done. The doctors released her from the hospital towards the end of November. She wanted to go to our then annual Thanksgiving dinner at my Uncle’s house. The whole family was there. She wore a black velvet hat with a silk pink rose on it and a big wooley multi-colored sweater. She still was able to smile and light up the entire room. It was the last time she saw most of the family.
After Thanksgiving, she came home to our house in CT. I was off from school for the holidays. We moved a hospital bed into our dining room because she couldn’t walk too far or climb stairs. We decorated the house for the holidays, all the lights, the christmas tree, garland, wreathes…you name it, we did it. It made her smile. And was worth every ounce of effort.
That’s when she made me make her the promise. She made me swear to her that no matter what happened, I would continue going to school. What could I do? I had to say yes. We had talked about it before, when I was driving back and forth to Boston from Schenectady. I kept suggesting that I would just stop school and re-start in 1994 as a freshman. Each time I even had the thought, she stopped me immediately. She wouldn’t hear of it. It wasn’t even a consideration as far as she was concerned…in fact, she had been frustrated with me that I was driving to her each weekend. Needless to say, I made the promise. I still don’t know if it was the right thing to do or the wrong thing to do.
Hospice began coming in December. My family would spend hours together and hours with her. Someone was always by her side. My dad slept in the hospital bed next to her or on the floor along side of her. She would drift in and out of knowing what was going on. Sometimes, she would speak to us, and sometimes she would speak to other people in the room that we couldn’t see. At one point, I listened to her talk to, and give instructions to my grandfather. He died when I was about 13 years old. That was near the end.
Early in the morning on the 18th, only a week before Christmas, my dad woke me up. He said that she had taken her last breath early that morning and as he sat there with her he told her it was okay to go, that she didn’t have to fight with herself any more, just for us. I think it was the most peaceful part of her life for the past four months.
I miss her daily. She was an amazing woman. I constantly wonder how my life would be different if she were still alive.
Happy Birthday Mom! I love you.
He explained that it didn’t necessarily mean that there would never be any other cancerous lumps. But it did mean that there wasn’t anything else right now. Phew. At least that’s a start, right?
