I was going to see her soon. As soon as I got back from California, it would be my priority, I told my husband, Ric, just a few days ago.
As we all know, sometimes tomorrow never comes, even when we have the best of intentions.
My mom up and died on me, yesterday, before I had a chance to fulfill my commitment. She had been threatening to leave for years, creating the longest of long good-byes. There was the time, over four years ago now, that she was given two weeks to live. Then last November they said the same thing. It got to the point where, when the experts said she was not long for this world, I didn't believe it. There were so many false alarms.
But not this time. This time they were right when they called yesterday to tell me she had 24 to 48 hours to live. This time, however, they overestimated how long she had left. Less than six hours later, she was gone. So, the woman who had cheated death multiple times, not only with the false alarms I just mentioned, but also beating cancer twice, had run out of lives. Death, as it always does, won, at least temporarily.
I've written before about not just my mom's slow decline over the past ten years, but also my dad's. Both were healthy and lived robust lives, mostly, until my brother, Scott, died. Then the decline started. Neither of them could get over the tragic death of their beloved middle child, the one they fought so valiantly to save. In the end, it killed them both, leaving collateral damage scattered along the way.
I don't blame my parents. They did the best they could with what they had.
My mom lived an amazing life. She mostly was a stay-at-home mom, but did work part-time, after we kids were self-sufficient, at the Longmont Board of Realtors in Longmont, Colorado. She loved her job as she was about as social as a person can be. It was a busy office and she thrived in that kind of environment. I'm sure having an introvert daughter was perplexing to her and she oftentimes did not know how to handle me.
My parents were both from the south and were the ultimate host and hostess. You had not lived until you were a guest at one of their shindigs. Growing up, there were always dinner parties and plain old party parties at our house, whether it be in Oklahoma, New Jersey or Colorado. They had tons of friends and celebrated life in abundant fashion. I stood in awe at just how good they were in the hospitality realm. It was inspiring. No one ever left their house hungry, thirsty or unsatisfied in any other way. And I loved the leftovers.
At Christmas time, my mom lived in the kitchen. Decades ago, she learned how to make chocolates and that she did, constantly, during the holidays. She also made gingerbread men and cutout sugar cookies. There were pounds and pounds of every kind of chocolate you could want. "Get your plate and go downstairs and pick out what you want," she would say. And we did. There, in the basement, we would find container after container of mouth-watering goodness just waiting to be devoured. Oh, and I can't forget the two tons of party mix she made every holiday season. She was responsible for me gaining the Christmas five every year.
Whatever she wanted to accomplish, she did. She was in her late 60s or early 70s when she decided she wanted to learn Italian. Even though she was 100% Italian, she didn't grow up speaking the language, but was determined to do so. So, she joined an Italian club and learned how to speak Italian. She loved it and made so many friends, many of whom attended Scott's funeral. She and dad even took a long-awaited trip to Italy when they were in their 70s.
She loved to travel, cook, eat and shop. We were clearance rack, all day shoppers for years. I'd pick her up and we would drive to Boulder or Aurora or Northglenn and spend the entire day shopping. She taught me how to shop the sale racks, heading to the back of the store every time. To this day, I only shop clearance racks. I looked forward to our monthly shopping sprees. Of course, there were the day after Thanksgiving and Christmas sales, too, that we never missed. We'd stop long enough only to eat lunch, always a treat that mom lavished on me. I cherish those excursions; they were always so much fun. I'd give anything to have just one more.
If my mom loved something, she was passionate about it. There was no half-way with her: it was either all or nothing. I got that trait from her. She was strong-willed, feisty, head-strong and, honestly, quite overbearing and difficult to deal with, at times. Traits, also, that I inherited. But she was giving, and she just had a way with people. Everyone loved my mom. She had lot of friends and made every celebration with every single one of them something to be celebrated.
She loved her grandchildren with reckless abandon. In many ways, I think she loved them more than her kids because she was freer to just be herself, without all the baggage. She relished the role and was just so natural at it. I absolutely love how much she cherished my three kids.
Like me, my mom loved to travel. As an adult, I enjoyed several trips with her, including two cruises, a trip to Phoenix and a Vegas trip where I took her to see Tom Jones. It seems there was always some kind of drama on these trips, not necessarily in a negative way. My mom was nothing if not a bit dramatic. She entertained us for years with her flair for it.
And so, it is apropos, I think, that she died like she lived. Leaving us all in shock at just how fast she left us. When we expected her to die, she never did. Now that we didn't, she surprised us all and went.
When I heard the news, yesterday, that she had only 24 to 48 hours left to live, I didn't really believe it. I was in California, for work (of course not home) and I went back and forth with myself, wondering if I should fly home or not. I texted my kids and my brother, giving them the heads up, and they were able to visit her and say good-bye. It was not in the cards for me, however.
Ric was with me for the weekend and was scheduled to fly home, on stand-by, last night. I decided to go with him, unless I heard the news that she had passed before getting on the plane. In dramatic, mom-like fashion, right before the ticket counter opened, she made her way from this world to the next. I just had to laugh, a few hours later, while thinking about it.
From a spiritual standpoint, I know her days were numbered by God. Scripture tells me so and I believe it. She was not on this Earth one second more or less than she was destined to be. But there sure were many times I felt like she was calling the shots in death as she had in life. The way everything played out, it just all seemed so much like...her.
Though I didn't get to see her before she died, I was able to say my good-byes last November when death, again, was supposedly imminent. I prayed she would be coherent, and she was. It was the best visit I could have hoped for, where I said all I needed to say, and she responded. Even though she had Alzheimer's, there was never a time I saw her that she didn't know who I was. I am grateful for that.
I am also thankful that I was given the mom I had. I couldn't always say this. Our relationship was complicated, as many mother-daughter relationships are. But she loved me, of that I am certain. She did the very best that she could and, most of the time, it was enough. I never lacked for food or shelter or clothes or attention. Or love.
I'm broken-hearted at the loss of her, for sure. But I'm more heartbroken that I lost out on many years with her due to many circumstances, all out of my control. I've been saying good-bye to her for nearly ten years which makes the final one not as difficult as it would be otherwise.
I've had years to grieve, to shed tears, to lament, to regret.
To honor her in the way she deserves, I am going to go forward in life, being the best mom, wife, friend, sister, aunt, cousin, niece, grandmother (some day) and co-worker I can be. To cherish each moment, as best I can. To be fully present.
I have huge shoes to fill. My only hope is I can fill them in a way that is worthy of Mary Rose Kiker. My mom.