Final 15

What can you do in fifteen minutes? I can mail a package, drive to TCC, run a mile and eat an entire foot-long sub sandwich. What can you do in that amount of time? How long is fifteen minutes exactly?  It’s a quarter of an hour and 900 seconds. I spent about 900 seconds today saying goodbye to my mother. Those fifteen minutes were the most horrible and most rewarding minutes of my entire life. Yesterday we were told by medical personnel that she had less than two months left to live. Today we were told by medical personnel that she had an hour, a day or a week. We’ve switched from the hope of recovery to the reality of needing pain control. These are the final hours of my biggest advocate, my best friend, my hero and my mom’s life.  

What do you say when you have no words left? Where do you begin when you have so much to say? I began talking to my mom about a sin I committed in the fifth grade. We had just bought a swiffer wet-jet and I thought it was the coolest thing in the world. My mom was busy making beds and I asked if I could help her clean! She said yes but that I wasn’t allowed to use the swiffer until she showed me how to properly use it. So naturally, I ran downstairs and began swiffering the kitchen. I just wanted my mom to be proud of my swiffering ability. Unfortunately, I was swiffering a little too closely to my mom’s favorite blue delft plate and backed into it with the swiffer. The plate fell to the ground and broke into a million little pieces. I heard “Katie, are you okay”? I fled the scene immediately because I knew my mom was going to kill me for 1. Not listening and 2. Breaking one of her prize possessions. I ran into the living room and hid behind the sofa. When my mom finally found me she hugged me so tightly and asked if I was okay. I remember crying and feeling an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach because I had disappointed my mother. I remember her wiping my tears and saying “Katie, that plate is replaceable, you’re not”. Today I apologized to my mom, again, about breaking that plate. She didn’t remember the plate or how I broke it or what happened. But for whatever reason, it was important for me to apologize again.

I began to apologize for not always being nice or listening the first time she asked me to do things. I apologized for never wanting lasagna, manicotti or quiche. I apologized for complaining about everything that wasn’t 100% perfect. I apologized for never asking her how she felt or caring about anyone other than myself. I apologized for seeing life as a glass half empty. I vowed to do better. I told her the cancer had changed my perspective of life and that I was becoming a much better person. I explained that I wanted to be more like her. She turned her head in my direction and said “you’re the bestest in the northest, southest, eastest and westest”. That directional phrase was a corky saying my mom had adopted over the years. At that moment my tears turned from grief and despair to that of comfort and strength. In that moment I knew she was ready. In that moment I knew we’d be okay. In that moment I knew I’d made her proud and that she loved me more than I could ever understand.

We bailed Michael out of school early today because we wanted to make sure he had the chance to say whatever he needed to say. Doctors can predict timelines all they want, but they're seldom correct; sometimes you've gotta take matters into your own hands and be proactive. As you can imagine, Michael was very upset and left the room pretty quickly. I followed him over to a bench overlooking the water and the landing pad for the Nightingale. We were talking about how sometimes we don’t understand why things happen and that it completely and utterly sucks. Michael turned to me and said “sometimes God just needs to know the reason because we won’t understand or we don’t need to know right now”. I held the tears back as long as I could and replied with “I think you’re right”. He turned to look out the window and said “I think God needs mom in Heaven so that she can welcome granddaddy and be with her mom”. Michael was right. God needs backup in Heaven – someone to teach a course in hospitality, kindness, generosity, truth, praise and appreciation. He’s picked the perfect teacher. In those 900 seconds I found myself alternating sentences with one particular phrase. She didn’t respond to all of my apologizes or comments, but she always responded to one particular phrase: I love you. I must have told her a million bajillion times that I loved her. Every single time she would respond saying the same thing back. No matter what happens, whether she lives 300 more years or 3 more hours, I’ll never have heard “I love you” enough.

After those 900 seconds, I am at peace with my mother – I’ve apologized and expressed my gratitude, love and idolization for her and she knows she’s the best. The only regret I have is not saying “I love you” more, not just to her, but to anyone who ever deserved to hear it. Thankfully, I’m 22 and I can learn from this and address my lack of verbal affection. She’s taught me so many wonderful things and given me so many gifts to use and share with the world – I’d like to think she’s ready to watch me grow with a front row seat. She’s going to have the best time watching over all of her loved ones because she’ll finally get to be a part of everything – she can make it to Michael’s karate class, encourage me through taking a test and chill in Caroline’s JMU dorm room as often as she likes. She’s with us everywhere and more importantly, her spirit lives in us. We’ve been blessed by an angel that is about to earn her wings – she’s brought so much grace and love to this world and all we can do is celebrate her life and be thankful we were a part of it.

2 Kings 2:2 “As surely as the Lord lives and as you live, I will not leave you”.