The Lost Conversation with My Mother

The Lost Conversation

The last night I spent with my mother before she was taken from this earth I stood there helpless watching her take breath after breath fighting to stay with us for one more night.  Those who were with me met this struggle with frustration as we knew that it was time for her to leave us but at the same time afraid of the hole or void created from this woman of 58 years, 36 of them raising the person I am today.

Like the night before, I knew my mother’s time was short. This illness that has spanned 2 decades had taken someone whom my family saw as a leader, a role model, the source for answers, to one now helpless to her own body. I wanted to ask her, not about the “what if”, or “if I could do different…” but more how did she accept this state and how she took disappointment and made it a strength?

My mother I remember growing up was born to be the leader, the first child of 5 she always found battles among her siblings as well as everyday world.  She would tell stories of farms, big houses, and sibyl rivalry.  And though the world was cruel, my mother still found it in her heart to go and help others even though they may or may not have wanted it.


Life was always like that, and as I grew up my mother tried so hard to be normal.  Never accepting of what was happening to us.  As our family faced losing our house, bankruptcy, her husband’s mental disability, and providing for not just her 3 children but countless others who called her mom, I never realized how hard it had to be being the person everyone depended on or needed.

Borrowed Time

Watching my mother start a decline I can’t remember when or how it happened. I remember the late night trips to Seattle, or the endless visits to Bellevue, or Tacoma seeing doctors, specialists whom all told her “in 1996,” her liver was beginning to fail and that without a transplant,  she only has 3-4 years to live.  She proved them wrong and did things her way. From taking a cocktail of medicine, to having her hip deteriorate, she still did things her way.


Even to her time of death it wasn't her liver that got her, but a tired body that just couldn't handle a determined soul or spirit. That the need to see that her family, sons, daughters, sisters, brother, husband, nieces, nephews, granddaughter, brother and sister-in-law all were taken care of.  She never wanted to let her health take her life because she gave that to all of us.  And even as she past she was still able to give the gift of sight to two people.


My Mother was a fighter from beginning to end. She always took care of us right up to the end.  Now as I remember I have so many feelings of moments I had taken for granted. Lessons just now realized, challenges to accomplish, and desires to be accomplished.


 My mother was a teacher, and though most of her body had given in, her heart had not.  I never got to ask her where this courage or drive for life came from.  How she believed in each of us, and let us see and do what we thought was best.  She always listened to my ideas and never told me I was crazy.   My mother gave me life, knowledge, music, and always confidence when I needed it most.


Losing a parent is never easy to stomach and as I search for understanding why my mother was taken from us with still a quarter of life to live, I can only ask for her courage, determination, kindness, patience, and her selflessness. Her expectations were so small, yet I perceived them so big. I know we will see each other again, and we can then take that walk or hike back to that waterfall.  I know she is watching over me and all of her family.  I just ask that she lend an ear now to help me be the person she was to us, so I can be the same to my daughter and family.