My mom died one year ago today.  Her name was Jennifer, although she went by Jinx.  She was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia on April 18, 2006.  I still remember that day.  I took off work to go into the hospital with her (my dad came as well).  She had been feeling extremely tired and knew something was wrong – she thought it was anemia.  I was very concerned and feared it might be cancer.  My mom was terrified of the disease, even well before she had it.  Her mother died from breast cancer and her father had a stroke.

I remember the fear that set in when we were moved to a different room – in the oncology ward.  The three of us waited in that room for what seemed like an eternity.  I tried my best to distract my mom by talking about current events in my life, although she was visibly scared.

When the doctor came in, he uttered those three words that make everyone cringe: “You have cancer.”  My heart sunk.  My mom started to cry.  I reached out and grabbed her hand, which she later told me was one of the nicest things I had ever done for her.  Even my dad, who rarely shows his true emotions, cried a little.  Panicked, my mom started to tell us that she didn’t want to lose us or her other two children.

The ten months leading up to her death were extremely painful, though my mom and I made the most of it.  I took time off work to spend my days with her in the hospital.  It was gut-wrenching to watch her go through chemotherapy.  It’s something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.  We took the time to say things we hadn’t said before.  We were lucky to be given the chance to say our goodbyes.

The three months before her death were difficult enough.  I’ve heard it said – and tend to agree – that when it rains it pours.  My fiance’s mom died suddenly on November 6, 2006 and my best friend’s mom died of cancer on New Year’s Eve.  They were both wonderful people who I was honored to have met, and I miss them dearly.

I received a call from my dad on the morning of February 21 – the day after I was in a car accident.  My dad informed me that my mom had decided against a risky procedure, which would surely have brought more pain and discomfort, and was going over the medication.  She was dying in a hospital, which was something she said she never wanted to do.  My dad put my mom on and I asked her how she was.  She was already out of it.  The disease was taking over and the morphine was kicking in.  I elected not to tell her about my accident, as that would have unnecessarily worried her.  She wasn’t making a lot of sense, which freaked me out.  I told her I loved her and she said the same.  I didn’t know that would be the last time I’d ever talk with her.

I wrestled with flying back and finally decided to do so on February 23.  My fiancé came with me.  My best friend picked us up at the airport and drove us to my parent’s house.  I had a bad feeling.  I walked in the door and my dad told me that she had died.  All I could do was walk up to my old room with my fiancé and close the door.  It felt surreal.  I thought I was prepared for her death, but I wasn’t.  I don’t think you can ever prepare for such a great loss.

We organized a memorial service at my mom’s old school.  She was a kindergarten teacher and a damn good one.  Her children loved her.  She referred to each year’s class as the Busy Bees and maintained a bee-themed classroom.  Her classroom was very hands-on and interactive; she made school fun for the kids, which is hard to do.

I never thought I’d lose my mom at the age of 24, when she had just turned 60.  I’ve learned that life is a journey and you never know where it’s going to take you.  I value every day and the relationships I have even more than I did before.

Sometimes I feel like she’s close, but others I feel like she’s completely gone.  I talk to her occasionally, when I’m alone.  I wish she was around to learn of my engagement and attend my wedding.  I remember the great times we had together, especially up in the mountains of Pennsylvania.  My moods vary drastically when I think about her.  I get bitter, angry, depressed, and nostalgic.

I’m not sure when I’ll come to terms with her death, or if I ever will.  I’ve come to learn how obnoxious it is for others to think you should be over something already.  You can’t set a time limit on mourning.  Please don’t do that to the people you love.  Be patient and supportive.  They just need you to be there; they don’t need you to tell them what to do or feel.

Mom: I miss you.  Everything reminds me of you.  I’m thankful for each and every experience I had with you on this earth.  I hope to meet up with you again in another life.