Brain. Cancer. No... You sat on the stairs And told me. So matter of fact: It has come back, I'm sorry. No... I'm sorry. I was moving out, you were with- Out me for months. Your only daughter: the glue. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
The stark white hospitals walls And scratchy sheets, Sterile smell mixed with ****, Pureed food on the beige tray. Nurses who forgot to feed you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
You still smiled up until That final week. Somehow. I know you were so strong but The tumor weaved and molded Itself, made a home in your brain. You were my mother, But you were no where to be found... You had left your body long before.
Kissed your cold cheek, Held your burning hands. Prayed To Someone Promised you it was okay to go. Screamed silently... How will we make it without you? The nights long and treacherous, My father asleep in the chair beside you. The oxygen tank whirling, Morphine under the tongue, Listen to your breathing. The pattern The changes
Losing my mom before my 30's taught me a lot about life. It's short. Short in the "she was in remission for eight years, there's no way it could come back" short. Because it did. Come back.
It showed me what it feels like when the air is physically ****** out of the room - the feeling of a soul leaving the body. And that even the most private of people may still want their family surrounding them during their last breaths. It taught me how to administer the correct amount of morphine, consol a father who is inconsolable and pick the "perfect" urn. I learned there is a part of myself I will never get back because I was a part of her and she a part of me.
I will never just 'get over this.' Somedays I feel like no one remembers or cares and for that Mom, I am sorry. I know you're never coming back but I still somehow hold onto a small sliver of hope that you will. And when I realize you're not, The wave hits me again. And again Onto my *** and each time It becomes harder and harder to stand back up.
Your hand in mine Looked so small, Fragile Like your body on the borrowed bed In our living room The oxygen tank became the white noise As my brother and I shared shifts Of intently watching your chest rise and fall (Or Not.) I'll never be able to shake The final image in my mind Watching you slip away And the final goodbye Was so quiet I almost stopped breathing with you.
I'm sorry, When the silence was too loud Was it my fault When the phone would ring I wouldn't answer, It would ring And ring Mom I'm sorry, When the decisions weren't made Fast enough The pause was all There was And we waited too long While you laid up in the hospital bed It was all I could do To rest my own head at night Knowing Mom I'm sorry, The I love you's stuck in my throat The days I wasted, the nights I Drank The cheap dreams I chased While you watched and complained I'm sorry, It all came back around Time was nowhere to be found The cancer a sick disease but you, You found your release I'm sorry, Mom