What If…
What do you do when you know it will be the last time you see someone you love? Not like you’re moving away and you won’t see them for a while. It is the last time you will lay eyes on them; the last time you will have a chance to say something to them; the very last memory you will have of them.
Every time I visit my mom, I have this thought. I prepare myself just in case it’s the last time I see her, and I get that phone call from my dad that she has passed away. But here we are in December, and Nancy is still with us. But today is different. Today will undoubtedly be the last visit I have with her. I feel crazy for saying this but I feel lucky. I am lucky that I have this time to say goodbye or whatever it is I need or want to say to her. But what do I say?
In a perfect world, I would march right into Room 310 and she would look up at me and smile. I would tell her everything I’ve been doing for the past 7 months and she would nod her head and offer her advice and guidance like she has done for the past 40 years of my life. I’m only 49, but she liked to give a lot of advice. Then I would update her on what the grandkids were up to and she would offer up a bigger smile than before. She was so proud of each of her grandchildren. I would tell her how Dad and I decorated the house for Christmas, and that when she is gone my sister and I will take the very best care of him.
Since the conversation makes a serious turn, I would start thanking her. I would thank her for keeping me in line when I was growing up. I would thank her for teaching me to keep my focus in school and how to work hard. I would thank her for teaching me how to cook, how to clean the right way (Nancy’s way was always the right way) and how to set a proper table. I would thank her for showing me how to plan and execute a successful party. I would thank her for teaching me about shopping and fashion, books and literature, how to iron, how to sew on a button, and how to drive.
I would thank her for loving me when I was difficult, supporting me when I was down, and guiding me when I was lost. I would thank her for showing me how to be a good wife. I would thank her for showing me how to be a strong woman. And I would thank her for showing me how to be a great mom.
In reality, today won’t be like this at all. I will be driving down the road to the nursing home trying to hold it together. I won’t be marching anywhere. I will be tentatively entering her room, afraid of what I will find. I will sit by her side and hold her hand, barely able to get a word out. But that’s ok, because I won’t need to say anything. If we share one last look, she will be able to see in my eyes how I feel about her; how much I love her. It will be painful, and it will be heart wrenching, but it will be a special moment just between us. Thank you Mom, for everything.
