Looking Back

I remember 3 years ago when my father and mother called us all down into the family room to tell us the awful news that ALS had entered the life of this family again, only this time it targeted our beloved Mother. The news hit so hard; tears flowed, cries were heard - and we knew that the diagnosis meant death. We didn't know how long she'd have, but we did know she wouldn't beat it like other diseases could be beaten. There was no cure, there were no miraculous recoveries or transplants... nothing. The only thing we could do for mom was keep her comfortable. Dad ensured she had the BEST of everything, from walkers to wheelchairs to vehicles; breathing equipment, medicine, pillows, furniture - you name it, she had it. I remember trying to focus at play rehearsal during Bye Bye Birdie right after she was diagnosed. That was indescribably difficult. The following year, during rehearsal for Oklahoma, I remember becoming so happy about news that the ward members had helped with some of the remodeling in the new kitchen that it saved us something like 48 hours of work - that I actually hugged a stranger!(Thanks, Jenn!)Since it was Dad and the kids remodeling the entire upstairs for Mom, 48 hours was a life saver :) . We painted and sanded and swept and glued and put pieces together all over the house. My uncle and his group did a great job with that amazing ramp for Mom; it all came together so perfectly. We never really thought at the time that that house wouldn't need to stay like that forever, but none of us wanted to imagine life without Mom, even though we knew from DAY 1 that it would ultimately take her life. Even in her last days, though the talk consisted of concern for her well-being, her suffering ... we still never quite grasped that when she was gone -- there would be no more. No more wheelchairs, no more breathing machines, feeding tubes, hospital visits. And the worst of all, no more Mom. I know that somehow we knew that when she would pass on that she would be whole again - and she is! But no one really vocalized the fact (not that we needed too) that once she was whole again, she'd also not be on earth anymore. Strange as it may seem, thinking about this disease taking Mom AWAY never occurred; I think it killed her many, many times over with every loss of motion she suffered, but at least she was still there. She still smiled at us and looked at us and talked with that machine when she could... But now she's gone. Really, really gone... no wheelchair, no more medicine, no more tubes, or support belts, or "Please put my feet up". No more Mom to hug even though she couldn't hug us back. I look for her every time at at my parent's home; and every time, it is so strange that she isn't anywhere I look...

I think when people say "I can't imagine life without her" it is said because they really, really can not. It is something out of an awful dream.