This is personal. Selfish on my part. This day is one I can’t forget. So indulge me in walking back through these memories.
I woke up anticipating a stop by my parents’ house on my way to work. I placed my yogurt, berries and granola down as I exited my mini-van. My aunt was outside with a look of distress. I will never forget her words.
“Bonnie, her breathing sounds like a percolator.”
If you don’t know what a percolator is, look it up. Ask your device for the sound. It will give you some perspective, although not pleasant to think about a human sounding like that. But my oldest sister and dad were inside hearing it. Come to find out my dad was still sleeping after a rough night.
My sister had a calm but stern look on her face but her eyes showed concern that I had not seen from her. I hear the sound my aunt had warned me about. I immediately go into fix-it mode.
You know what I mean? Are you a fixer, too?
I wanted to help my mama. I wanted that gurgling to stop and for her to open her eyes and call my name the way only she could. I wanted her to get off that bed and start making coffee. I wanted to sit at her table and talk.
Hospice had been coming and we had been instructed to call them when we needed them. I needed them more than she did. I couldn’t handle this. My insides were in a panic and if you ask my sister she would probably tell you my outside reflected it.
We called our spouses, siblings and children. Any that could get to the house needed to now. We knew the end of having her with us on earth was coming quickly.
It was only minutes. I remember being on her right side and praying. I wanted her to know the comfort of being in the presence of Jesus. I wanted her to be out of the pain cancer and treatment had brought on her. But I also wanted her with us.
Fourteen years later, I see her in the mirror and in my sisters and brother. She left her mark on each of her five children. We carry her in our mannerisms and characteristics. Our eyes all carry her dark brown stare.
Today, I wouldn’t want her here in place of where she is because tough stuff has happened and it would cause her more pain. Hurts have been personal and deep. Her heart would have been broken more than once.
Today, I rejoice because she knew the Savior. I rejoice because I get to join her one day.
I pray you know Him, too.
Bonnie I was devastated when I first heard of your mom’s diagnosis. Then when she could not take the chemo my medical knowledge kicked in and I cried every time I thought of your mom. She was way to young to suffer and die like this. I loved your mom very much and think of her often, especially when I see pictures of you and your sisters and Jess. All of you do favor her alot. It is with joy that we can rejoice in knowing we will see her again one day. I have one prayer request that you pray for me. I start a knew specialty med for my Cushing’s disease on Monday. It has bad side effects. I’m praying it works with minimal side effects. It is to pull the Cortisol out of my body so all my organs won’t be damaged. If it doesn’t work or if I’m not able to take it my life expectancy will be shortened. I LOVE YOU ❤️
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