Turbo Cancer, Day 182 - December 10, 2022
The Vigil
On this day, last year, I wrote:
My mom has been resting calmly and peacefully. She is markedly less responsive, but yesterday evening she did open her eyes and smile at each of us. Today, after a prayer with Aunt Lenore, she raised her eyebrows during the Amen. Her breathing is slow and shallow, but still rhythmic. Her hands are a bit less warm.
Now we are just sitting, watching and waiting. While I listen to the soft drone of the machines, I miss my mom. Simultaneously, I am overjoyed by the sight of her painless face.
Things are slowing down, and I realize that I have a lot of processing to do. These six months have been absolute chaos, on a colossal scale. Now, just like that, it’s over.
The vigil has begun.
It feels like the ending credits of an epic film.
I am grateful for this opportunity to rest.
Throughout this experience, I continuously prayed for strength and humility. God has given me great strength, which I had no idea I was capable of. I will carry it with me throughout my life.
God has also given me the desire to pay tribute to my mom, by helping the people who need help. I think that there are a lot of those.
The humility is still a work in progress. I do have a lot of pride. I’m not sure where God is going with that.
It is the pride, I think, that gives me the courage to fight. It doesn’t really matter. I expect God to remain in control. I will have to just keep doing what appears to need to be done.
Two days ago, my mom stopped talking. On that day, when the visitors arrived, she reached out, took the face of each of them in her hands, and with her words, with a smile, or with a kiss, she said: “I love you,”
On the evening of December 8, 2022, my wild, impish, loving, vulnerable, strong son, Mikey, held his grandma’s hand, looked her in the eyes, and said: “I love you, Mama.” She smiled sweetly and replied: “I love you.”
She said her favorite words, and then she fell asleep.
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Yes.
We sent for our brother-Come now! She had stopped talking and was mostly asleep, but when he got there and stood above her and leaned over to say, “I love you, Mom” she opened her eyes and reached up and touched his face with her hand. I didn’t know she could still reach up.
It’s been 27 years and I still cry as I write that
Yes, Kristi, your Vigil is coming to an end, and these writings will end too. I sure hope that you will continue to put down here the kinds of thoughts you have expressed thus far.
Your mom as well as everyone else would be or are proud of you. I say your mom would be proud of you, but I don't know, I think that in reality she is proud of you, either she knows what you have done or she hears about it from the currently departing or maybe God tells her.
I would think that God tells her first, then others tell her, but that is just me.