Unpacking The Call

I was sitting at my dad’s breakfast table a little after lunchtime. We were catching up about the last estate sale: talking over the odd treasures we found, the old media he could flip in his eBay store, when my phone rang.

It was Claire, my step-sister in Louisiana. The one who lives nearest to my mom and stepdad-her dad.

She never calls me.

So I picked up immediately.

“Hello?”

“Hey Michelle, it’s Claire. Has anyone called you?”

“No… why?”

She paused.

“Well… your mom’s been losing weight.  My dad took her to the doctor.  (More than once) She has brian cancer and it’s not good.

Silence.

More silence.

“Michelle… are you there?”

“Yeah. I’m here. Just… processing.”

“How long does she have?”

“They didn’t say.”

*(My brain instantly—If they didn’t say, it’s not long.)

“They’re sending her home with hospice.  And when I asked if they were going to call you… (mom and Bucky) they said, ‘just let her find out.’ (That stung) So I wanted to call and tell you myself.”

That was the near the end of January, 2024.

I hung up and called my husband.  He told me to come home, so I wouldn’t be as afraid.

But I said, No. I’m going to call my mother.

I called her house.  I spoke with both her and my stepdad.

When did she start being sick?

She had been losing weight for a while. They thought it was her back again, so no one caught it early.  But recently, they did a brain scan and it lit up like a Christmas tree. Tumors everywhere.

She also had a swollen lymph node near her breast. A biopsy revealed what they called lung cancer that had metastasized to her brain… but oddly, there were no tumors in her lungs.  Just a lesion that had shown up months before and then disappeared.

I told her, “I’m coming. I’ll be there in a couple of days.”

I brought my best friend Krystal with me.  Not my husband.  Not my kids.

Because my mother and I had been estranged for 15 years.

We talked occasionally during those years, but it always ended badly.  So I brought Krystal to be a gentle buffer: to hold space for both me and her.  I needed to go in with love and clarity and no expectations.  I didn’t want my husband or kids walking into that room until I understood how sick she really was and how I truly felt about the entire situation.

She was very sick.

She was very skinny.

Sometimes she said things that didn’t add up.

But she was still her mostly.  And I wanted every second I could get.

We spent almost five months together.  I got everything I needed before she took her last breath.

I got closure.

I received love.

I accepted every single apology she offered: for everything that happened from the time I was 12 until now.  2024.  Literally.

I had already forgiven her. I told her that.  I wanted her to know it, to feel it, so she could be at peace.

And she was.

We didn’t have enough time to make up for all those lost years.  But we had time to laugh.  To talk.  To lie in bed together.  We had time for healing.

Eventually, I brought my family to her.  She wanted to see my dad first, then my kids, and finally, my husband.

Toward the end, it was just me and him visiting every time.

She stopped speaking.  Her body began letting go.  For at least 24 hours, maybe closer to two full days, she hadn’t said a word. We left June 4th and June 6-7 we talked to Bucky a lot because she was not comfortable and was talking crazy.  Saying things that did not add up. She had been doing this since March but it got really bad fast.

We were on our way back to see her when she was transitioning.  She waited.  For me!

She died just two hours after I arrived.

June 8, 2024.

I miss you mom.  I love you!

Thank you for showing me all of YOU and YOUR husband in such a small amount of time.

Continue to watch over the two grandchildren I gave to you. I wish Mandy, Kevin and Craig could have been here to give you more. 💕💔