I was watching TV last night and a scene triggered me to think about the time we had a family meeting in the hospital on October 16th about Mum. Earlier in the week, the doctor on call had assessed her and told my dad she’d months to live, and if he’d signed a DNR order. This sent my Dad into a tailspin of emotion, which he was unable to hide as he’d normally do, and it prompted a meeting to understand what had changed to usher in this grave diagnosis. Taking time from work, I got to the hospital before eleven and went to see Mum, who was lying in the bed in room six, where I’d seen her the day before. She was being helped up by the nurses, and a wheelchair was on the way to her bedside, so she could be wheeled over to the family room. In that room, we sat waiting for the Registrar on the ward, who was looking after Mum, to come in and explain what, if anything, had changed with her treatment. I stayed silent for the whole interaction, just staring at my Mum, who was sat upright in the wheelchair, nodding as she listened to the doctor outline the options going forward. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, as she kept her attention in the doctor’s direction and an expression of relief when he said that chemotherapy was still on the table, since her cancer had not changed following her most recent scan.

As I sat on the couch last night thinking about this moment, I can see my Mum nodding, her eyes wide with understanding and looking in my direction to check if I was okay. I felt, as I looked at her sitting opposite me, that she was waiting for something, waiting to be told she could go to Marymount following weeks of being in and out of hospital, and being sleep deprived in that horrible ward she was on. It’s very sad to think that only two weeks later, following her wish to be sent to Marymount for respite, that she passed away there. I think when she looked over at me at the end of that meeting, she knew why I was quiet throughout because I’d been the same when her Mum was in hospital and passed a few days later. Almost as if the writing was on the wall. It’s so sad thinking about how it ended and how I wish we’d more time.

I really miss you Mom.