Twenty years ago today, I received the early morning phone call that my mother had passed away in the night.
She was in a nursing home by this time, dying of pancreatic cancer. I had seen her the day before, but not the day she passed away. Had I known she was so close to dying, I would have done better. The doctors, though, kept saying she had another month or so.
Obviously, they were wrong.
My mother was 56 years old when she passed away, and I have now outlived her. Fifty-six is quite young, if you think about it, and yet, not so young, either. My mother had had a difficult life, I think, and perhaps she was ready to go.
I recall that I'd summoned a pastor in to see her the Monday before she died on Wednesday. I do not know what passed between them, as I was asked to leave the room. I do know the pastor said he was glad I had asked him to come as he left.
My mother never mentioned the visit.
It was, I suppose, the last thing I did for her before she passed away. I visited Tuesday but not the day she passed on. She had seemed strong on Tuesday, and I certainly hadn't expected her to leave us so quickly.
At any rate, I did not want to let the anniversary go without acknowledging it. Twenty years is a long time, though it doesn't seem that long.
I hope she is in a good place.
My dad was 56 when he died. My mother's mother was also 56. My kid sister was so young when they both died and to this day (she turns 55 this year) she sighs with relief when someone in her life turns 57.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you were able to connect your mother with the pastor. Whether she acknowledged it or not, that was a huge gift of comfort you gave her when she had to be suffering.