This is the story of the death of my beloved mother, Diana, who passed away on June 12, 2015 at the age of 47. I’m still fresh in the grasp of grief, but I want to share these details before they slip my memory.
In early May 2015, my mother was diagnosed with stage 4 adenocarcinoma, a type of lung cancer. As quickly as I could I packed up my 3 year old and 5 week old and went to Kansas. I had no idea those short 4 days I spent there with my mom would be some of the last. She seemed fairly well with the exception of some weight loss and pain. She was laughing, reminiscing and playing with her grandchildren. We sorted old family pictures together and laughed and cried to some of our favorite old songs. My mom and I talked extensively about her death plans. I made sure she knew that is was important to me that I was there to usher her on to the next phase of her life because she was the one who ushered me into this one. When the day for me to return to Denver came, my mother hugged me in a way unlike before. Her embrace felt permanent. It was bittersweet to leave Kansas, as it always is, but I went back to Denver, expecting the make more trips throughout the summer to help care for her. On June 1oth, I returned to Kansas with my 10 week old son. My mom was feeling worse and spent the previous week at the hospital due to dehydration. On the morning of June 11th, we brought mom home from the hospital and had the house prepared for hospice care. It was important to all of us that she pass at home. As my sisters walked her into the house she was making statements about returning to the hospital because something didn’t feel right. She said to me that she knew coming home meant she would die. That morning we got her comfortable and prepared for what we all thought would be a couple more weeks of caring for her.
By early afternoon, hospice left and my sisters returned to their daily rhythm. My grandmother and I cared for mom, which was simply helping her stay hydrated and helping her take her medication. Mom was alert, laughing and seemingly ok. She was awake the whole day, which had been uncommon for her in recent weeks. She seemed restless. She was up often and requested my grandma make dumplings — one of our family traditions.
That evening my mom had a large helping of my grandma’s dumplings. The past weeks she didn’t eat much, so this came as a surprise to my grandma and I. This should have been one of the clues for us that she was close to death. After she ate, my mom tried to sleep but was complaining about muscles spasms. I figured the spasms were from her morphine being so high. It was at this point that I felt a shift. Something felt different with my mom. I helped her use the restroom and walking her back to her bed she was more uncoordinated than usual. As I tucked her back into bed she kept telling me she didn’t like this. She said she was referring to the spasms, but I think the whole process made her weary. I asked her if it would help if I stayed by her side, she said yes. For the next hour she was restlessly trying to sleep — pulling on her oxygen and the blankets next to her. She would wake up from her restless sleep and say something that wasn’t quite clear and in a slurred voice. She asked me for pen and paper to write down dates but once I gave her the pen and paper she said she would do it later. She mentioned something about grandma’s Christmas and complained that hospice nurses were not coming to help stop her spasms. She also told me she was dying. The last thing she said to me was “But we need to take care of that stuff.” I told her it was all taken care of and helped her lay back down. I told her to melt into her bed and sleep. She was then able to fall asleep, although she still seemed restless from spasms and snoring. I held her hand and prayed that she would not suffer. I was hopeful her soul could hear mine telling her that she was safe. She could go whenever she needed. From that time,which was about 10 pm, I stayed by her side with my 10 week old sleeping on me until 2 am.
At 2 am I went to the next room to lay down with my son for a bit. As I drifted off to sleep however I thought I heard my mom crying. I got up and went over and she was sleeping and snoring as before. I checked on my grandma, checked outside, but could not find the source of the crying. I laid back down and this time I thought I heard my mom say “this is happening.” I got up and went to her again but nothing had changed from before. I decided I was delusional and fell asleep on the couch for a couple hours. At 4:00 am I woke up and checked on my mom, who was still sleeping and snoring. I decided to go upstairs to the bed since sleeping on the couch was quite uncomfortable for me and my 10 week old. I came back down at 5:15 am to use the restroom and check on my mom. Nothing had changed, so I decided to go back upstairs and get another hour or two of sleep. At 6:45 am my 10 week old awoke. I changed his diaper and quickly headed downstairs.
At first, I thought my mom was finally getting some restful sleep but I quickly began to suspect that the room was silent because she had passed. I checked her pulse but did not find one. I turned off her oxygen and checked to see if she was breathing, but I did not feel breath. I put my hand on her chest, but it did not rise or fall. At this point, my grandma awoke and came from her room and I told her I suspected mom had passed early this morning. I remembered at this time telling my husband just a week or two before that I had a dream that my mom passed away during the dawn. I never suspected it would actually happen. My grandma then tried to wake my mom up and kept asking me if there could be something else wrong. We were both shocked that she passed so quickly. I was furious that my mom’s final breath happened while I was sleeping. Of course, it occurred to me that death is like birth. Giving birth becomes more difficult when you are being watched, so I concluded my mom needed me to stop watching her so she could die. I spent a few minutes by my mom before calling hospice and my sisters. We spent some time by mom’s side before her body was taken away, but it never felt like enough time.
It’s peculiar how death can make so many things clear.
I see my mom like I never have before.
I see her in myself, in my sisters and in my children.
And I am so glad to have the life I’ve had with her and to see her all around me and to feel her within.
My mom always called me her wild fire. She said I had passion that lights fires and burns the night.
She was the one that encouraged me to be unguarded. To be myself, fully.
She was the one that encouraged me to uncover my emotions and to not be ashamed of my feelings.
She was the one that encouraged my wild spirit. She never tried to tame me. She intimately knew the freedom of a barefoot soul.
She was the one who walked me into the wilderness of womanhood.
She is the one who whispers into my spirit, “Run my wild fire…burn the night.”
I hear you mama.
a wild whisper 