December 18, 2003. A day that I will never forget.
I was just about seven months along with Miss O. I was at my Mom's house in Northwestern PA. We had just had my baby shower on the 14th, a little early, but with good reason.
My mother was dying.
She had bravely fought for almost 5 years. But ovarian cancer is relentless. No matter how hard you fight, it keeps coming back. Two complete de-bulking surgeries, more chemotherapy treatments that you could count, and even Eastern medicine could no longer stave off the inevitable.
The day was cold, yet sunny. As I sat in her bedroom, silently crying, I looked out the window. Large, fluffy snowflakes fell all morning, as I listened to her labored breathing. At one point, mid-morning, she rolled to her left, reached out with her hand and placed it on my belly. I cried harder, as the reality sunk in. My mom, the OB nurse, was not going to see her first grand baby's birth.
As the day went along, I started calling family. Letting them know the end was close. By 9 o'clock that night, her parents, her brothers and sisters, her daughters, and all her nieces and nephews were at the house. We all sat in her bedroom, some of us on the bed with her, others scattered around the room. As if she was waiting for us, within a half hour of everyone getting there, she was gone.
Just like that.
I miss you more than words can describe, and I love you with all my heart.