My mother was 6.1 feet tall. She
was a very elegant woman. She was a strong woman. Her vivacity still remains a
strong mark in my life. My mother was 55 years old when she started having
stomach pain. At that time, she was trying to lose weight. She wanted to keep
her body in shape after raising six adult children. She thought her stomach
pain was due to gas or minor intestinal malaises not requiring serious medical
attention. She tried all kinds of natural medicine, something very common in
our traditional Haitian culture: herbal teas, over-the-counter Gas medications
in search of a relief. But nothing worked.
One early morning, she started
vomiting. What was coming out had a dark brown color. At that point, she made
the decision to see her doctor who wanted to see her immediately. We got to the
doctor’s office as fast as possible. The doctor prescribed blood work, CBC, and
a computerized tomography (CT) scan. My mother’s pain was getting worse every day
and the symptoms became more visible. The CT scan results indicated she was diagnosed
with stage IV cancer; which means the cancer had irreversibly spread to distant
areas of her body. She was given six months to live.
I remembered when she first got the
news. Her face looked worried and angry. I held her hands and I said to her
everything would be fine. But I was dying inside, hopeless, somewhat angry too and
asking God “why us?” Life suddenly seemed to have no meaning. I was in a mental
blackout. Nothing made sense.
Afterwards, I would always
accompany her to all her doctor appointments and was present during all the
procedures. My mother’s last two months were the hardest for me. Seeing how she
was suffering, the pain, the unbelievable rapid weight and hair loss, the
degradation of her body, her loss of smile, her loss of energy and will to
fight on amidst so many family tears; and yet not being able to do anything to
reverse the course of her misfortune. She would remain awake most of the night,
which made her always exhausted physically and mentally. When you know your
hour has come and the countdown is approaching its end, life can be brutal on
the mind and body. She knew she all of her dreams were shattered and over.
Being used to her strong fighting
spirit, it was so hard to witness her like that. Sometimes I tried to put talk
her out of her situation, out of her illness, out of her last sighs. I’d take
her to the park, to the movies, to a nice restaurant. I’d throw here and there
spontaneous jokes to pull a smile out of her lifeless face. But it was so
temporary, it’s like it never happened. The pain and the idea of death were
part of every breath she took.
As a believer, my mother taught if
it was God’s desire to heal her, she would have been already freed from her
cancer. At that point, she totally gave up. She had crossed the point of no
return. She accepted her fatal fate. It was like she was already gone. She was counting
down the minutes as if they were each the last one. But I never stopped praying
though, I still believed a miracle was possible.
During one last trip to the
hospital, I put my head on her chest and she said to me: “you will never stop
being a child”. She said that because I always play on her chest. About half an
hour after, she gave her last breath.
Even though we knew this was
coming, I was still devastated and sad. I felt so much injustice. But as time passed by, I progressively
accepted the fact that it was normal for all of us to live and leave this
earth. My wounds started to heal with every passing day. I then realized my
mother was in a much better place where there is no more suffering and pain. It’s
been twelve years since my mother passed away, nonetheless everything is still
fresh in my memory.
