My mother's passing away

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.