Gifts of Love and Time
They say that good things come to those who wait. But the truth is, waiting is the hardest part.
I spent my early life growing up in an emotionally abusive home. I was the youngest of seven children in a troubled family. My mom stayed in the marriage for our sake and somehow, we all made it through many years together.
Then one October, the day after my 24th birthday, my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The doctors predicted she had only three months to live. It wasn’t fair.
Treatment and a setback
My mom underwent chemo treatments for the next couple of months, but the treatments took their toll, and she had a setback. Then, around 10 days before Christmas, she had to re-enter the hospital. Fortunately, my mom began feeling a little better and one day made a special request: that we honor her wishes and let her spend the rest of her time at home.
The day of her request I left the hospital in a snowstorm, wrapped in the warmth of my mom’s hug, and her whisper telling me to drive safe on the treacherous roads.
Visit from Santa
My mom had always been like a child at Christmas. Her eyes would light up at the joy of giving, and she’d get the house ready in anticipation of a visit from Santa Claus, including the cookies, the candies, and the chubbiest tree from the cut-your-own farm. But that year, the hard news she’d received about her health, and the reality of it being her last Christmas, was sinking in.
Soon after I made it home, the phone rang. It was mom. Her voice was joyful, telling me that Santa had just visited her at the hospital. What she didn’t know was that my sister (a nurse) and a friend helped, knowing mom’s love for Christmas.
My mother told me that Santa had made a special visit just to her room. He knew her name and, oh yes, he knew all about her. She was as excited as a child. She truly believed Santa came just for her.
The next day, my mom returned home, as she’d wished. And somehow, she kept the holiday spirit alive that year and hid her pain from the family.
A few weeks later, I took a leave of absence from my teaching job to care for her. I regard those next two plus months as a gift: I could share many days with my mother, to care for her in her time of need, to be there to wipe away her tears, to laugh with her about the special times we shared, and to comfort her when she was in pain. I had the chance to do so much of what she had done for me throughout the years.
Greatest gift
My mom is my gift. Those last months I could spend with her are my gift. She is responsible for who I am today. I carry her in my heart. She passed away the day after Mother’s Day: seven months after her diagnosis with me, her seventh child, at her side.
Every year at Christmas, I unpack her ornaments. My heart smiles as I tell the stories of this remarkable woman, who I’m so fortunate to be able to call Mom – and I’m grateful for the gift of life and love that she shared so freely. I miss my mom with my whole heart. Holidays are hard. But I make it through by remembering her laughter, and her eyes twinkling as reports on the tv brought Santa closer to our home.
I wish I could hear her voice again, telling me she loved me and didn’t know what she would do without me. Funny thing is, I don’t know what I would have done without her. I love you and I miss you, Mom. You are the most special gift in my life.
