The world was quieter, yet incredibly loud at the same time. The kind of silence that has its own sound if that makes sense. It was the sort of morning where a person hears nothing and everything at the same time. I stood at the top of the driveway at my mothers house and heard birds that I couldn’t see chirping away. I focused on my labored breathing as I listened to the muffled sobs coming from my family inside. I listened to the sounds of my own nerve endings buzzing inside my body. I felt like I was vibrating and the people around me might be able to hear my heart slowly tearing in half like a sheet of paper. Every breath I took felt like a betrayal. 

To any other ordinary person, it was a beautiful morning. But for me – May 9, 2020 was the first morning I woke up and my mother didn’t exist in this world. 

Mom made the decision to come home for hospice care three days before. She chose to come home because she wanted to be with her family. She was terrified of passing away in the covid infested hospital all alone. Mom had spent far too much time isolated these past few months and the thought of it continuing any longer was more than she could bear. I felt like the hospital could care for her in ways we might not be able to at home. The thought of her being all alone in the hospital wrecked me, but the thought of her coming home and suffering on our watch was terrifying. I was in denial. I still thought a miracle could happen and she would recover. Wake up one morning and be cancer free. I wanted to push her to stay where she was, but everyone told me that wasn’t my decision to make. It was hers. 

I began talking to God. Sure… I’ve spoken to him in the past, but never as seriously as I did in these moments. Undoubtedly, there was no greater human being he could save. She was everything good in this world and if anyone deserved a miracle, it was our mother. 

I’ve never been a true believer in religion. I am what they called a fair weather Catholic and pride myself on being a science based thinker. My mom was a whole other breed. She referred to herself as “old school”. Growing up, mom made us go to church on holidays. Year after year, we were forced to stand because we always arrived late. It wasn’t easy wrangling a hoard of children into a place where they were constrained in silence for over an hour. And it wasn’t just holidays… She also made us attend mass on random Sundays throughout the year as well. When we were younger she went almost every Sunday, but as we got older, she went alone some weeks. I used to think she was ridiculous, but looking back on it, it was probably where she found the most peace. The most silence. Time away from her chaotic family. Just Laura and the Lord. 

We were all baptised and attended all our CCD classes under the house rule that once we made our confirmation into the church, we would be free to make our own decisions when it came to what kind of Catholic we wanted to be. Mom once told me that as long as we were confirmed, she could sleep at night. She insisted that when our time came, she would see us in heaven because confirmation is the equivalent of graduating catholicism. Being accepted as a spiritually grown member of the church.  I’m pretty sure that the only time I’ve stepped foot in a church since I was confirmed in the 8th grade was for a wedding or funeral. 

Mom was a tried and true believer in the Lord. She told you to shut up when you said things like God dammit. She prayed. She went to confession. Mom refused to eat the Christ cracker at mass because she divorced my father, which she believed was a sin and didn’t want to anger God. She wore a cross around her neck. She knew all of our parish priests by name and had her favorites. Mom knew every single word to all the long prayers at mass. Whenever I asked her about how she had so much faith in something no one knew existed, she shrugged her shoulders and told me to go to church. I’ve even caught her looking at the ceiling, talking to loved ones who have died like they’re up there sitting on the beams of the house for a chat. 

I’ve spoken to God in the past & have asked him for stupid, immature things. I’ve bargained with him to let us win one of my high school basketball games. I’ve asked him for favors in love, like getting a boy to like me back. I’ve asked God to help me nail an interview or get home safely in a snowstorm. I’ve asked for help getting me through some aggravating days. 

From the time Mom got her diagnosis, I began talking to God daily and asking him to save my mother. Begging God for a miracle that would make her whole again. I would take back all the favors I’ve asked him for in the past if he could just fix her. I apologized for how I used to speak to him and the things I would ask him for, as if any of that stuff mattered. I bargained with God. If he healed my mom, I would go to mass every Sunday. I would be one of those people that knocked on their neighbors doors asking if they’d found their lord and savior. I would actually read the bible. I would never doubt him again. 

When Mom made the decision to come home for palliative care on May 6th, the dialogue between me and God was constant. If words were not coming out of my mouth, I was praying. The internal conference call with Heaven was so intense that I gave myself headaches. I was bartering my own soul to save hers. I would’ve given God anything he wanted.

Three days later, I vowed to never speak to him again. 

Mom texted me at the crack of dawn to let me know she made up her mind and was coming home later that day for hospice. I told her that I couldn’t wait to see her. My insides were in knots with fear and anxiety. I got out of bed and immediately threw up. I texted Rob who was already at work and told him Mom was coming home later this afternoon. He said he would leave work and meet me at the house. I packed my overnight bag as I spoke with my family about what needed to be done before her arrival and what they needed me to do. 

The living room needed to be cleared out to make room for the hospital bed and all the medical supplies she would need. Someone needed to call her sisters and brother. Someone needed to pick up the balloons and flowers mom requested for her homecoming. Someone needed to bring her clothes to come home in. 

I took a shower knowing with absolute certainty that it would be the last one for the next few days. It was the kind of shower where you scrub your skin raw and wash your hair twice to make sure it’s extra clean. I brushed my teeth like I was going to appear in a toothpaste commercial. I sobbed the entire time. The tears were unrelenting and I reached a point where I wasn’t sure if my face was still wet from the shower or from my own sadness. I was hanging by the thinnest emotional thread. 

As I drove north on the parkway with my trunk all packed, my phone started ringing. It was Mom trying to FaceTime me. I usually ignore my phone when I’m driving, but couldn’t miss this call. I knew it was one of the last times I might ever see her name come up on my phone. I was doing 70 in the fast lane and dangerously swerved right to get to the shoulder as quickly as possible. As cars were honking and swerving out of my way, a chuckle escaped my lips. I thought about how horrible it would be to die in a horrific car crash, today of all days. I slammed the Jeep into park, checked my rearview mirror for police and answered the phone. 

“Hi Mom! I’m on my way to your house now. What’s going on?”

“Where’s Mike?”

“What do you mean ‘where’s Mike’? He’s supposed to be there with you getting you ready to come home.” 

“Well he’s NOT here and I’m not coming home NAKED! They’re ready to transfer me but I can’t go anywhere without any clothes on Samantha.” 

“Did you tell him he needed to bring you clothes by a certain time?” 

“I think so.”

“Ok let me call him and see what’s going on and then I’ll call you right back. If I can’t reach him, I’ll bring you clothes. Don’t worry.” 

Furiously I called my stepfather’s phone and got sent to voicemail. How could anyone forget Mom today? How could this be happening? My face was lava red on the side of the highway as I desperately tried to get in touch with anyone who could explain this oversight. After dialing everyone in that house and getting nowhere, I decided I would just do it myself. The way they were ignoring my calls… that house better be on fire. My cell finally rang and it was Mike. 

He had no idea he was supposed to bring Mom clothes. Apparently the last time they spoke, Mom said she had a surprise for him and would call him back to tell him what it was. Turns out, the surprise was that he was going to be allowed into the hospital to help get her ready after weeks of him being banned from entering due to Covid. Mom just forgot to make that phone call and actually tell him that. Or so he says… He started packing up some clothes for her and promised he’d be out the door in five minutes. 

“Hi Mom. Did you try to surprise Mike and end up forgetting to call to tell him he could come?” 

“Shit. Maybe.” 

When I arrived at the house, it was daunting. Part of me knew this was the last time I would be pulling into that driveway with the expectation of seeing my Mom. When I walked in, everyone was nervously keeping themselves busy, anxiously awaiting her arrival. Meesha and her girlfriend were coloring a big welcome home poster. Charlie was fluffing the pillows and straightening the sheets on Mom’s hospital bed. Katie was vacuuming the area rug for the 15th time. After being gone for weeks, everyone knew that Mom would have a stroke if she arrived and her house was a mess. 

According to the Covid rules in NJ at this time, no more than ten people were allowed to gather in any area. All of our Aunts, Uncles, cousins and neighborhood friends began setting up shop on the front lawn. Lawn chairs were parked next to ice coolers filled with drinks and snacks. Flower bouquets and cards were in every person’s hands. She was the most popular person I’ve ever known and people could not wait to greet her. Everyone was wearing a mask while joking about how long we would get away with this before the neighbors called the police. There were at least thirty people in the yard and not one single person gave a shit about repercussions. 

The feeling I held inside my chest was an unusual one. Have you ever seen how people gather when the Vatican is about to announce the new Pope? Or how the crowds assemble on NYE waiting for the ball to drop? Everyone just wanted to be there, to be part of it. They wanted to make sure my mother knew just how much she was loved. Instead of hope for the future, everyone brought their compassion and support instead. It was a heartbreakingly beautiful thing to witness. 

The ambulance pulled up and began bringing Mom towards the house. The paramedics took one look at the mob on the front lawn and instantly knew they were transporting someone special. It took every ounce of restraint that I had to not run out there and smother her with a hug. It has been so long since she’s been this close to me and I could see her with my very own eyeballs and not just over a facetime screen. I’ve missed people before, but this was something else entirely. 

Everything and nothing was the same. She still had her contagious smile that lit up a whole room. Her raspy voice greeted every person on her way inside. She looked so happy to be home, waving to everyone like she was the Queen of England, but she also looked incredibly fragile and frail. She still looked like herself, but it was as if she had this gray tinge to her. Almost as if she was bright and dull at the same time, like the contrast in my mind’s eye wasn’t quite right. 

The paramedics got her all set up in bed and introduced us to the nurse assigned to Mom. Hospice nurses have a difficult job. They are responsible for providing around the clock care. This includes pain management, administering medication, wound care, documenting vital signs all while assuring that their patient goes through the process of death with dignity. Their main focus is the patient nearing the end of life and care must be given while being surrounded by complete strangers who are at their emotional rock bottom. 

Katie and I had experienced wonderful hospice nurses when we were going through this transition with our father years ago. He had a handful of nurses assigned to him that came every single day like clockwork. They bathed him, gave him his medicine, sang to him during meals. They also loved on us and made sure we knew what to do if something happened while they weren’t there. They taught us how to give him his medicine and turn him in bed so he wouldn’t get sore. They made what we were going through a tiny bit easier. 

This time was very different. 

The hospice nurse assigned to Mom was named Joy which I found a little inappropriate. She only wanted to speak with Mom and was very standoffish with the rest of us. She spoke quickly and we couldn’t tell if she had a smile on her face because of the heavy duty mask she was wearing. Eventually she pulled it down to speak with Mom and she was smiling, but it was hollow… like it was just another part of the uniform that she put on in the morning. She came off as disingenuous every time she had to look at her paperwork before saying Moms name. She gave us a quick run through on Moms medicine and how to administer it. She told us we could call the hospice center if we had any questions. I was not feeling prepared. I was not feeling capable. I was not feelin’ Joy. She left just as quickly as she had arrived and the next time we saw her was days later after mom was already gone. 

We couldn’t believe how the hospice nurse just abandoned us. Jamie and Alyssa, our two cousins who work as nurses at a local hospital, agreed to be there every step of the way to help move mom, change her sheets & clothes, clean her up. We were so grateful to have two skilled nurses who loved their Aunt Laura be there the entire time. I’m sure mom found comfort in that too. 

We had mom’s hospital bed pushed up against the big bow living room window. This was so she could see everyone outside and in. It was a revolving door of people that came through the house over the next two days. Some people, fearful of covid and the crowds that gathered on our front lawn, spoke to mom through the open window. She taunted them for being “sissies” and begged them to come inside. They did every time because no one says no to a dying woman. People from all Moms’ many circles arrived in droves to speak with her and tell her what an honor it was to know her and be loved by her. It was remarkable. 

I cherished the mornings. They were quiet as people respected our privacy and need for alone time with our mother. We would make her some coffee that she would only take one sip of and snuggle in bed with her. As Meesh painted Moms nails in her favorite shade of mauve, she said she wanted me to do her makeup and have Katie braid her hair. She would look presentable for her inevitable guests later in the afternoon. 

Mom and I were never the same skin tone. She was always a bit more beige than me and I knew the wrong makeup would make her look like Mimi from the Drew Carey Show. She would muster up all her strength and beat me with her oxygen tank if I made her look like that. As I was doing her makeup, I realized that any skills I had, I’ve learned from watching Mom apply her face in the mirror while growing up. I’ve rarely ever used eyeshadow, because Mom taught me that a light dusting of blush on my eyelids was good enough. As I quietly did her makeup these two mornings, I struggled to keep the tears back. After I swept the tiny blush brush over her eyelids, she smiled. She knew it too. She knew that when I handed her the mirror, her face would look like she had done it herself because I am an extension of her. I am who she created. I am who I am because it’s exactly who she raised me to be. I know how to do things because she taught me how to do them. 

We sat with mom one afternoon and had her recite all her famous recipes. Everything from her tomato sauce to her spinach dip. We wanted to be able to make the food we grew up on and we knew these recipes were heirlooms. Katie wrote them down and I used the voice recorder on my phone. She made us promise we wouldn’t give them out to anyone. These contained trade secrets that she spent her entire life holding under lock and key. She seemed hesitant to hand them over to her own children which made us laugh. (We later discovered she “forgot” to tell us about a vital ingredient in every recipe… we KNOW she did it on purpose so that even food would be different after she was gone) 

One afternoon all her nieces, nephews and neighborhood kids that she helped raise were present. When I say all, I mean our living room had 25+ “kids” in it. She wanted to speak to all of us. So we all gathered around and sat on the chairs positioned around her hospital bed. Obviously there wasn’t enough to accommodate all of us, so we sat on the floor like elementary kids during reading time. 

She spoke for over an hour about embracing our differences, being kind to one another and using our strengths to lift others up. She talked to us about how similar we all were, yet how our unique qualities are important to the world. She conveyed how proud she was of all of us and how lucky she was to have had the opportunity to watch us grow up. She encouraged us to follow our dreams and live a life that we are proud of. To help as many people as we could. To do things that scare us. To lean on each other. To never take each other for granted. To know, deep down in our souls that we are her most favorite people in the world. 

The next morning I asked if I could have some alone time with Mom. In a busy house where everyone wanted a piece of her, I felt selfish asking. It was something I was scared to do when my father got sick years ago and I have never stopped regretting it. I sat on mom’s hospital bed with her and placed my phone on the window sill. I set it to record most of the conversations we’ve had with her lately and this seemed like something I would want in the future. Her voice. Our last private moment. 

She told me all about the day I was born and how she’s grateful that I was the one who made her a mother. She said she was looking forward to seeing my dad and tell him all about the women my sister and I have become. She called me one of her greatest accomplishments in this world. She filled my head with all her favorite memories of me. She said she was proud of who I am and my ability to find the humor in any situation. She made me promise to never stop talking to her. I made her promise to check in from time to time. She expressed that she knew I was going to be a good mom someday based on how well I take care of my cats. She threatened me numerous times with the phrase, “don’t make me come back down here just to beat your ass”. She made me laugh on a day when I was falling apart. 

Those 48 hours after her coming home went by lightning fast. There were so many tears but even more laughter. The days were filled with visitors and hunting down moms favorite foods for her to eat one last time. Watching home movies and talking about the good old days. The nights were filled with the movie Rent playing on repeat as we all laid restlessly on the floor around her hospital bed. Hoping the next day would be just as good as the one before it. Holding on to every second of her presence with us in this world. Listening to her breathe in the darkness. 

That last night, I tried to stay up as long as I could so I could soak in every second of my mom. I stood for hours at the side of her hospital bed erected in our living room. Both of my hands grasping one of hers, as if I could somehow keep her on this earth with me if I could just manage to hold on to her. We knew she was fading away and that our time with her was limited. I stood there memorizing every wrinkle on her face and the way her hands looked while holding mine. Silently asking God to take her cancer and put it in me. She didn’t deserve this. I’ve never known exhaustion, both physically or emotionally, before this night. 

She would fall asleep and then suddenly wake in pain. She would squeeze our hands and tell us that she loved us with tears in her eyes. She would cry out for God. She repeatedly asked God to come get her. She told him she was ready to go. When God didn’t show up, she would start telling us she loved us again, making sure to meet each one of our eyes as she said it. She would pass out from the pain or from the sheer exhaustion of the cancer ravaging her body and a few minutes later she was up again. Repeating the same cycle, almost as if she thought there was some kind of ritual she had to complete before dying. This went on for hours. 

Hearing my mother upset always broke my heart a bit, but this particular night shattered my soul. Whenever she’s cried in the past, there was always something that could be done to remedy it. I felt helpless. For hours she cried for her own mother. She was adamant about Grandma waiting for her up in heaven. Mom mentioned a few times that she thought she could hear Grandma talking to her. As heartbroken as I was to be losing my mother, I felt a shred of hope that my mom would be reunited with hers and this day wouldn’t be as bad for her as it was for us. I tried to imagine Grandma waiting for her at the pearly gates. How happy my mother would be to see her mom again. This gave me a few moments of peace.

She called on God to end her suffering. She was yelling up towards the ceiling for him to come get her. God was nowhere to be seen.

As I stood there at her bedside, I became furious. I wasn’t ready to lose her, but why had he abandoned my mother in her time of need? She did nothing but believe in him and follow his rules. Worshipped him throughout her entire life and held the thought of his existence above everything else.  Where was he when she needed him most? Where were the compassionate hands of our savior? Why does my mother have to experience one more second of pain waiting to receive grace? I could taste the bitter hatred on my tongue. If I wasn’t sure what I believed before tonight, I have a pretty good idea now. No one comes for us. No one comes to save us. We’re on our own. No almighty being would put a good person through this agony. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he is out there somewhere watching people suffer like we’re some cruel reality show made for his entertainment. If God does exist, I want him to know that I hate him for what he put her through. 

 I stood and tried comforting her for hours as my knees buckled with fatigue. When one of your parents is dying right in front of you, part of you dies right beside them. It feels like some epic battle inside your skin to stay awake and take in every single second of your loved ones life because you know the hourglass will soon be out of sand. That at any moment, this person who you care about so deeply will simply cease to exist. You don’t want to miss a second of their last moments. Every cell in your body is being ripped open and pried of all its happiness. Everything hurts. You are in unbearable pain with no sign of injury. It’s a special kind of aching misery that you feel deep inside your bones. Your body wants to shut down, but you fight it with every last ounce of strength you can muster up. I just needed to sit for two seconds. If I didn’t sit, I might pass out and smash my head open on my way down. 

I kissed mom’s hand. I told her I loved her. I said I’d be right back. 

She looked up at me and said “I’m ok” as she gave my hand a pat. 

That was the last bit of mothering I would ever receive. The weight of that knowledge was suffocating. Death was coming for her and she was in and out of lucidity, but in that moment, I knew she felt my hesitation to step away. She pushed her own troubles aside for a second to console me. 

I went to the couch right next to her hospital bed and drank some water. I looked at my sister Katie still standing beside Mom and envied her strength. She was the epitome of fortitude and had the endurance of a person I used to see in the mirror before my mid-thirties crept in. Her body was able to withstand strain that I could now only remember. I took a few deep breaths and tried to gather my thoughts. I shook my head back and forth to wake myself up. One lengthy blink bled into the next, until one of them lasted just a few seconds too long. My body had flipped the off switch. Everything went black. 

I awoke to someone rubbing my shoulder. I couldn’t hear anything over my pounding headache. Why did I feel like shit? Did I drink last night? The sun rising through the big bow window had me confused. What day is it? Where was I? My eyes began to focus. As she walked away from me and into the kitchen, I heard my Aunt Patty say, “She’s gone”. 

Reality forced its way into my mind with a force that took the wind right out of me. I felt like I had been punched right in the stomach. My heart swelled with grief. It was so massive that I thought my ribcage was going to burst open. I couldn’t breathe. If I wasn’t already sitting, I would have fallen right over. I had fallen asleep and abandoned her. 

I jumped off the couch and ran to her bedside. I grabbed her hand and began silently apologizing for leaving her. She shouldn’t have had to go through that without me. The guilt of not being able to stand by her while she left this world seared through my chest like a stab wound. I looked down at her laying in the hospital bed so quiet and still. She still looked like herself even in death. The gray tinge she had the day she came home was now replaced with a golden hue. 

I kissed her forehead and pushed her soft cheek against mine. I quietly whispered everything I wanted to make sure she knew. I cuddled up next to her and I knew this was the last time I’d be able to feel her skin against mine. I’ve never felt closer & further away from someone at the same time before. She was right there, but she wasn’t. I stayed curled up next to her for a long while, just holding her hand and thanking her for being the absolute best human I’ve ever known. Thanking her for giving me the best life. Thanking her for being my mom. 

And for the last time, I let go of the first hand that I had ever held.