Mom's Last Breath

My mom died a year ago this month. Her lamp, which now sits in my living room, still gives off light day and night. She is missed daily -- not just by me, but by many.

I can finally write about her. I still cry. My throat still chokes up. I miss her so much. Have you lost a parent or close loved one? It's gut wrenching, isn't it?

Now, I am firm in my belief in an afterlife. I've read the book "Imagine Heaven" by John Burke three times. It hasn't made me anxious to die, but it has made me look forward to what lies beyond this earth after we take our last breath.

My mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer at the end of January last year and died in April. She was 81 years old. She had no interest in treating it--she went into palliative care quickly, and we kept her comfortable and out of pain as much as possible.

I got married three months prior to her diagnosis. There was an embrace we shared after the ceremony when we looked into each other's eyes; we had tears, which was unusual for my mom. I knew her tears were tears of joy--that I had finally married Kevin after 10 years. My tears were of joy as well, but I also had a premonition that she would be gone from us within a year.

She moved in with my sister just three weeks before receiving the news about the lump in her pancreas. That timing was such a blessing, as my sister lovingly cared for her and they were able to spend precious time together. I was also fortunte as I was not working and I got to spend long afternoons talking, laughing and hugging her.

The week after her death, I felt strong mentally and emotionally. Physically, I had lost 40 pounds from other stresses, and my health had taken a beating. Two weeks later, the reality of her absence really hit me -- and I had never felt that kind of pain in my life. It was close to the pain I felt when my brother died, due to the terrible circumstances surrounding his death, but this was a different kind of pain: an emptiness, a loneliness, that knocked me directly to my knees begging God to help me through another day.

My mom was my rock--the person I turned to for everything. She knew every little dirty secret about me, and she told me plenty of hers as well. We connected. It's strange how we lived such parallel lives.

The grief my sister and I felt was so overwhelming that we took a sabbatical from one another to heal in our own ways. I was dealing with too many issues on top of my mom's death, and so was she. Our sabbatical took away the other closest person I could talk to about my mom, which was her. Both of us usually just sobbed when we spoke of her. I don't know why we are so deeply connected to our mother; she was just the best listener one could ever want.

I'm sad to admit this, but as addiction will always be a challenge for me, I statred drinking again. It numbed the pain. And for five months, I kept myself slightly--sometimes dangerously--drunk. I've never wanted to die of an accidental overdose. I shudder to think how many times I've come close.

Addiction is a curse. It's Satan's way of controlling my life--because everything in my life slowly deteriorates. My will, my self-esteem, my relationships and my health.

I got sober because I found purpose again and started doing something I love and was born to do: write. I am now writing and publishing my own books.

If you're grieving from a loss and struggling with addiction, be kind to yourself. Keep busy. Find purpose in life. Stay connected to friends and loved ones. Talk to a counselor. Go to support groups. Eat good food. Walk.

I watched my mom take her last breath. My sister and I held her hand for the final 15 minutes as she labored to breathe.

My heart ached to see her go--but I rejoiced for her, because she was finally being released from all her cares and sorrows, of which she had many in her lifetime.

The heavens opened up for her and celebrated her as the queen she was. And she finally got to meet the King of Kings, which she had prepared for and talked so frequently of. I know of no one that was more ready and humble than her.

Dedicated to Shirley Louise King November 2, 1942 - April 3, 2024