My Mom is surgery at Mayo now. It is 731 and as quickly as things move around here at Mayo, I suspect she’s in the operating room already.
She is so great, my Mom. I didn’t like her all that much from 1982 until 1983 when I was 15-16. She just didn’t seem to get it back then… But as far as I am concerned, her stock has only risen since that point.
Since being diagnosed with cancer on June 2, Mom cries from time to time. But not because she feels sorry for herself. And certainly not because she is afraid of dying because I know she isn’t. We have talked about it. She’s not scared because she knows with certainty her ultimate destination even if she doesn’t know every twist in the path.
Really she just cries when people say nice things about her. That they love her. That they are concerned about her. That they are praying for her. After sacrificing and serving her family for 50 years, she almost seems embarrassed to receive such attention and love.
My Mom is pretty content. After she was diagnosed with muscle-invasive bladder cancer, I asked her if there were things she wanted to do… Anything. I was thinking “see the pyramids at Giza” or “take a cruise to the Greek Isles” or something epic. If she had a request like that, I was going to deliver. It was the least I could do for being such a pain in the rear end during the aforementioned 1982-83 period.
But she didn’t have a “bucket list.” Not a single extravagant wish.
Mom fears being a burden — which is laughable as valuable as she has become over time. My kids love her and they demanded that we wake them so they could give her a hug before we left for the hospital at 5:15 this morning. How much love must exist…for a teenager to make such a request?
I think Mom has an appropriate fear of suffering…and I am afraid of that as well. But we are optimistic that today’s surgery will remove all the cancer and give her quality of life for many months or several years.
I think the things Mom “wants” now are really pretty reasonable. A little more time with her kids — and more importantly, her grandkids. The ability to go to church and see her friends. A good chat on the back porch swing – with Dad if no one else is available. Perhaps an illicit piece of cheesecake from time to time.
For the first time in my life, someone I really love is dealing with their mortality in a tangible way. Christians have no reason to fear death – but we are human and so such fears seem inevitable. It is very comforting to me to see my Mom’s contentment. I hope & pray that I get to witness her strength for another decade.