I would have one more day with my mom, though almost 7 years since she passed, I feel at peace. Here's my story...
I was 17 and at the end of my junior year of high school when the world came crashing down. In a matter of 5 days, she went from being just fine, not knowing she was sick, to having a brain tumor removed, medication, radiation, and chemotherapy. It was just mom and me, and both our worlds were turned upside down. We were best friends-we only always had each other, and we made the greatest team a mom and daughter ever could have. We bonded, grew, and learned so much about each other during the next 6 months. Though it was a really difficult time, it was also when some of the most special memories were made. Our roles reversed somewhat-I did all the driving, running errands, and scheduled people to come and help, and upkeep for the house. My mom stayed home, and cooked, did laundry, and spent time in her gardens. The gardens that year were over the top-she put her heart and soul into making her plants grow...something I didn't understand or appreciate as a teenager, but I understand it now.
She had wanted to live to see me graduate from high school, but in the middle of my senior year of high school, she died. I was a mess. She had died suddenly, actually...most people have this perception that people living with cancer are bed ridden, pale, thin, and are more or less waiting to die. This could not be farther from what my mom was like...She was vibrant, busy, a chatterbox, and running around that hospital like a madwoman
She had a minor routine surgery done (not related to the cancer-something else), and was up walking, going to extra physical therapy sessions, trying to regain her strength to come home a day sooner
She collapsed while in the hallway, walking and talking the nurse's ear off, and that was it. She had had her first and only seizure, and it was so severe they couldn't do anything to bring her back.
Sometimes, I wonder why the doctors couldn't do more, and I used to get angry about it. But then I think of all the wonderful times and memories we shared, and about my mom's personality. If they would have been able to save her, there's a chance she would have been bedridden, unable to talk or walk, and her quality of life may have been drastically diminished. There is no way that she would have wanted to live like that...she wouldn't have been able to stand being in bed! I think that was God's way of helping her...and in a way-it helped me. I never saw her so sick she couldn't move, and I don't have the memories of sitting by her bedside, wondering how many more days she would have. I have the good memories of her-the fire in her heart that always made her keep going, and the passion to live for each day as it comes-not in the past, and not for the future-you never know what it holds.
As far as "one more day", for me, I can't think too much about that. I didn't get one more day with her, and I've learned to accept that I can't change that. However, I know that the days we had together and the memories made were priceless. During the last few days of her life, there were little things she said and did, almost as if she knew subconsciously that she was going to pass. We had great conversations, and she told me some truly meaningful things that I will hold with me always. I think of those last times with her as the most precious gifts a girl could ever get from her mother. They're moments that were shared between us-and us only. They are times that I think of when I need a smile, a laugh, or a little guidance.