I'm not feeling very well, and most of you know why, but just for those who don't know, here's what happened in my life lately. On the 18th of September 2006 my mother died. The reason? She had pancreas cancer.
About 4-5 months earlier, somewhere in May, me and my classmates had a field trip to Sovata. When I came back home she was in hospital, because doctors said she had mechanical jaundice (she was all yellow and everyone suspected is was the bile). But the doctor who took care of her said she might have something left from her previous operation when she got rid of the gall. (Mom has been through a lot of operations since 2001 when we moved to our new flat). Anyway, they said they needed to open her up to see what exactely was wrong there, since nothing came up on X-rays, and she was always accusing pains in her lower back side, and of course a reason for her sudden yellow-ness. So they opened her up. That's when they all found out what she really had. Pancreas cancer.
I remember dad came home that day and told me she had cancer. I was a little shocked. Cancer is from what I know the Grim Reaper of 21-st Century. If you have it, chances of survival are really slim. I know. I saw it with my own eyes. And even so, the state my mother was in was irreversible. She had entered: metasthasys, which was the last stage of Cancer, and that, only because they opened her up. She might have had a chance with the chemio-therapy otherwise. But given the fact that no one knew what she had before they opened her up... it's a vicious circle.
A week from the operation they brought her home and she was looking rather sickly, still with that waxy pale skin shade. Then, dad told me that they were going to go to Bucharest to see if anything could be done given her condition. I was left all by myself two weeks.
When they came back I was really thrown aback by the change in mom's appearance. She was starting to look like a skeleton. She had lost 21 ponds and every bone structure began to look more and more proeminent. As time went by, she had started losing more weight up to the point that she had lost about 40 pounds in 2 months only. She barely ate anything. Her abdomen then started to swell as she started doing the chemio-therapy.
In August, I went at my brother in Italy, for about 3 weeks. When I came back she was looking really creapy. All with a skinny structure, and with a grotesquely swollen abdomen. Still waxy pale, with swollen feet, because she started to accumulate liquid in the absence of food. Dad had started to gray. (Dad's 62 but, you wouldn't have known based only by the way he looked) He was starting too look his age, which was in my point of view unusual since I had gotten used to another image of him..
Monday on the 11-th of September 2006, after they came back from the hospital from the chemio-therapy, I noticed she didn't look too well. She had a really horrific apparel. She could barely stand on her swollen feet on her own. Dad had told me his back hurt him from carrying her up and down three flights of stairs on his own and that next time, he would ask someone to help him. Dad knew she wouldn't live too long from that moment on. But no one really knew when she would die for certain.
Days past and on Thursday, at about 8 o'clock, when I was sleeping sound, I heard a really loud 'Thud!' and the ground shook a little and I heard dad scream for me. I went to my parents room to see mom sprawled on the floor and dad beside her trying to pull her up. We managed to help her back in bed and I went off to buy a peeing pot for bed use, the types found in hospitals. On Friday, dad had went shopping with a goddaughter of his to look for funeral clothes to dress mom with, (Dad knew something I didn't) and when they came home, they showed them to mom, and mom dressed with them to see how she looked like.
On Saturday, everything was rather normal, mom was taking her medications; but on Sunday, everything started off weird. Dad told me she was starting to have hallucinations, and also told me that a hospital nurse told him, that sooner or later mom was going to have kidney-block. On Sunday, and I guess on Saturday too, but I'm not sure, she peed really dark (Think cola). Close to noon, she had called me and asked me to sing to her. Nothing abnormal up to here. But when she asked me to sing the anthem of dad's favorite football team, both me and dad were left staring at her. But I sang to her. That evening, both my brothers called. (One of them is in Canada, and the other in Italy) The one in Canada called to say that he was coming home next Thursday.
On Sunday night, mom (from dad's own account) had twisted and turned in pains and had called for her parents (which were also dead). At 5 o'clock in the morning I woke up with a start having the fake impression I heard dad call for me just like on the Thursday she fell. When I went to see if he had indeed called, he was awake, but told me he hadn't. I wen't back to sleep only to wake again at 7 a.m. to get ready for my first day at school.
When I went to check up on them, dad told me she had thrown up and told me to try and convince her to at least throw-up in a bag. I looked at her and tried a scowl, but she just ignored me. Then I went to the kitchen and dad came with me. He told me about her previous night, and said: "You know? The nurse at the hospital told me that when they're on the verge of death, people dream their parents." I looked at him and thought a bit then said: "Well I guess you're going at the hospital today at 10. I don't know how many classes I'll have. Anyways, take care and don't go giving me any unpleasent surprises at school ok? It's my first day..." and I was off to school.
During one of the breaks I had popped next to one of my colleagues who I got along with better and made the confession about my mothers illness. At Literature class, my class supervisor came in under the pretext of giving us the time table for the next day, after which she turned to me and told me to pack my stuff and go with her. I got a little startled and as we were descending the stairs I tried questioning her what was wrong. Unfortunately she wouldn't tell me anything. When I got out of school there was a friend of my brother's waiting for me. He was clad in black.
She had died.
I was a little shocked but I didn't burst into histerical tears like many would expect. Instead I asked: "When did she die?"
When we got home, some of my relatives where already there, and dad came and hugged me. He was crying. I honestly say, I don't remember ever seeing my dad cry. He then said: "My dear, dear baby. She's gone." I looked at him and sobbed a really dry sob. "Would you like to see her one last time?" he asked. I looked at him through terror filled eyes (sounds sappy, but I don't like dead people, or cemeteries for that matter of fact) and said: "No! I'm affraid!" and he hugged me tighter and said: "Why should you be affraid? She's our mom..." and we both went in The Room. There she lay, clad in black (the clothes bought on Friday - which she had tried on to see how she looked like) and stiff and waxy pale like a candle.
Only a few hot tears escaped my eyes, after which I went as dry as the Sahara desert. That Monday, after they took her to the chapel (a vigil room custom) my head started to ache, and everyone suspected it was because I didn't cry. I couldn't. That night, I believe, I fell asleep with an odd feeling as though something was supposed to happen. At a certain point, when I was half asleep, I had the vague impression I heard a soft tap on the window and so mumbled: "Go away, my head hurts and I want to sleep!" after which the tapping had ceased.
On Tuesday I didn't go to school, instead, me and my best friend went shopping for a black skirt cause the custom had it with the female family members having to wear long black skirts. (the kind not existent in my wardrobe). I already knew of the custom of wearing black clothes 40 days from the moment of death, but customs are customs and must be respected. (Well not really all of them, because there is a saying: "How many huts, those many habits.") My relatives from across the country had started to show up. (Another saying has it "Relatives/clans, usually meet on two major events: weddings and funerals.") Including my brother from Italy.
On Wednesday, during the day time, me and my dad, had skipped a shift at the chapel, leaving an aunt or a cousin of mine there so we could go eat something (we woke up early in the morning and we hadn't eaten anything to come and vigil at the chapel) and we took a table at this fast food restaurant or whatever it was, where, halfway through our ice-cream (only thing my dad was keen on consuming) we meet 2 of my classmates (boys) and then a girl classmate who came at our table to say her condolences and to tell me that later that day, some of my classmates would come see me at the chapel.
Of course, at first I gave her the cold shoulder. (I don't get along with most of my colleagues and so the chances of them coming round were slim).
But miracles do happen. After the 8 o'clock service called a "pillar" when I went outside to take a breath of air, I saw them. 18 of my classmates (we're 26 in all) and my home room professor. I was shocked beyond words. If anyone would have told me that they would come in such a large number, I would have told them they had something wrong with their heads. Of course, the feeling of not being alone, of knowing that someone out there cared about me, opened up the valves to my eyes wells, and I began crying like a two-year old. Enough to mend the previous days' missing tears.
On Thursday the funeral service took place. My classmates came again (and *gasp* they were even more this time!) and helped carry the wreaths. Later, after the burrial, we went to the charity meal. Around 7 p.m. my brother from Canada came.
***Short break*** I understood from someone that when they are on the verge of death, some people won't die until someone they don't want to be present there when they do die, leaves. In my case mom died right after I was off to school. And to add to this theme, I wasn't there when they burried her either. The car I was in while heading for the cemetery ran out of gas half way there. Ergo she wouldn't let me see her die or be burried.
On Friday morning when I woke up, I had a eerie feeling of the family being whole again. Even thought one was phisicaly missing. But we were together again. The five of us. Did I mention mom seemed to smile from her coffin???
Anyways, this is about it regarding the torment related to my mother's death. Period.