Make My Story Yours

I was so busy concentrating on my father, that I did not see my mother coming up in my rearview mirror. I stood in shock and horror when the hospital doctor bluntly said, ‘You’re going to die. There’s nothing more we can do.’ My mother had already been in the hospital once for low oxygen, but was discharged to rehabilitation. However, on her second week of rehab, her oxygen fell low again, and she was sent back to the hospital. This time, it wasn’t good news.

My mother had been diagnosed with a monster I couldn’t see, that I couldn’t fight. Pulmonary Fibrosis. I was angry. She had always gone for checkups and X-Rays. Why wasn’t this found sooner? Why did they give us good news and discharge her to rehabilitation, only to be readmitted to the hospital? How could they not see she was so close to death?

At home, I sat by her side until she died. She started making eerie noises at night while she slept. It was pure torment for me. I can’t even imagine what it was like for her. On the morning of her death, her appearance started changing as she went through the stages of death. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. I sat quietly in horror and helplessness as I watched her hand turn as white as her nails. I saw her nose receded into her head, and her face went through stages you only see in horror movies. I didn’t know what I was looking at. She transformed between my eye blinks. My mother was dead.

I tried to get her mouth closed, and her head turned back to the normal position, but it seemed to be locked. I was devastated; I could not get her looking “normal” again before the funeral manager took her.

Upon going to the funeral home, I nearly passed out when I entered the casket room to pick out my selection. I also came close the first time I saw her in the casket. Everyone commented she looked good. To me, she looked like a baby doll.

I return to the gravesite to see a stake with my mother’s name in the ground, awaiting the headstone. I see a mound of dirt, as my mother lies underneath.

Now, I dream about a woman who doesn’t exist. Who did you lose? Please, tell me your story. Make my story yours.