My Moment

Have you ever had a moment in your life that was so profoundly special, you just knew you'd carry it with you forever? I've been blessed to have already had a couple. They aren't always easy. In fact, they usually aren't. Yet, these moments leave you with something sacred, just for yourself, to hold on to.
In 5 months I will be married. It's an occasion that I look forward to celebrating as the happiest day of my life. When I walk down that aisle, I'll be surrounded by the people who love me most in the whole world. People who want nothing more than to see Hubby-to-be and me happy. There will be a little sadness for both of us when we think of the people we love, who aren't with us on our special day. But I have a special moment to uplift me with reassurance in that moment.
My mommom, my Dad's mom was an incredible woman. Truly, there is no one like her. She was kind and good, and hilarious without meaning to be. She spoke her mind and had no inner sensor. Her honesty was at once refreshing and awkward. She was a mother to seven and a grandmother to 14, great grandmother to 2. Last Christmas, something in me knew her time was dwindling. Being a lifelong smoker and lifelong caretaker of everyone but herself, had slowed her down significantly. Really, after my Grandfather lost his lengthy battle with Parkinson's Disease, it was as if her body finally caught up with her. I remember feeling the need to have a photo taken of Hubby-to-be and me with Mommom, just so I'd have it always. I'm glad I did. Christmas '07 was the last time Hubby-to-be saw her. There were a number of medical catastrophes that led to her death. But essentially what it came down to was that she had lung cancer, and refused treatment. By the time Easter rolled around, she was in hospice care. My poor Mommom. She had a paralyzed larynx and could barely whisper. She had a hole in her throat. Over the weekend she fell and hit her head in the bathroom. And above all else, she was a shell of the woman she once was. She couldn't and wouldn't eat. She didn't want to live anymore. And who could blame her? I am at a loss for words to describe how in awe I am of her determination to go on her own terms. She was in control. She decided she would not suffer. I am... I am just so proud of her. But it was difficult. It was as if she was holding on for Easter. To see her family. She even forced herself to come to my Aunt and Uncle's house for Easter dinner to spend time with us. She sat in her chair, and even ate some ice cream. We took turns sitting and talking with her. We all held it together very well. Until, it came time for my moment.
She had decided she needed to go back to the home. My dad and my uncles were getting ready to take her. I sat down next to her wheelchair and held her frail, paper-thin hand. I told her I loved her and that I was sorry we weren't able to spend more time together in our lives, (I grew up 4 hours away from her) but I wanted her to know that I remember everything. She shook her head and looked me in the eye and whispered,"You were always so loyal." then, the moment I will carry with me forever. "I'm sorry I won't be there on your wedding day. I'm just so tired." The tears overflowed and I couldn't hold it anymore. It was as if she read my mind. It was what I feared from the day we got engaged. That my mommom wouldn't make it that long. I felt as if i'd been kicked in the stomach. Through the tears I fought to say, "It's okay. I know you're tired. And I know you'll be there with me on that day." She looked back at me, nodded, and said, "Yes, I will be." Mommom passed away three days later. She went peacefully with several of her children by her side. My aunt read her the 23rd Psalm, and my dad held her hand. She stopped breathing as my aunt read the final line; "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." I don't know if you could ask for a more dignified, peaceful death.
I miss her dearly. We all do. On my wedding day, when I think of her, I am sure I will cry. But I will know, because she told me so, that she is there with me. And I will hold onto that moment, that promise, for the rest of my life. I am so grateful to have had it.