Remembering Life

It's now Monday night. I've been dragging my feet in writing this all weekend.

I've loved a lot of sick people, and many of them have died, but I've never watched a person die before. I pray none of you ever have to.

My mother-in-law, Pam, lost a 30-year battle with MS on Friday morning. I could say many things right now to remember her and honor her, but I'm not going to. Perhaps on another day when my heart can take it. Instead I will share with you my husband's words...


If you asked me what sticks out most in my mind about my mother when I was growing up, it would probably be that she yelled a lot, which might hold true for a lot of kids. Sometimes,
she was a real pain in the ass. As a parent myself, I now realize that was part of her job. And I'm thankful for it (in most instances, of course). The second thing that would come to my mind would be her infectious smile and the loud, sometimes bordering on obnoxious, laugh that inevitably followed that smile. The kind of laugh and smile that took up her whole face, hiding her eyes behind her rosy cheeks. Thankfully, it was the latter that became more
prominent later in her life. No matter what her state, she always found something to laugh at, even if it didn't make any sense to anyone else in the room.

The long and short of this is that my mother finally lost her long and grueling battle with Multiple Sclerosis Friday morning. It's been a very tough week, especially for me and my grandparents, as my mom went from doing ok (by which I mean she was able to understand
us and respond to us with enthusiasm whenever we visited, although we still couldn't understand what she was saying) to her death in less than a week's time.

It started with a phone call notifying me of an increase in fluids and medicine on Monday and progressed to a frantic phone call from the hospice nurse in the middle of the workday on Thursday. In what is undoubtedly one of the worst days of my young life, I sat with my
grandparents and my wife around my mother's bed as she gasped for air, her body sweating with the effort to breathe while her organs failed her. And I found myself praying to God that He would just end her suffering in whatever manner possible, although I knew deep down what that meant even if I couldn't or wouldn't admit it. Which led me to ask what kind of
human being could sit and pray for their parent to die, even if it was out of love and mercy. But, of course, that is now my burden to bear, one that others have endured in the past, and one that I will endure in the future.

My prayers were answered on Friday morning at 8 am. Her suffering was over.

So, why am I writing this? Not for pity. Please don't send your pity. I don't want it. First, I want you to call your mom and tell her how much you love her. Don't wait until tomorrow, or the one day out of the year that Hallmark tells you it's ok to be nice to your mother, the guilt of the holiday forcing you to tell her how you truly feel. I want you to call her whenever
you can, hug her a little extra tight the next time you see her. Tell her thank you. Write her a poem. Cook her a meal. Take her to the movies. Most of all, I want you to be thankful if your mother still has her health. I want you to be thankful that you may never know the pain of watching your mother find the only joy in her grandchildren is watching them play because she's too afraid to hold them for fear that she might drop them. Or the overwhelming joy she gets when she remembers their names, a feat that many take for granted, a feat that my mother found insurmountable the last few months of her life.

Second, I've come to the knowledge that many come to when facing the death of a parent, and I suppose that warrants me this time on my soapbox. Life is short. Life is too short. Get out from behind the television (advice that yours truly will find very difficult to follow) and do something every day that makes you feel alive. Play a sport. Go for a run. Ride a bike. Play with your kids (if you have them). Tell someone a joke. Spend time with friends and family. Laugh with them. Lay in the grass and stare at the clouds. Live life. Please God, live your life.

My mom and I had many difficulties in our time together. Her disease was a burden for many, her most of all. And I know that there are still others who have had worse times in this world, some who haven't even known their parents. Knowing this, I am so very happy for the time that I had with her, and I understand that it was a blessing. I only wish I had done more.

I hope this wasn't too preachy. Just needed to get some things off my chest. No matter what our fights and difficulties, I always loved my mother unconditionally. My only fault was not telling her enough.

Please, don't wait for tomorrow, and don't limit your affections for your mother on Mother's day. Appreciate every day you've had with her and every day to come.

And remember, live life.

With Love,
Jason