The subdued ricochet of ascending steps roused me from my reverie, and I drew my gaze from the screen. He sighed deeply, seeing the object of my attention partnered with the sadness etched on my face. I was reading about my mother, the things we were doing in another life, the joy we were inhaling and the evil we were ignoring. "Why are you reading your entries from a year ago?"

I took a moment to answer before stating quietly, plainly, "It's all that I have."

"You have ME."



She picked me up from the airport in Milwaukee. I was eager to see her, eager to spend another Christmas, Christmas 2004, with my mommy. My eyes feverishly sought her in the crowd waiting at the gate in General Mitchell International...and when I came up empty, I decided instead to collect my luggage. Then, she stepped forth from the crush and I swallowed my heart: the face that I cherish stared back at me, and my pace quickened to cover the distance necessary to surround myself in her embrace. She wouldn't let go. That's what I remember most...Mom never wanted to let go. She gave end-stage Cancer a run for it's money, Boy...



We were giggling mischievously as we left the house that morning. Moments ago, we had told a little white lie—a giddy rush for two goody-two-shoes. "Rog, we have some errands to run this afternoon...!" and we were off. We chattered incessantly all the way there, as we always did. We weren't the wildly exhilarating sort, but as a terminal Cancer patient and a recently-deserted spouse, we knew to find excitement in the smaller nuances, too. We were going to see our second—third?—showing of Pride and Prejudice...my father wouldn't have approved. Mom and I finished our pot of peppermint coffee—okay, okay...so I finished a pot and a half and she choked down a cup or two—and made our plans in front of Dad, his selective hearing erroneously ignoring us completely. Tsk, tsk...naughtiness was afoot, Man!



The Stone Temple Pilots once sang, "If you should die before me, ask if you can bring a friend." My brother and I both wanted to go with her, our relationships with our father having never reached anywhere near the same level of warmth. We both were orphaned on January 26, 2006...in our twenties and feeling orphaned...I know that seems silly. My mother had a friend from high school, Diane, who lost her parents some years ago. Diane had end-stage Cancer as well...and as her and my mother reconnected during the last Summer of her life, they met for lunches at the bowling alley in sleepy old De Forest. "Why the bowling alley?" I'd ask often. It was so smokey, the food so greasy, the atmosphere so drear. My mother would reply that it had been Diane's pick, that her parents went there often, that she figured that being there reminded Diane of them. She would move her gaze to the left or to the right...forward or back...anywhere to avoid looking at me as she said the most painful truth she had: When you lose a parent, you lose your last bit of security and the purest love you'll ever know. Mom didn't want to leave, she didn't want her world to go on without her. Her pastor counselled that Heaven wasn't like that, Heaven did not know the dimension of time. She'll arrive, turn around, and her loved ones will be there with her. Stupid Earth. Stupid, stupid.



"You pop the popcorn and I'll bring the cranberries," she instructed over the phone. We sat in a sun drenched kitchen stringing homemade garland and humming carols. It was a Sunday, and I had been home from church only a few hours—that's when I was attending weekly...before the church, my church, the church where I formally said goodbye to my mother, seemed to suffocate me whenever I crossed the threshold. She put down her needle briefly and looked to me hopefully. "I think I bought everything you need to make your Eggplant Parmesan...do you want to come over to the house and help me decorate?" There, the spicy scented candles burned and we celebrated the season. Oh, and I made my mother's favorite dish. She used to request the eggplant, Miles my sweet and sour pork...I don't feel like cooking much these days. I hope that changes. I'm sure Nick does too.



I feel like I killed her. She didn't die until I was over my now ex-husband, ready to move on. If only I had remained depressed, if only I had continued to need her with the same urgency as I had there in the beginning...if only. And I'm a pompous ass to believe I have sway in such decisions. God's shaking his head and rolling his eyes..."You think you know, but you have no idea," he's thinking...loving me all the while. That doesn't make the feeling any less real, any less painful. My good friend in North Carolina's, Janice's, grandmother told her that a feeling is never wrong...acting on them can be, but you cannot direct your feelings...they are what they are. Real? Yes. Logical? No.

I see my surgeon today. I feel like I'm going to throw up. I feel like all of my plans are hinged on what she has to say about the mass that showed up on my CT scan. More frightening yet, what can I use as my scapegoat to delay living if this one falls through?