Meeting Death

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A week from my 44th birthday, I was in the hospital watching over my mom. Six years ago she had been diagnosed with stage three lung cancer. Instead of kimo, radiation, and too much hospital, Mom had decided she wanted to travel the world, start a business, and take care of her grandbabies when she could. She made a bucket list and checked everything off. And now she was dying.

I was certain, not because the doctors had told me but because Death stood in the corner wearing a yellow sundress. Yellow like the sunflowers in the vase next to Mom's bed. She'd always loved sunflowers.

Three days and three nights Death had watched us watch over Mom. And every day I became increasingly angry with her. How could she do this to my mom? I had never blamed her for taking my loved ones before, and I was grateful for that night some 26 years ago, but this I could not forgive.

When my mom slept and everyone else was taking a break, I asked her, "Why? Why are you taking my mom? It's not fair! Why couldn't you have let her live?!" Sorrow filled her gaze and hot tears of rage and hatred, love and blame, sorrow and acceptance blazed down my cheeks. I didn't understand. And why hadn't she gifted me the calm she had before? My heart screamed agony, my insides hollowed out. Curling into a ball of fury and mourning I cried, hard. Death cradled me in her arms, a mother soothing a baby, rocking and stroking my hair.

Days seemed to pass before I woke up. I was athome. It had been days. And Mom was gone. Remembering brought more tears to myeyes. Death had taken Mom after letting me cry and cry. She had allowed me onelast beautiful moment with my mom, laughing and smiling about our shared lives.I'd kissed her forehead, like Papa had done to me so long ago, and she'd closedher eyes, forever.