For the Love of Peter Jones

Chapter One

“Peter, you need to be strong. Strong for your father, and strong for yourself.”

I looked up into my mother’s eyes that were red and watery; her once bright green eyes had lost their earthly glow. Mom’s eyes are moist from the endless test the doctors asked her to take. In the end, not getting her any steps closer to finding a way to make her better. Watery because she’s trapped in a Cedar Sinai hospital. Unable to enjoy the beautiful outside that Los Angeles holds. Mom’s lovely unique eyes were watery because she knew today would be the last time she would see her son.

Stage four breast cancer that spread to her bones. This is the monster that’s been wrapping its deadly arms around my mom for three painful years. This heartbreaking disease will be the one to take my mom’s life on this bright sunny day. I stared at my mom, her long and wavy hair surrounded her face. The light freckles on mom’s porcelain skin seemed to be even more visible than usual. Her cheekbones were more prominent than the females you see on the runways.

She used to be a healthy 135lbs. But as weeks turned to months, and months turned into a few years. Mom’s weighted dropped to eighty-nine pounds. All of mom’s bones showed, her rib area seemed to stick out the most. I watched as she took a breath, she shook. As of a month ago, mom would shake when she took a breath. Despite her hair not being as thick and her weight being low. She still is the same gorgeous woman that loves me wholeheartedly.

Quickly, I pulled myself out of my thoughts.

“Okay mommy,” it was all I could bring myself to say. I knew my voice came out choked, but I was trying to smother my tears.

“Peter,” I listened as my mom’s voice softened.
“You are such a smart young man. You have hundreds of memories of us. If someone asked you to share your favorite memories of us, you’d be able to do it. You’d recite the memories like a story you’ve been telling for years. Use your memories we’ve created to carry you through these difficult times. This world can take me away from you, but one thing I know it can’t take away from you is the amount of love I have for you.”

She struggled to try to get her words out. Each word she said had to be followed by a lengthy pause. If she spoke too fast, she would be sent into a coughing fit. One painful enough to make her eyes swell up with tears. Mom’s body had already given up, but mentally she’s still a fighter. Mom never lost hope, even when the doctors told her the chemo wasn’t working. And not when dad stopped visiting her because he couldn’t bear to see what she had become. As she lay here in the hospital bed dying, mom never lost hope. She knows by her not giving up, she was giving me hope in believing she would be okay.
She winced as she gradually shifted herself over. Any sort of movement exhausted her. The doctors now have my mom wearing adult diapers.

Walking to the bathroom is now too much of a struggle for mom. Doctors began to notice mom was left winded when trying to stand up.  Once they put the diapers on my mom, a part of me died. The part of me that died was hope.  The confidence I had mustered up was gone. I started believing less and less that mom would get better. A part in the back of my mind knew she wasn’t going to become healthy again after she had to wear adult diapers. Mom was no longer considered an able body.

My mother moved her frail body over to one side of the bed. When mom shifted to one side of the bed that usually was a sign she wanted me on there with her. Without hesitation, I got on the small hospital bed with my mom. I looked at the fragile woman who had given me life. She was more than my mom, she was the person I could tell anything and everything too. She’s my best friend.

I put my body down cautiously, making sure I wouldn’t hurt my fragile mother. When I was on the bed, mom put her head on my chest and held my hand.  I tried breathing in my moms scent. I noticed her usual pleasant smell of sunflowers and birds of paradise no longer welcomed my nose. I’m losing her, the pungent smell of sickness lets me know I won’t have my mom much longer. Moms smell was the last thing I was counting on not to change as she was going through this transition with cancer. Before when she would get sick and be taken to the hospital, I’d lay my head down, close my eyes, and breath in her earthy aroma.