It’s been seven weeks since I last saw you.
Seven weeks since they told me there was no hope and you would be gone and I didn’t believe it.
It just didn’t seem possible.
It couldn’t be real.
But it was.
And before I was ready, you were gone.
It’s been seven weeks since I held your hand and listened to your last breaths. You couldn’t even open your eyes and see me. You couldn’t talk, you could barely breathe, and I don’t even know if you knew I was there.
But I was.
We were all there. The ones you loved the most who loved you in return.
Waiting.
Holding our breath.
Crying.
Hoping.
Wishing there could be a miracle … but there wasn’t. Not this time. The miracles had already been spent and you were living on borrowed time until suddenly you weren’t.
You were supposed to live until you were one hundred. You were stubborn and resilient and you’d been through so much worse.
This wasn’t the time. Not this time.
But then it was.
The last time I talked to you, you apologized for being a pain in the butt and I told you that you weren’t. I told you I loved you and you did the same and I thought the next time I would see you again, I would be driving you home.
But you’d never go home again. You’d never see your house, or pet your dog, or sit in your chair, or put your puzzles together.
It was over without warning.
I never got to say goodbye. I didn’t get to look at you and tell you how much you meant to me. I hadn’t done that in so long. Our relationship had gotten messy over the years as mothers and daughters often do. But I still loved you because you were the only mother I ever knew, and you saved me.
I remembered the time years before when I cried because I didn’t know what I would do without you. Then I hardened my heart because I thought I would have to.
Then you asked for so much more than I could give and I grew tired, and angry and finally, sad. But there was always love.
It’s been seven weeks and it hasn’t been the same without you and I know that it never will be again.
But you’ll always live in that space in my heart where only a mother belongs, because that’s where there is always love.
All I Know So Far 