by Anika Van Boerum

Created on: March 26, 2010

It was the summer of 2003, I was 26 years old and I was planning my wedding.  The date was set for that October.  In many ways, up until that point, this had been the worst year of my life.  I had no idea that it was about to get worse. 

Already, my brother was in the throes of addiction, my mother was living with bladder cancer, and I was left shattered after my involvement in a fatal car accident.  My own daily trials and tribulations, that came along with the accident that I was involved in, kept me very self-centered and blind to the severity of my mother's situation.  I focused mainly on planning my wedding.   My mother was stoic and secretive, and I was ignorant and in denial.

As I watched my mother dredge her way through her second round of chemo, anemia, and blood clots, I still believed that if this disease claimed her life at all, it would be at the very least quite a few years away.  I had convinced myself that it would not claim her life, though.  Every day, I would return home from work to see her lying on the sofa.  The clots in her legs caused them to swell and it was painful for her to walk.  The anemia depleted her energy.  She was a pale, lifeless shell of the mother I once knew, but she asked for nothing.  I believed she would finish her chemo and bounce right back.  I didn't want to see the truth.

On a Wednesday in August, my mother was in the hospital awaiting abdominal surgery for a mystery blockage. Her surgery was scheduled for later in the afternoon that day.  I was planning on going straight to the hospital after work so that I could be there when she was transported to recovery.  My cousin was an employee at the hospital and would often stop in to check on her.  Late that morning, my cousin phoned me at work with an extremely disturbing tone to her voice.  She said that she was sitting with my mother, who wanted me to come see her.  My mom was the least needy person in my life.  She would never have asked me to leave work to come sit with her.  It was then that she grabbed the phone and slurred her way through the words, “Come and get me.  I want to go home now”.   That was the last thing I remember hearing before rushing out of my office in a panic.

 I arrived at the hospital 10 minutes later. I was expecting doctors and nurses to be congregated in my mother's room, doing all they could do

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