10:20 AM

10:20 AM. 10:20 AM. 10:20 AM. The time flashes in my mind over and over and over. It flashes like when the power goes out and the clock blinks until you reset it. 10:20 AM. 10:20 AM. 10:20 AM. 10:20 AM…the time my mother died. 10:20 AM, April 17, 2005.

She has been gone now for a little over 13 hours and I miss her to death. We knew it was going to happen. But when it happened, it was so quick…I didn’t realize it was happening. Two deep breaths and then gone. 14 months of struggles, hope, despair, laughter and tears ends in two deep breaths.

Yesterday she developed a cough. Not a good sign. A sign that the end was near. The cough kept getting worse, more suffocating…harder to breath. Restlessness set in. Lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up and so on…for hours and hours. I thought I was going to lose my mind. As soon I as got her comfortable in bed and turned my back for a second…a split second…she needed to sit up. Two seconds after I struggled to get her sitting up in bed she would rest her head on my shoulder and tell me she needed to lie down. Lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up…hour after hour after hour. Now when I look back I honestly think she was trying to leave her body…somehow she was trying to set her spirit free and leave her damaged, wounded, violent body behind and soar free. Lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up. I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown. At one point tears flowed from both of us. Why can’t there just be stillness…if only for five minutes. A break from this insanity, a break from this bizarre ritual that has been going on for so many hours. Lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up. She apologizes and says she is sorry but she just can’t get comfortable. I tell her it is ok and we will keep trying. Lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up. 10:20 AM…I would do anything for her to sit up. 10:20 AM…she would never sit up again ever. 10:20 AM.

9:00 AM. She woke up and was in pain. I gave her some medicine to make the pain ease some. I woke up my sister to help me...here we go again…lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up, lay down. I have to use the bathroom. Melissa is in charge for two minutes. My mom would get very nervous if someone else was in charge. Not saying she did not trust other people, but she trusted me fully, unconditionally, blindly. She knew I wouldn’t ever do anything that could possibly harm her. I annoyed her doctors and nurses…always asking questions. Tell me everything about her diagnosis, tell me everything about her medications, tell me everything you know about the situation, simply tell me everything. I kept records of every pill she took while I was in charge. Date, time and how much. She did not want her medicine from anyone else.

Lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up, lay down, sit up.

9:30ish AM. More coughing. Coughing and producing things I never knew the human body produced. Melissa grossed out. I am more intrigued. I am looking, trying to figure out what it all is. Very strange for me. I am the squeamish one. I am the queasy one. I am the one with the weak stomach. But, things change. I am forever changed. I am trying to figure out all the functions of the body. On some level trying to figure out what when wrong. My mom is bewildered at the specimen that her body has produced. Tells me to save it to show my brother-in-law, Richard, who is a doctor. Turns out it is called “mucus plugs”. Now I know. Mystery solved. I will never forget “mucus plugs”.

10:00 AM. Finally…tucked back into bed. I tell her that at 10:30 I will have to give her the rest of her medicine. She hates taking her medicine. Reminds her that she is sick. It doesn’t offer any real hope anyways. It is for pain, not for a cure. The medicine simply numbs. She is coughing and breathing hard, but sleeping. Then she starts to talk. Hard to understand. Doesn’t even sound like English. I ask her what she is trying to say. My sister gets annoyed and tells me to leave her alone and let her sleep. Says she is probably only dreaming or something anyways. My sister heads back to bed. A few more minutes of quiet. I seize the moment. I lay on my make-shift bed on the floor next to her, able to watch her. I fall asleep for a few minutes. Silence. I wake up and bolt off the floor. She is breathing but it is calm, clear and steady. Something is terribly wrong. Why isn’t she coughing? Why isn’t she gasping? Why isn’t she struggling for breath? These things have become the norm. Something is wrong. I grab her hand. I hold her hand tight with my left hand, in her hand the rosary that was an Easter gift from Melissa, and with my other hand I shake her. I say “Mom”…”Mom”…”Mom”…over and over…no response. I tell her that I love her and then she takes two very deep breaths and is gone. I am still holding her hand, not letting go once…my other hand over her heart, trying to find a beat. Confusion sets in. Why in the hell isn't her heartbeating? What is happening? What do I do? Nothing. 10:20 AM. I am panicking…I keep saying “Mom” as my tears fall. My voice is breaking…pleading, begging, searching. I know what has happened, but I refuse to believe it. If I could only wake her up. My sister hears this from upstairs. She rushes down to us. She is crying. As I hold on to my mom, still calling out “Mom”, my sister checks for a pulse. Nothing. I am having trouble breathing, my vision is blurred from crying so hard and my cries of “Mom” have now become whispers of “oh my God”. It is done. My mom is dead. 10:20 AM. For the next half hour the only thing I can say is “oh my God” through a hoarse and deep voice. She never did get her medicine. She did not make it to 10:30 AM.

10:20 AM. 10:20 AM. 10:20 AM. Every morning at 10:20 AM I will be back at my mother’s side, holding her hand, calling out to her as she slips away.

I am on the verge of passing out. Exhausted. Emotionally spent. I am lonely. Never felt this lonely before in my life. But, I am scared to go to asleep tonight. I know that at some point tomorrow morning it is going to be 10:20 AM.