My mother was my comfort zone, the hidden shelter, the soft pillow and as the oldest of her children, I was very uncomfortable mentally and physically, trying to adjust to her sickness. My mother was dying and I couldn’t find a good balance in my mind or body. It was a long destabilizing ride that introduced me to stress, anxiety, depression and the meaning of capitalism. Day by day, I watched my mother fight death with grace. She wasn’t mad about her situation; she was courteous and displayed a royal kind of grace. I believe that millenniums past my mother would’ve been a great ancient queen mummified and placed in a royal tomb. Her grace spoke to me day by day, even when her energy was at a minimum and she couldn’t feed herself, she found grace to say, “Today is better.”
I noticed as time went by, my mother’s pain continued to increase. They gave her hard drugs that had very good street value; she only took them sparingly as she dealt with her pain gracefully. Our routine continued with chemo three times a week and then we added dialysis once a week. My mother was a great elephant of a woman. She covered a lot of ground with her love and support for family and friends. As pleasant and non-combative as she was, I thought her sickness was a mistake or a test. “She will win this battle,” I kept saying to myself over and over again. With all that’s going on in our world with deceit, murder and poverty, she was needed. Millenniums ago her royal tomb inscriptions would have read:
“Great Daughter and Queen of the Most High, She who helped the widow and fatherless children, rest here, precious one. In grace She lived and in grace She died. May Her Spirit be in union with the Creator forever.”
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