We said goodbye to your mother on October 2nd, 2007. You kissed her, after she left…
“Will I be here in 5 years to renew this passport again?”
…She asked me at the passport office. Right before all three of us went to New York City together. Our first trip following the diagnosis.
“Will I be there to hold C’s hand, on her first day of school?”
…She asked me during a quiet moment at home.
“Will I live to see my hair grow back again this long?”
…She asked, while I was cutting it off, right before she was about to start her chemo.
These were the poignant moments. And after each question, I would answer, “Yes.”
On another occasion, about 18 months later when it was clear the end was coming sooner than any of us thought, she looked at the envelope that had arrived that day, addressed to her. She read her name aloud and said,
“When I used to see my name written somewhere, I always wondered what my end would be. Now I know.”
I had no response for her that time, other than to look her in the eye for a moment, and then look away.