End of Days

My mother is beautiful.
We have had our moments and years of struggles but she is beautiful.  She has a smile that makes not only her own eyes sparkle but those around her, too.  She has a laugh that I ache to remember.

So much of this life is based on our senses and I am afraid of losing these sensory connections with my mom.

Sound.  Voice, laughter, snoring, meddling, nagging, loving.

I can't stop telling her that I love her because I want to make sure she knows and I want her to take that with her.  I keep telling her I am sorry that this has happened to her, I'm sorry I couldn't fix it, because I desperately want to.  I ask her to be my guardian angel when she leaves this body.  I remember laughing so many times in our kitchen but one time in particular I was so overcome with giggles and silliness that I lost track of what makes sense and exclaimed, "We have fun together, aren't we?!"  Doubled over in laughter, we made that our mantra when we were together.

Sight.  Smiles, tears, movements, dances, eyes, hair, body.

I keep looking at every detail of her face and hands.  I want to remember her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, the color of her hair.  Her unbraced, perfectly straight teeth.  Her strong and long fingernails which I did not inherit.  I want to remember the way her skin changes colors from the top of her hands to the bottom.  I want to see her to know that she is real.

Touch.  Hugs, kisses, hands, snuggles.

I keep hugging her and stroking her face and holding her hand.  I want her to know that I am here with her as much as I want to soak in as much skin memory as I can.  When her soul passes, her body will not be hers anymore, it will be a shell.  I don't want to remember the shell, I want to remember her.  I want to remember the way she makes her body move, the way she squeezes my hand, and the way she reacts when I touch her.

Smell.

Despite the hospital room and the clinical smell, Chanel No. 5 will always remind me of special occasions.  Pumpkin pie and M&M cookie dough will remind me of spending time in our kitchen.  The smell of her skin, I hope, will stay with me.

Taste.

I do not taste my mom.  I just don't.  That's weird.
I will, however, remember the taste of her meatloafs, mac & cheese, lasagna, and those pies and cookies.  I will remember my first taste of Rum and Coke when I was choking and it was the only thing around to help when I was about 8 years old.  I will remember that she liked her steak as well done as it could be.  I will remember that sourdough bread from San Francisco is her favorite taste, especially if you add a little crab.

Intuition.

Perhaps this isn't a real sense but I think it was for my mom.  She knew when I needed her and when I needed to do some growing up.  She knew I would not lie to her.  She knew when I would call her - usually when she was headed to the bathroom, to be honest.

My mom is beautiful, inside and out.  Every decision that she made, good and bad, made me who I am.  With every action to she took, she influenced my life and influenced my decisions.  She allowed me to learn from her mistakes and allowed me to make my own.

As I sit next to her now, I wonder if there was anything I could have done to change what happened.  Even though she can't speak I can hear voice, "This sucks, but what can you do?  Life is full of what ifs."

I guess you're right, mom.  Life is full of what ifs.  But the next step, I suppose, is what now?

"We'll have fun together, aren't we?"