2001-05-12~~8:34 p.m.
Why I hate Mother's Day...

Tomorrow is Mother's Day. My kids went to bed so excited they could hardly contain themselves. They'll probably be up to fix my breakfast in bed at 5:00 am. I am not a morning person.

I don't want to sound like I'm not grateful. I have terrific kids. I have been blessed to be trusted with such treasures. It's just that I hate Mother's Day.

My mom died two years ago. She was only 51. She didn't know she was dying. My last conversation with her before she spent the last two weeks of her life connected to a ventilator was rushed because I was running late to get my kids to school.

I had just started my teaching credential program when she got sick. They didn't know what was wrong with her. My kids were in kindergarten and first grade. My son barely remembers her.

She went in the hospital so they could run some tests. They were supposed to figure out what was wrong and make it better. She called me the morning of the lung biopsy. She just said that they were going to sedate her and put a little brush thing into her lung so they could take a culture. I'm sure I said I loved her because I always said so when we talked... but I don't remember really. I was in a hurry. The kids had to get to school. I had to get to school.

It was almost 5:00 when I got tired of waiting for my mom to call. I phoned the hospital. I didn't know what room she was in. The person who answered didn't need the room number, just her name. She transferred me.

The next person who answered said, "ICU, this is ..."

I thought there must be a mistake. I told her who I was trying to reach and she said that my mom's nurse was busy with my mom at the moment and that she'd have to call me back.

I was in shock.

My mom was in intensive care. I didn't know what why. No one had called me.

It seemed like forever before the return call came. It wasn't a mistake. My mom was on a ventilator. The nurse acted like it was no big deal. I remember her sounding irritated that I was crying.

The next two weeks were horrible. I drove my kids to school in the morning, then went to my classes at the university. When I finished around lunchtime I made the almost two hour drive to the hospital. I sat at her side doing my homework. The best friend you could ever hope for picked my kids up from school everyday and kept them until my husband finished at work.

I drove home each night in time to tell them goodnight. It was hell. It was the worst thing I could imagine... because what came next was worse than I ever thought possible.

The one-day that I couldn't go to the hospital was Monday because I had class all morning and a night class too. I had checked in with the nurse before I left for my night class. I was so happy because she was doing better. My hopes were high that soon she'd be off the vent and I could hear her voice again.

When I got home from my class T met me in the middle of the living room. I could tell something was wrong. He started to cry as he told me.

"Your mom died tonight."

I've heard it over and over in my head. You'd think that some of the pain would dissipate. It hasn't.

She was my best friend. We had such plans for the future. She should have had so much life left.

I know that she waited to die when I wasn't there. I know that up until her last breath she was protecting me. She was the best mom.

I miss her.

So tomorrow, I'll try to be happy for my kids. I'll eat my breakfast in bed and smile when they give me the goofy presents that they have made.

Then we'll all get in the car and go to the cemetery.

You never know what you're going to get in life or how long you will have to enjoy it. I try really hard to remember that I was lucky to have had her at all. There are lots of women who have terrible mothers. For 30 years I got to be the most important thing in her life... her only child... I was so lucky.

But it's really hard not to feel sorry for yourself when you spend Mother's Day at the cemetery.

-Alice