Mom: In Loving Memory
By: Alexandria Truex
Tags: Moms, Jesus, Faith, The Body Of Christ, Grief And Loss

I’ve never written out the story of my mom’s final days but since today is the 6th anniversary of my mom’s passing, I feel it’s time. I feel it needs to be recorded somewhere. Though she wasn’t an important person in history, she was an important person in my history and I want to write about her story because it greatly impacted my story.

She was born Michelle L’Beth Doty in South Holland, Illinois. She faced lots of adversity in her life and so she raised her 4 children (me included) to face life by pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps, sucking it up and doing what needed to be done. She lived this out even when she found out she had stage 4 cancer.

In the summer of 2013, my mom started visiting chiropractors for lingering back pain from a car accident many years prior. She was convinced she was all out of whack and a chiropractor could help set her back and ease her pain. She went to several different ones, trying to figure out which ones were actually helpful. After one fateful visit to the chiropractor in the fall, my mom realized something was wrong. Had the chiropractor messed up? All of a sudden my mom was gaining weight and felt a lot of painful pressure in her abdomen even though she was eating very little. Being up for long periods of time hurt.

I remember telling her “mom you really should go see a doctor if you’re in this much pain” but she insisted that she didn’t want to ruin the holidays and would go after Thanksgiving. But as we took up our traditional duties to help with the Thanksgiving meal preparation, my mom couldn’t spend more than 5–10 minutes on her feet before realizing it was too unbearable. At mealtime, she sat at the table for about 10 minutes and hardly touched her food before returning to the couch. Something was seriously wrong.

The following week my classes started back up at university so I was away when my mom went to the doctor. My sister sent me a text that day saying “pray for mom” but wouldn’t give me any answers about my mom’s condition. No one was saying anything. Did they have answers? Were they hiding them? Were they waiting for more results? Did they figure out she was going to be fine?

My mom was a devoted attendee of all our choir concerts. This was the last one she attended (December 2013).

I came home for a quick visit and for my brother’s last ever Christmas choir production. “Why is my mom so weepy while she’s talking to his choir teacher?” I thought. I got the sense something more than nostalgia was making her cry but she quickly pulled herself together when I walked up.

The next day when I was preparing to return to my university, my mom admitted something to me: fear. She knew the battle looming ahead though chose not to give me specifics. I’m not sure she even knew them all at that point. She just said that what was ahead would be different than anything we’d ever experienced and she was afraid. I thought back to something she’d told me a few months earlier. “Mom what happened to the person who said ‘God has always been faithful to our family?’” Amidst pain and unforeseen circumstances, it can be hard to recognize God’s faithfulness. It was hard for her to recognize that day. It was hard for me to recognize when she died. But looking back I can see that God was faithful during our time of grief and He is still faithful today.

After that, I went back to school and did exactly what my mom hoped I would do. I went back to focusing on my studies and preparing for exams but I also failed to check back in on how she was doing, though I don’t think she would have told me anyway. Our parents purposely closed the door of communication so that we would do well in school and carry on, without panicking or being distracted. When the semester ended I returned home for Christmas. It was obvious there was some family business to be discussed but before anything could be divulged, we had to wait for Nick, my oldest brother, to arrive from California.

And then… that word. Cancer. To be honest the rest of the conversation was a blur. All I got were the words “cancer,” “possibly ovarian” before my brain went on to think “well surely they can fix it.” My mind was reeling. It’s possible that my parents talked about the fact that it was stage 4. It’s possible they gave us enough details for us to know it was terminal, but my mind was already racing to ask what solutions the doctors had found. When were they going to have an official diagnosis? What was the action plan to help my mom fight it? After all, she was 56. She was going to pull through. That was December 13, 2013. I had turned 20 just the month before.

The next few weeks were miserable for everyone I think. My mom had to be driven to the hospital weekly to relieve the pressure in her abdomen which they did by draining fluid that had been released by the tumors. She despised this process but endured it because the pressure in her abdomen was worse.

Finally, I admitted to some friends that we were spent. My mom was ill and we were all exhausted and stressed. We had learned she had mesothelioma which is typically caused by exposure to asbestos, starts in the lungs and then travels to the abdomen. She didn’t have any cancer in her lungs but it was ravaging through her abdomen. We hadn’t really told anyone about her condition. I felt like I had to keep everything bottled up. We were all pitching in to cook and do household tasks while she was pretty much bedridden. We all felt the strain. Boy am I glad I trusted those special friends. Before I knew it many people were signing up online to come and help our family and bring meals and help around the house. It was astonishing. A true and beautiful picture of how the Body of Christ can work together to help those in need.

For those of you who want to know how to help someone who is grieving or just found out a loved one has a fatal disease, my advice to you is to just be present. Be a listening ear when necessary, give your thoughts when asked but don’t make it about you. And please, never say “It will be okay” or “They will pull through.” Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Every time someone said that to me I wanted to scream and cry and say “Can you promise me that? Can you promise she will be okay?” But I also understand it’s hard to know what to say to someone when you’ve never experienced something like that before. And so I took a deep breath and thanked each person that said those words and caused my blood pressure to become elevated.

Shortly after I returned to school in January, I got offered a position as a Resident Assistant, a job I’d been longing for. After my first few weeks of work, my mom called me. “How’s your new job?” she wanted to know. “Fine, fine,” I said as I began to blow her off. “Tomorrow’s my surgery,” she said, “I’m scared.”

The words pierced me. I felt guilty for not checking up on her. I felt guilty that I was about to hang up on her in the next few minutes and get in my friend’s car to go see a show. “Mom you’ll be fine,” I managed. I wish I could have promised her that and kept my promise, but they were just empty words. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my friend’s car pull up. “Mom I’m really sorry but I have to go. My friends are here.” That was February 6th, 2014.

On Friday, February 7th they opened my mom up and found there were way more tumors than they had anticipated. They realized there was nothing they could do. My dad called me and said the surgery hadn’t gone as well as they’d hoped. Even on the phone, I could tell he was getting choked up. I still didn’t understand. “Have them try something else,” I thought. “Surely she can fight this.” On Wednesday, February 12th my mom aspirated and was intubated. I got a call. “You should come home,” my dad said. These terms were new to me. Again I didn’t understand the severity. “But I have to work tonight. Is Nick coming home?” My dad told me he was already on the airplane, on his way from California. Oh. It was serious. I finally realized it.

A dear friend came and picked me up and we hurried to the hospital where lots of people were waiting. I went to my mom’s room and there she was though it didn’t look like her. She wasn’t her lively self, in fact, she wasn’t even awake and then there was the tube in her throat that prevented her from greeting us. I swallowed the lump in my throat and realized I hated everything about that hospital; the uncomfortable chairs, the bright lights, the ugly rooms and the emptiness I felt there. When Nick arrived, his tears created a domino effect and I realized my tears began to flow freely as I started to feel the magnitude of everything. My mom was really, really sick. Her body was broken and so I began to pray that God would heal her. I knew He could so I begged him to take her cancer away and heal her body.

The next day the doctors decided it was time to take her breathing tube out. This was a big deal because we didn’t know if she could breathe on her own. But in typical fashion, as soon as my mom could talk, she started making demands as only she could do. No, she didn’t want to be in the hospital. Yes, she wanted to go home. No, she didn’t want at-home palliative care. That left hospice care. She was promptly moved to a hospice care center nearby. I liked the hospice care center much more than the hospital. It felt like a place my mom could get better. “People don’t get better in hospice care,” my brother informed me, “they go there to die comfortably.” But I had prayed for God to heal her. I had prayed for a miracle. Surely God would perform a miracle so He could get the glory and I could have my mom, right? Win-win. But God doesn’t work that way.

Each day my family went into hospice care to be with my mom and each night, one of us would spend the night with her. During the day, each of us had special time with her. We apologized for being nasty to her, we wept for her and then she would kick us out of her room for being so depressing.

Meanwhile, people were coming to spend time with us, mourn with us, say goodbye, bring meals and sing worship songs. People were also going into our house to clean up, do laundry, wash dishes and meet any needs we were too dazed to deal with. We “celebrated” my sister Bethany’s 26th birthday in hospice and people brought sugary treats, balloons and flowers. I think she would recount that as her worst birthday ever but I’m still in awe of how God used his people to come around us during those hellish weeks.

On Sunday, February 16th, my mom decided to slam us with a reality check. She corralled us into her room and questioned us. “What are you doing? Why are you waiting around?” We were speechless. She turned to my younger brother Gabe and told him“You need to be in school. You’re going back to school tomorrow.” How can you argue with a woman battling cancer? Then she turned to me. “And you. You have responsibilities. You need to be in school too. And you have this new RA job. You need to get back to your responsibilities.” What? “But mom, tonight is my night that I get to spend with you!” I wasn’t about to give that up. She begrudgingly agreed that I could stay with her that night but I would have to return to school the next day.

I barely slept that night. Every time my mom made any noise, I woke up and immediately started praying that she wouldn’t die while I was alone in her room with her. But morning came and my mom was still breathing. A new day brought more visitors and people came in waves to say goodbye to my mom. I still hoped and believed her body would be healed. Evening came and some friends brought dinner for my family. Their arrival meant it was time to say goodbye to mom. I wandered into her room and found that I had no words. I knew this was the last time I’d see her. What do you say to someone when you know it’s the last time you’ll ever see them? I’ll miss you? It will be okay? There were no words. So instead I sang and thanked God that he gave me and my mom a love of music. I sang some of her favorites including “Danny Boy” and “Mama Who Bore Me” from Spring Awakening. The tears started to flow and again, my mom got mad at me for being depressing. So I kissed her on the forehead and bid her farewell one last time. That was February 17th.

Nick and my mom on one of our camping trips

Today is Tuesday, February 18th. Six years ago on Tuesday, February 18th 2014, my older brother, Nick, sat in my mom’s room at the hospice care center and prayed. He prayed for hours for my mom and as he prayed people came and went to do their final goodbyes. My mom’s feet had turned purple from poor circulation and so one dear friend came and massaged her feet while my brother continued to pray. Another friend came and said goodbye to my mom. When that friend left, my brother finished praying. He looked at my mom and saw she was still breathing and got up and washed his hands. At that moment my dad opened the door and my brother turned around and realized my mom had breathed her last. It was around 2 pm.

I was sitting in class 50 miles away but was overwhelmed with a wave of horrible emotion. I texted my dad and waited for his response. Finally it came: “Cheryl [a family friend] is coming to get you.” I called my dad and somehow the call dropped. I tried to call back but it didn’t work. I called Cheryl and she confirmed my fears. I had no longer had a mom. God didn’t heal my mom’s earthly body. My mom’s body wasn’t going to get better. But if I really think about it, my prayer was answered. It took a lot of time of grieving before I realized my mom no longer has a broken body, but a new, heavenly body. And every day I wear a bracelet that our friend, Cheryl, had made for each member in our family that reads “faith not fear.” In the end my mom was fearless as she said goodbye to this earth.

Six years has felt like a very long time without her. I look forward to the day when I can see her again.