it was a wednesday. june 1 to be exact. i walked into my mother’s hospital room, as she was admitted after spending a night in the er.
she asked me if i had talked to my aunt. she said it with such a pregnant pause that i pressed her to tell me why. she said nothing. after my consistent pestering, she blurted out, “i’m dying!”
everything stopped. i turned around from the counter where i had been placing her things and my things. as i turned my gaze swept over my new husband standing in the hall, waiting to come in with a “this is awkward so you tell me when to come in” stare. he was there at the door with no concept of what had just transpired. what i was turning to face.
i cried, one of those impulsive world taking over you cries. but only for less than 60 seconds as i said, “what do you mean?”
she said that her cancer had spread and that she was dying.
and i don’t remember much of what happened after. just that i made a joke to cut the intensity of it all.
after all, our family doesn’t handle emotions.
here i was, 3 days after my wedding day [the happiest day of my life] with my mother telling me she was dying [one of the saddest days of my life].