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].