The most comforting words I've ever heard...

I recall so vividly a lot of the time I spent with my mom in the hospital over the years, but the most vivid memories are of the last time. 

It was a couple days into my mom's hospital admission after having her painful breathing through the night and we still weren't sure what was going on. I was sitting my mom's hospital room with her and we were waiting for a call from her oncologist to hear what her options were depending on what was going on with her health situation. When her doctor finally called, my other family member took the phone first. My level of frustration can not be described without a long back story, but it was not solely due to the fact that I had been the one who requested her call in the first place. Anyway, I heard this family member ask her a multitude of questions, the last of which was what kind of time frame (for how long my mom had to live) we were looking at...utterly horrifying. If you ever spent time talking to my mom about her faith and her cancer, she would have told you that never wanted to have doctors tell her any time related information; she had always believed that only God knew how much time she had. The fact that this person asked the doctor over the phone right in front of my mom is a testimony to my extreme frustration with the situation. Not to mention we still didn't have any information on what was truly going on inside my mom's body to warrant that kind of question.

When it was finally my turn to talk, I asked the doctor to hold and told my mom I was going to take the call at the nurses station so I didn't bother her. False; I knew I wouldn't be able to hold myself together in front of her if it was bad news. I also knew I had to ask for a time frame now because the only person who knew couldn't be trusted to relay accurate information and I had to know the truth for verification purposes. I was physically sick over it. I spent most of my time on the phone internally yelling at myself to try to listen and not worry about my looming, disgusting question. I did take in a decent amount of what the doctor said to me, and my super-involved-caregiver mentality kicked in eventually. I tried hard to focus and I asked every question I could think of to find any possible way around the words I heard.

Eventually it had been made clear there were no other treatment options and the path we were headed down couldn't be changed. Finally, I had to ask the big, grotesque question. She told me it could be a few weeks to a month. A few weeks to a month. 

A few weeks to a month. 

There it was. And it couldn't go away. The number my mom didn't believe in and didn't want to know, much less have anyone else know. It was like my mind had been soiled forever. I knew my mom would ask me because she heard the question asked in the room, and if she didn't, I would have to ask her if the person said anything to her...which then would mean I would have to admit I asked also.

There are times in life where it seems that your best judgment may also be your worst judgment. I knew I had to ask as a measure of protection, but I also knew it was still none of my business no matter who else knew. Was there even a right decision?  (Side note for the curious ones like myself: My mom was grateful I asked so she knew the info in case someone didn't relay it accurately.)

I would be lying to you if I told you what I said in reply to that or what was said before I even hung up. The next thing I remember is sobbing uncontrollably. The nurse who had been sitting at the nurses' station during the whole call looked up at me with tears streaming down her face and grabbed a box of tissues and came out from behind the desk to give me a hug. I managed to choke out they told me a time and how it wasn't fair. She asked me how old I was and then told me she was only a couple years older when she lost her mom to cancer. I somehow managed to tell her I was so sorry for her loss and her reply was so unexpected and perhaps the most comforting advice I've ever been given.

"This is going to be really hard for a long time and it will never be the same, but it will get easier."

She went on to tell me how it's been 23 years since her mom passed away and she still gets sad when she can't call her or spend birthdays and holidays together. Living without her mother was still a daily struggle and life was never the same, it just got easier to deal with her absence over time.

I don't think I ever got a chance to tell her how much it meant to me she didn't come around that nurses' station wall and tell me, "it's going to be okay". I did not want to hear that when it was literally impossible to imagine life ever being okay again. I understand that a lot of the time people don't know what to say, and to be honest I usually don't know what I want to hear, either. Having that nurse there that day was such a blessing.  It may sound weird that I wanted to hear those words, but they were perfect. 

It has been just over 10 months since that conversation happened and I heard those words. She was 100% right. The pain of not having my mom here, especially during our changes right now, is as strong as ever. But, it has gotten a little easier to manage.

There isn't a day that does by that I don't miss both my parents and have waves of grief wash through me. When you lose someone you love, life can never go back to being okay. You will move forward and things will get easier to deal with eventually. Life becomes a different kind of okay, where you learn to live again and stop feeling guilty every time you laugh.

I will forever be grateful for that nurse and how honest she was. She was probably debating what her best judgment call would be while I was on the phone debating mine, and she made a great decision.