Personal Reflections – Remembering Mom, Twelve Years On
Today, 29 May
Today marks twelve years since I last saw my mom. She passed away on a cold Thursday evening in 2014. My dad and I had just settled in front of the fireplace when the call came. I remember wondering if she was comfortable where she was, and when she might be back home.
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The Final Days
A bit more than a week before, her body had crashed. Blood pressure through the roof, blood glucose levels spiking, and exhaustion so deep she could no longer get up on her own. At the advice of my aunt, a nurse, we called an ambulance.
At the hospital they stabilized her, but she remained so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. My mom was living with heart failure. At 73, slightly overweight, the doctors told us in 2012 to focus on keeping her comfortable and to cherish the time left. Back then, my mind couldn’t process that. It felt like another old‑age illness, something manageable with medication.
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Hospice
After a few days, the doctors asked about moving her to hospice. My dad made the decision on his own, and only told me about it when we got home. He explained it as a way for us to recover from the stress of care. I have to admit I was tired so did not fight it. The days that followed I visited whenever I could. I brought her snacks, checked that she was safe, and sat with her during visiting hours.
On that final Thursday evening, we arrived at 7 PM. She was sleeping. We woke her gently, but she was in a stupor. We let her rest. I imagined she heard us when we said goodbye. I rubbed my nose against hers, the way I always did, and we left. That was the last time.
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Reflection
Twelve years later, the memory is still vivid. The cold night, the fireplace, the quiet wondering. I didn’t fully understand heart failure then, but I understand now that those final days were about presence, care, and love.
This entry is my way of remembering her, not just the loss, but the small gestures that carried meaning.
