Resilient Love (Navy Love Series Book 3) (25 page)

Am I sad? Absolutely. But I know in my heart that my mom was ready to end this fight. And she fought hard; two years battling cancer isn’t an easy thing to do. So I’ll take this week and mourn the loss of a beautiful person inside and out, but I am relieved to know she’s no longer in pain and suffering.

Christina emerges from the room with tears streaming down her face; my turn.

“I’ll be right here waiting for you,” he whispers in my ear and places a kiss to my temple.

I cast a glance at everyone in the room. Both Miguel and Joseph are sniffling with bloodshot eyes, Christina’s tears are still free falling down her tear stained face. And then there’s J.C. His eyes match that of my brothers, but I see so much more than sadness or sympathy in them. I see hope.

That is what tells me I can do this, what will give me the strength I need over the next few days.

With a nod, I walk down the small hallway and into my mom’s room.

She looks so peaceful, almost as though she’s still sleeping like she has been the past couple days. It’s hard for me, even in this moment, to grasp that my mother is no longer here. Physically she is, but mentally, spiritually, and emotionally she’s gone.

I sit in the chair beside her bed, the one that’s had someone’s butt planted in it nonstop for the past two days, the one that we’ve all rotated napping in. The one that I sat in when I had my last conversation with her, where she gave me the last piece of advice I’ll ever hear from her.

It’s then, as the memories of a stupid chair race through my mind, the reality hits; my mom is gone. My eyes water as I think over my life and more recently, this past year with her.

What they say is true, you can never thank your mother enough for everything they’ve done for you. Sitting here in this room, knowing this is my private moment to say all the things I want to say to her, I’m still speechless at how to even begin.

How do you tell someone you love goodbye?

Something she used to always say to us kids comes to mind.

‘Te amo desde el fondo de mi corazón’
I love you from the bottom of my heart.

We used to love when she spoke Spanish to us, although we didn’t know half of what she meant, it always sounded beautiful with her accent.

A small smile graces my lips despite the tears falling from my eyes. I know she would have loved to hear me say anything in Spanish, especially a quote she used to tell me.

“I hope you’re okay now, Mom. You left us in a mess here. It’s going to take a while for any of us to figure out how to function without you around. I know you worry about me a lot since I left home, and even more with what all has happened to me recently, but I want you to know that I’m okay. I mean, I will be. You were right, J.C. is my compass, he’s my home. And I know he’ll take care of me. Protect me when I need protection, care for me when I’m sick, laugh with me when I’m happy and most of all, he’ll love me, even when I’m unlovable. He’ll help me through the loss of you. And I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to be the woman you knew I was capable of being.”

I stand and lift her lifeless hand to my cheek, just wanting to feel her touch one more time before I place a kiss to it and leave the room.

Kandice made the proper phone calls while we took our turns saying our goodbyes. She’s become part of our family in the midst of all of this tragedy. I’m really glad my mom was assigned a nurse who looked at her as a person and not just a job. Her shift actually ended a few hours ago, but she chose to stay here afterwards. She’s done it every night since we arrived. It means so much to me, to all of us, that she has formed a bond with my mom and has wanted to be here with her and us in Mom’s final days.

“You okay?” J.C. asks as soon as I wrap my arms around his waist.

I nod my head and tighten my grip on him. Right now I just need some physical touch to ease the emotional turmoil I feel.

I’m almost at war with myself; part of me is relieved she’s no longer hurting but the other part, the more selfish side, is sad that she’s isn’t here to enjoy all the things in life she loves.

One thing is certain with all of this – life will never be the same for me with the loss of my mother.

Later that afternoon, after some restless but much needed sleep, I retire out to the bench near the rose bushes that’s fast becoming my favorite spot. I take in the silence and ponder over how much time Mom actually got to spend out here. Kandice did mention that she tried to get out here at least once a week since J.C. set it all up.

The next few days are going to be hell.

My brother did exactly what I asked and made all of Mom’s arrangements before she passed away, without me.

I really don’t have much to do except attend her services, grieve, and help out with anything around here.

My mind begins to race, wondering if excluding myself was the right choice to make. Am I really that comfortable knowing I didn’t help? That my input isn’t stamped anywhere on her final preparations? But I know that would only make this whole process harder for me to handle. And I don’t want to remember what flowers I picked out for Mom’s funeral, I want to remember
her.

The front door opening startles me from my reasoning.

“You don’t have to do this, you know that, right?” I hear J.C.’s one sided conversation. “I know, I know, but seriously— Ugh, alright. Well, just let me know. Okay, bye.”

What was that all about?

“Hey, Darlin’,” he says as he takes a seat beside me after ending his call. “How’ya holdin’ up?”

I shrug, still unsure how to answer that loaded question.

“Who was that?” I ask, trying to switch the topic off of me.

“Just Reed. He and everyone wanted to uh, send flowers to the funeral home.”

Hmm, I just spoke with Tess and she didn’t mention anything about flowers, but maybe she just forgot, or wanted to surprise me.

“I talked to Tess a few minutes ago.” He watches me, waiting for me to elaborate. “She didn’t say much, but wanted to know that I was okay.”

His head absently nods. “Everyone back home is worried about you.”

“I’m okay, really. I hate to say it, but she’s better off now. I didn’t like seeing her in pain, and while, yeah, I wish I would have been able to spend more time with her, I get the pleasure of remembering her before the pain became too much. When I last saw her, other than the other night, she was happy and laughing still. She still had her fun personality and her pain wasn’t etched in the lines of her face.

“As much as it sucks that I didn’t spend every last minute with her, I did get to say goodbye. She knew we were here. I think she was just waiting to tell us goodbye.”

It’s an illogical idea that has floated through my mind on multiple occasions these past few days. I don’t know if it’s true or not, and I probably never will, but I find solace in my belief that she planned it to happen like that.

“I think you’re right.”

He looks over at me with a soft smile which I return with a bump to his shoulder. J.C. wraps an arm around me and pulls me into his side, placing a kiss to my temple.

“I bet she had it all planned out that way.”

Jo

Saturday morning I wake extra early along with everyone else in the house. Today is the wake for my mom.

The house seems empty, lifeless without her in it. It may be nice to have others here breaking up the gloomy mood of my family and I.

Father Lombardi has been by multiple times to check in on all of us. Before Mom got sick, she was a devoted Catholic, attending every Mass and volunteering with any extracurricular activities the church put on. With his and J.C.’s insistence, I’ve been in touch with Chaplain Ashby as well.

When I confessed that I felt numb regarding my mom’s passing, he wasn’t surprised and didn’t try convincing me that it was unnatural. His logic behind the way I feel made perfect sense. Over these past nine months, I’ve faced a loss of my own and struggled with accepting it. Without my realizing it, on some deeper level, the experience has strengthened my resolve.

Of course I’m sad that she’s gone, but I’m genuinely relieved for her sake. Mom was suffering for a while; she put on a good show for all of us, but I think we all knew it was taking a bigger toll on her mentally and physically than she cared to admit.

J.C. has been my rock since he found me in our bed that afternoon. I don’t know where all of my strength is coming from, but I feel like he has something to do with it. Having him as my support system is like a safety net, I know if I do fall he’ll catch me.

After showering and dressing for the day, I practically run to the kitchen for some much needed coffee. Everyone else is already sitting and standing around, ready for what this day has in store for us. While the house is set up, Miguel and Christina have a few finalizations left to tie up. Miguel has to visit the church and make any last minute decisions on that end. And J.C….he wanted to work in the yard today. He said he thought Mom would want her rose garden to look its best.

After we left and the landscaping company started tending to the garden, Mom complained that they didn’t do it right like J.C. I think she just preferred having her son in law out there doing something that pleased them both. But he took it to heart, and I think working with his hands like that is therapeutic to him. And me, I’m going to enjoy the silence and try like hell to find some of my mother’s strength for this evening.

All of us – my brothers, J.C., and Christina – cleaned the house and took time setting up photos and memorabilia from Mom’s life. It’s crazy to see her entire life represented in a couple of shadow boxes strategically placed around the room and some random small items sitting on a table with a guest book. It’s not enough. There was so much more to my mother than that; she was more. I could fill this room with pictures and keepsakes and it still wouldn’t be enough to represent the full life she lived.

Christina whips up a quick breakfast consisting of egg and chorizo for everyone and we eat in a relatively silent room, the only sound the occasional ‘hmm’ or a fork clanking against a plate. Emotions are too high for aimless chit chat this morning. Each of us has a heavy heart and burdened mind today.

We all eat quickly and split up; determined to knock out our assigned chores swiftly.

Once everyone has dispersed, I stroll around the living room for what seems like the thousandth time since we set up the shadow boxes. My hand runs along the one containing photos of her and my dad as young adults. I’ve never noticed how much I look like her.

Stepping away from the box, I move to the keepsakes displayed on the table. Miguel, Joseph, and I all picked one item each to place in the casket with her. Miguel put a drawing from each of his kids and a bottle of Mom’s favorite perfume, Romance by Ralph Lauren. He said it would always make him think of Mom anytime he smelled it.

Joseph’s contribution was a little on the silly side. It was one of those ridiculous foam fingers from the very first LA Lakers game he took Mom too.

I selected a ‘Proud Navy Mom’ shirt. Mom would brag to any and every one about her Sailor daughter. I also pinned one of the ultrasound pictures to the shirt, I know Mom will love and take care of the baby we lost. No one knows that I kept the pictures I was given at the hospital. I specifically asked to get one from that dreadful ultrasound where I found out my child’s heart wasn’t beating.

Each of these things, though small and insignificant, represents Mom in our respective eyes. She loved her grandkids more than anything, she was proud of all of us and our choices in life, she had a fun and outgoing personality, and most importantly, she was always there for us to talk to.

At the suggestion of Father Lombardi, each of us, including J.C. and Christina, wrote a personal letter to Mom. I really think that it helped with our grief and for me, it shows that she’s still here for us even after her death. I gained so much comfort in writing that letter. I know she’ll never read it, but it felt the same as sitting with her and discussing any problems I’m having or simply catching up. I explained how much I’ll miss her, but that I know this was for the best; I don’t want her in any pain and I knew she was in a lot. Although I know writing a letter and leaving a sentimental item in her final resting place won’t completely heal me from this loss, I know that it has helped.