Gabby Writes

It’s time to talk about my mom, I guess. Especially since she’s going to be on my mind for a long time.

I’m not sure what to say about her as a mom. I had a happy childhood growing up. Like most teenagers, I was kind of a bitch for a while. Both her and my dad were always understanding about the mental health of both me and my sister since they struggled themselves. When I seemed off, they offered to get me into therapy, which I took.

She loved animals. At one point, she started volunteering with a cat rescue and our family’s number of cats went from two to six. She almost cried when one of our dogs killed a baby rabbit. She was devastated each time we had to put a pet down.

She was an artist. Went to art school and everything. By the time I was a kid, she would get paid to do paintings of people’s pets and houses. She worked with water colors.

All in all, she was the best mom a person like me could ask for.

I always thought she would be around for a long time. I assumed she would be there for the birth of my first child and when I hopefully get a book published. She had been supportive of my writing since I was a kid.

I wish we could have known when the start of the end happened. Looking back, I guess it was obvious, but in the moment, I guess we’re not always paying the best of attention.

I think it was April 2024 when she came over to my house one day to drop something off. We talked for a bit and she mentioned the fact she was slurring her words a little. I asked her if maybe she had a stroke, and she said, “I think I would know if I had a stroke.” Turns out that’s not true, but whatever.

Then some time in May, when I was visiting some friends, my sister texted me to tell me she was in the hospital. Her right hand was losing strength and she had started to drop things a lot. My dad took her to urgent care and they sent her tot he ER. Of course, the hospital they went to didn’t have the best equipment, so she got transferred to another hospital. An MRI showed something on her brain.

I went to the hospital to see her the next day. While I was there, the doctor came in and confirmed it was a brain tumor. It was on top of the language center of the brain, which is why she showed some signs of a stroke. Surgery to remove what they could was the next day. They got some of it out, but since the tumor originated from the brain, they couldn’t get all of it without risking killing her.

Coming out of surgery, she experienced aphasia. She wasn’t able to really talk. She would need speech therapy, but it was clear her cognition was still there. She was in the hospital longer than she wanted, and had a bit of a breakdown ones of those days — she just wanted to be home. I was with her the day she was told she could go home. She immediately tried to jump out of bed, and the doctor had to tell her it would be a few hours because of paperwork and medications.

Her recovery was going well for a while. She got radiation, was taking chemo pills, and doing her speech therapy. The tumor wasn’t growing and she was able to talk again even though she still struggled a bit. At some point, I got my dad to tell me her cancer was stage 4. I didn’t look up what that diagnosis would necessarily mean for her in the long run. I was trying ton remain positive and knew my mind would go to bad places if I knew what the worst could happen was.

Then one day I had to go over to my parents’ for something. I got there and my mom could only say a few words and couldn’t move her right arm or leg. This had started the week before, and no one had told me what was going on. This was probably in January 2025.

There were more doctor visits and MRIs. The tumor had started growing again, and this time, it was growing down into the brain rather than out. Another surgery was scheduled, and we were told it would be her last one whether it helped or not. My dad and I just hoped she would be able to talk again so we could know what she needed better.

She came out of the surgery in April just fine, I guess. She wasn’t that different than the state she’d been in before, but I could tell she was still there. Still herself. For that first week in the hospital, she did some physical therapy. The doctors talked about her eventually being transferred to another hospital for a few weeks to do more intense PT. Unfortunately, during that second week, she had a seizure. I feel like that’s when she truly went downhill. She did a lot of staring into the distance. She would pick up the drinks they gave her and tried to drink it before it was even opened.

There was no more talk about getting her into a PT unit. It moved into talks about hospice care. She was in hospice at home. My dad was struggling with then grief because at this point we all had to accept that she was going to die sooner rather than later. It was the first time I saw my dad cry.

My wedding day was getting closer. Of course, I was having mixed feelings about it all. I had always thought that my mom would be involved in every step of the planning. My husband and I were already legally married at our house in December 2023 with my dad officiating, so my mom got to see me get married in that sense. But she was just as excited about the wedding as I was. My sister didn’t have a big thing when she got married — it was in my parents’ backyard, my dad officiated, and my mom and I were the witnesses. So, I know she was happy that one of her daughters was having a to-do for her wedding. It was hard for me, knowing my mom wouldn’t be there. At least she picked out the venue with me and was there when I chose my dress.

My dad was getting worried about what he would do the day of my wedding. Because someone always had to be with my mom. Luckily, hospice offered respite care. She could go and stay at the hospital for up to five days. My dad was glad he would be able to enjoy the wedding without worrying too much.

Mother’s Day this year was the start of the week of my wedding. My grandfather was also in hospice care at the time, and I started worrying that he or my mom would die the day of my wedding. I was even asking some of my cousins if people would judge me if I didn’t cancel the wedding if that happened. Thankfully, the consensus was that no one would judge me, and we all needed something happy to celebrate.

My grandfather ended up dying two days before my wedding, on my grandmother’s (his wife’s) birthday.

My wedding day was fun. My sister-in-law took the hair and makeup spot that was for my mom. My friend who did the ceremony mentioned my mom. I even had a picture of my mom so that she could be included in family photos in a way.

I ended up going to bed that night happy.

The next morning, my dad texted me saying that my mom had died the night before. I went over and asked him when she died — for some reason, it was very important for me to know when it happened. He said, “Let’s just say I was walking my daughter down the aisle and didn’t know my wife was dead.” She had died around 4 pm. My dad didn’t hear his phone whenever he got the call because of everything going on. He didn’t check his phone until around 8 pm when he was walking my grandmother to her car. He saw the hospital had called, called back, and they told him. The only other person around when he found out was my cousin’s husband. My dad asked him not to tell anyone until after the wedding because hen didn’t want it to get back to me.

I am glad that I didn’t find out until the next morning. The day would’ve ended on a sad note instead of a happy one. And, knowing my mom, she wouldn’t have wanted me to find out then either. In a way, I hope that means her spirit was there. The wedding started at 4 pm, and I know I told her I wanted both my parents to walk me down the aisle. So, maybe she was there with my dad walking with me.

I’m not someone who likes to cry. I cried on my husband for a while after I found out. If I don’t think about her too much, I can get through my days just fine. Sometimes, thinking about her will get me and I’ll have a moment. When she’s mentioned unexpectedly is when it really hits me. For example, at my grandfather’s funeral the priest also mentioned my mom, and that’s when I really started to cry.

I know they say it gets better with time. But my mom was only 61, and I always thought I would have more time with her. We aren’t a family that takes pictures, so I don’t really have any recent ones of her and me. My dad found some from when I was a kid, though, so at least I’ve got that.

I think I’ll just always miss her.