The Motherless Daughter

Cancer is such a funny word.  A word that brings so much fear, yet such a widely known disease.  It is a disease that does not care about your age, if you have small children, if you have yet to walk your daughter down the aisle or how much money you have in the bank.  I never realized this word would ever be a part of my vocabulary, much less a part of my life. 

July 21^st, 2011 is the day my world froze, the day it forever stood still.  I recall very vividly the sounds all around me in my office as I stood at my desk.  I recall the smells, the very detail of the doctor’s voice over the phone saying "Mrs. Pennington, she never arrived we lost her on the way here.”  My legs felt like jello, wanting to give out underneath me.  It took everything in me to get the words out of my mouth, “I don’t understand what you mean?  She was on the helicopter, how could you have lost her?”  Not thinking logically, deep down I knew he meant she had passed away.  I dropped the phone and in the middle of my office, I fell to the floor.  Co-workers flooded my office, I could not even tell them what was wrong, it took energy and I was left without an ounce.

The drive home my mind was blank, sitting in the passenger side of my own car.  I gazed out the window, not even understanding the amount of hurt my heart was feeling.  Staring at the clouds wondering where she was.  How could she have just disappeared? Been there one minute and gone the next?  Didn’t God understand that was my mom, I needed her and she needed me, more importantly her grandchildren needed her. 

Arriving home I quickly rushed in the door to call her cell phone.  I needed to make sure there was not some sort of mistake.  No answer.  I called the hospital again that she was to arrive at and asked to speak with her instead of the doctor.  The sweet nurse gave me the same answer as before that we had lost her.  I knew the feeling of a broken heart and it was real, my heart ached for her, to hear her voice one last time and to feel her hug.  The little things were flowing through my mind so quickly, all the memories and our long talks about nothing: she was my rock.

Days went by where I would find myself going to my car on a lunch break to call her.  I would pick up the telephone to share stories of what the boys received for Christmas presents only to realize it was impossible, there is not a single long distance phone plan that will reach Heaven.  It has been two years and figuring out how to adjust to life without a mom has felt impossible at times.  I talk to her often, cry when I feel like crying, laugh when I think of a funny memory and I talk about her story of bravery against terminal brain cancer daily. 

Cancer is not something you wish in your life.  It is not even something you imagine anyone you know having or dying from.  I watched my mom fight it with everything, give it her all not look back.  While she was staying strong against cancer, I was falling apart.  She will always be my hero and for that I will always do my best to keep her memory alive and not allow cancer to be her story, I want it to be about bravery.   

For forty-five years she was her father’s sunshine, for forty-five years she was her mom’s best friend, for forty-five years she was a sister. For the next forty-five years she will be missed tremendously. Cancer may have taken my mother way too soon, it may have even taken her voice but cancer can’t take my voice so I will continue to speak for her and share her story of courage for as long as I can.