If you are a regular reader of this site, you will note my conspicuous absence for the last ten weeks.

I got a call mid-July alerting me that my mother had been taken to the hospital in renal (kidney) failure. Additionally, they suspected cancer. They were right. She had advanced stage 4 cervical cancer, and the prognosis was it was terminal.

She had kept her advancing illness from all of those who loved and knew her best. This news was devastating and so unexpected. It threw all our lives into a tailspin. For the next several weeks, I made 100 mile round trips to see her in the hospital, approximately 3-4 times per week, sometimes more. That time was a blur of doctor’s appointments, medical tests, reams and reams of paperwork, much of which fell on my shoulders as her only child and power of attorney. Thankfully, I had the blessing of her best friend by my side during all of this.

As the doctor’s got her kidneys under control via nephrostomy tubes, they were beginning to discuss treatment options for the cancer. Since it was so advanced, they could not speak in curative terms, merely comfort measures, quality of life, and, as much as man is able to, prolonging of time by a few months.

My mother began to experience many complications necessitating a colostomy and a leg amputation. All throughout this she was matter-of-fact and rarely lost her sense of humor. From the time I can remember having talks with her as I was growing up about what to do “when the time came,” she stressed how she wanted no interventions. But, we say many things when it’s not staring us in the face. So, it was an utter surprise to everyone when my mother began accepting all the interventions the doctors suggested.

One day, while alone in the oncologist’s office, I learned the reason why. From my stoic mother, whom I had never seen cry, except at her own mother’s funeral, I heard her pour out her wish to spend her last days with her grandchildren. She was willing to endure many procedures and medical interventions, because she wanted more time with the grandson she adored from birth, and the two rays of sunshine she had come to love through our adoption last year.

We visited her often, and she lavished love on the kids and lit up whenever they walked into the room. Whether she was heavily sedated with the constant morphine drip, or having a “good day” where she was alert, a visit from the kids would put a sparkle in her eyes.

Sadly, on September 21, my mom passed away.

The last two weeks have been a blur of handling her estate, packing up her old apartment, and dealing with the mounds of paperwork required as executrix to settle accounts, etc.

So, I’m back. I’m sad. I’m processing. But I’m writing, too, and plan to talk a bit more about adoption and loss, as it relates to my recent experience.

Photo credit: The Seawel/Stroughter Library/small>