Even when a nurse came to get me, I still wasn’t thinking the worst. But when i got to the room, the woman I saw barely even looked like my mom anymore. Swollen from the rush of fluids. Even her hair seemed poofier. She strangely reminded me of my great-grandmother. She was only repeating the word “right” in agreement to things said around her but I held her hand and tried to get anything I could from her. She was looking at something but it wasn’t any of us. Finally, she said “Kenz, thank you.” I laughed and just because I wanted to hear her talk more I asked “for what?” To which she made an annoyed look and rolled her eyes. The last thing she said: “Kenz, I’m ready.” Unfortunately, the rest of us were far from it. More talks with the doctor and a ct scan later her body was shutting down. The sound of an ill-fitting bipap mask and the visual of every blast of air is truly haunting and made her look even less like herself until she took her final breath at 4:24am April 10th, 2018.
In our kitchen there is a block desk calendar that hasn’t been changed since that day. I see visitors notice and some even move to fix it. I don’t even know where it came from but I can’t recall seeing it before that day. I’m honestly not sure how we’ve made it 1 year without her because it actually does feel like just yesterday. I don’t miss her any less and i sure as hell don’t feel like it has gotten any easier. The crew is my reason for getting up every morning. Without them, i can’t say where i’d be but it certainly wouldn’t be here. The old bald guy deserves a lot of credit too. My mom would be so proud to see the efforts he’s made. It has been an adjustment for all of us and, while it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, we somehow survived. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her. I constantly find myself thinking of her reaction to something I’d like to tell her and i can’t even count the number of questions I wish I would have thought to ask. If i had one wish, i’d be spending (at least) one more day with her. 🖤