Three years ago, I received a heart-wrenching call from my mom. The chemotherapy had ceased to be effective, and her doctor recommended halting treatment altogether. My heart raced as I hung up the phone. I needed to be with her immediately. Virginia was calling, and I looked at my husband, who encouraged me to go.
As I considered my mom’s desire to see her grandchildren, I thought about how much it would mean for them to visit their beloved Abuelita. I envisioned an extended stay where I could care for her, prepare nourishing meals, and pamper her back to health. I called her, and to my relief, she was eager to travel to Charlotte. She even said she felt up to the journey, so I booked her a flight for the next day.
While my husband took the kids to the St. Patrick’s Day parade, I went to the airport to pick up my mother. As I approached her, I was struck by how frail she appeared, far more so than during my last visit just weeks earlier. Doubts crept in about my decision to bring her. She had sounded so excited over the phone, yet now I could see her decline was rapid.
At home, I made her comfortable in the guest room, arranging pillows to support her. When she expressed a desire to rest and watch something, I turned on an episode of Downton Abbey while I prepared dinner—my way of showing love through food, the same way she had always cared for me. We tried to maintain a sense of normalcy at the dinner table, despite her fragile state. She managed a few bites of the stuffed chicken I had lovingly prepared, apologizing for her lack of appetite. I held onto hope that every small bite would help her regain strength.
The following day, the kids had a birthday party at a local gym. They were thrilled to be invited, especially since many parties were usually for just one of them. I opted to stay with them while my mom napped at home.
During the party, I noticed a boy, around my daughter’s age, who was coughing persistently. He looked flushed, and when he coughed hard enough to produce mucus, I shot a concerned look at his mother. He was clearly unwell. Why was he at this gathering? The staff cleaned up, and she dismissed his condition as just overexertion. Yet, in that small, crowded room, the boy coughed violently again, prompting a shared, uneasy glance among the parents while his mother tried to soothe him with water.
Once the party concluded, I rushed the kids to the bathroom to wash their hands thoroughly. But just two days later, they both developed high fevers and tested positive for the flu AND strep throat. I tried to keep them away from their Abuelita, but managing their care while looking after my mom stretched me thin.
Unfortunately, my efforts were in vain. My mother fell ill and couldn’t keep food down. With her doctors back in Virginia, we were at a loss. Following her oncologist’s advice, I flew with her back to Virginia, where she was immediately admitted to the hospital.
Tragically, she never returned home. After a month in the hospital, followed by a series of rehab facilities, she passed away. My mom had been battling stage 4 pancreatic cancer—an incurable condition. We were aware of the slim chances of her surviving past a year, even with treatment. Still, I wish she had had more time; I wish she could have celebrated Easter with us.
In the wake of her passing, I often replayed the events leading up to her illness, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger toward that boy at the party. Time has softened my anger, and I’ve reflected on the possible reasons for his presence. Perhaps he was a twin, yearning not to miss his sister’s celebration, or maybe he had begun to feel worse only while at the party. We’ve all made questionable decisions about exposing our kids when they’re under the weather.
As we learn more about how illnesses like COVID-19 affect the elderly and those with compromised immune systems, such as my mother, I’m hopeful that people will prioritize caution. There were no elderly individuals at that party, but my children unknowingly brought home germs that led to my mother’s hospitalization and ultimately, her death.
I find it challenging to share this story face-to-face due to the pain it evokes. Yet, when I learned that the show Jeopardy would not have live audiences to protect its host, Alex Trebek, who also faced stage 4 pancreatic cancer, I felt those old tears resurface. I wish I hadn’t asked my mother to travel. I wish that child hadn’t attended the party. I wish so many things had turned out differently.
By sharing my story, I hope to encourage caution and protect other beloved grandmothers, keeping them with their families longer. If you’re interested in further information about pregnancy and home insemination, I recommend checking out Kindbody for valuable resources and insights. Additionally, for those considering at-home insemination options, explore Make a Mom for quality products. For even more engaging stories, take a look at this blog post.
Summary
This heartfelt narrative recounts the author’s experience of her mother’s decline due to terminal cancer and the unfortunate impact of a contagious illness brought home by her children. It reflects on the importance of caution in social situations, especially concerning vulnerable individuals, while highlighting the emotional weight of loss and the desire to cherish loved ones.
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