My mom is dying.  She has end stage emphysema and her doctor recently told her that she probably wouldn’t live another 5 years.  There is no cure for my mom’s condition, all that modern medicine has to offer her is a few medicines to help control her symptoms and eventually they will quit working.  She will more than likely spend her last days on earth gasping for air. What a tortured way for a vibrant, active woman to die.

For as long as I can remember, my mom has never sat still.  She always had somewhere to go or something to do.  SHE NEVER STOPPED!  As I grew older, I often wondered if her constant need for activity was her way of running from her demons.  She had a lot.  Her parents, Oscar and Bertha, were cold and distant.  Oscar was an alcoholic Danish immigrant who spent most of his life at the bar and Bertha was mentally ill and spent months on end staring out the window.  

My dad was probably her biggest demon.  He was pretty much an asshole.  According to my mom, he would spank my 4 month old brother when he would cry, then yell at my mom for not keeping my brother quiet.  I was terrified of him my whole life.  I vividly remember him calling her a cock sucker because something of his was lost and obviously it was her fault.  He yelled at her for everything, calling her every name imaginable. Nothing was ever good enough. It’s a shame she had to live her life that way.  In spite of all this, she accomplished everything she put her mind to. She wasn’t afraid of anything.  She always had a spark of life in her.  

Now, as her disease progresses, I can see her spark dwindling.  It’s so hard to watch.  She had so many plans.  So many trips she wanted to go on.  Now she can barely walk from the kitchen to the dining room without needing oxygen.  She tries to be brave and act like she’s all right.  I know she’s not.  I see the tears in her eyes.  She’s terrified, and so am I.