My Last Letter to My Mom - Final Episode of 3 Parts

After that wild episode in the hospital, the years just seemed to slip by; I’m sorry I didn’t see you very often or write as many letters.  My life had suddenly gone from being busy to just downright chaotic – my graphic business, properties (including my home) and 17-year marriage seemed to quickly vanish.  After the experience of being almost a millionaire and then living on a sailboat, I’m sure, must have had some sort of an affect on my mental condition.  A series of girlfriends also seemed to slip through my fingers as easily as sand through an hour glass, which probably didn’t help either.  Through all my losses, mostly brought on by my immature attitude, I also realized that things weren’t going that well for you either, your physical condition was deteriorating – you often complained about an increasing pain in your hip and having difficulty walking at times.  When you were eventually diagnosed with lung cancer, I believe I went into self-denial.  Although dad had passed away on Christmas day almost 25 years earlier – now maybe you too – this just wasn’t acceptable.  I could scarce believe that while I was hoping things would get better for you, your husband was suddenly diagnosed with cancer as well. 

            I remember when I came for a short visit, I was quite shocked by your deterioration; how thin you had become.  However, even though your husband was in worse condition, I was very impressed and touched with how he fussed over you – it was plain to see that he was just as much in love with you as he probably was when the two of you first met.  Although it’s kind of strange thinking back, still to this day, I sometimes wonder how you really felt about him – if you truly loved him.  Do you remember when you baked him his favourite chocolate cake but neglected to tell him that the icing was made from Ex-lax (chocolate laxative)?  You sure giggled when you told me; you’d never seen a man run to the toilet so fast or so often.  Shortly after I returned home, I received a phone call from my sister informing me that her dad was on his deathbed but it wasn’t necessary for me to come and see him one last time because he was basically incoherent and probably wouldn’t know who I was.  Although I never once thought of him as a step-dad, I did regard him as a very good friend – you know how much we enjoyed playing Scrabble over the years. 

I still remember helping out with your husband’s funeral arrangements and thinking how he looked so peaceful lying in his coffin.  The funeral director had placed his well-worn, somewhat crushed, brown felt fedora alongside his bald head and he almost looked as if he was suddenly going to open his eyes and say good-bye.  The last mental snapshot I have of that sad time was when you watched me being driven off to the bus station – even though I knew you were in severe pain and how difficult it was for you to stand in front of your picture window; I can still see your affectionate smile as you waved good-bye. 

Because of your deteriorating condition, the cancer quickly spreading from your lungs into your bones, my brother, sister and I decided that since I was just sort of floating on a sailboat, single without any real obligations, it would be best if I looked after you during your final days.  Strange, even then, I was still in denial; I figured you would somehow miraculously rally and regain your health.  I found it very difficult watching you gradually grow weaker and weaker.  It was great that my sister helped out along with some palliative-care women who visited every few days. 

I don’t suppose you remember me lighting your cigarettes or your bed catching fire a couple of times when you fell asleep with a lit smoke in your hand!  You know, I almost started smoking again after so many years because I’d often enjoy an occasional cigarette along with my cold beer when I took a break after digging in the garden under the hot summer sun.  For the most part, I’m sure the cigarette was purely therapeutic; it wasn’t easy watching you die mom.

  I guess you had your reasons why you really didn’t talk very much while laying in your bed, which I had moved downstairs into the living room so you could see the kids playing in the park across the street and the mountains in the distance.  Fortunately, you weren’t in much pain, just not very talkative.  Even though things seemed to be steadily digressing, I wasn’t surprised at your tenacity when much to the astonishment of the caregivers you said, “Leonard, take me to the park.  I want to have a shower.”  You were quite a sight dressed in your long white nightgown and black rubber boots as I half carried you outside to the stairs leading down to the front yard.  I guess you must have realized, since you were already out of breath after just a few steps, that you didn’t have the strength to walk across the street to the park because you said, “I’m tired; can we just sit on the steps for a bit?”  I can honestly tell you mom, it felt real good sitting on the doorstep with my arm around you, even though I knew it would be the very last time you’d be going outside.

            The hot summer days passed slowly; I kept lighting your cigarettes and working in the garden.  As the seeds began growing and poking their heads out of the warm earth, I think I was fooling myself that the nourishment and care I was providing for them would somehow carry over to you and your bony old body would suddenly begin to heal. However, on the morning of July 3, 1991, while my sister and our aunt were visiting, my aunt yelled to me while I was pulling weeds in the garden, “Hurry!  Come inside!  I think your mom is going!” 

It was heartbreaking to watch you lying there gasping for a breath of air, your tired emaciated body struggling to survive.  When you finally became silent; unmoving; your mouth gaping for one final breath of air, I looked into your bright blue eyes, which were still wide open.  I hope you didn’t mind mom but I thought it only fitting that I should close your eyes for the very last time, especially since you watched me open mine for the very first time.

Well mom, I’m sad to say, this is the last letter I’ll be writing to you, even though I know how important our letter correspondence has meant to us.  I’ve no idea what the postage will cost or where I should send this letter, so I think I’ll just hold onto it and perhaps one day in the future, I may get the chance to sit down beside you on a door step across from a playground and look into your sparkling, vivid blue eyes and read it to you.

As always and forever, your loving son…Leonard xoxoxoxoxoxo