I remember being in the hospital with her five years ago in February. There wasn’t even a thought in my head that she was dying. I expected one day she would just get better.
But she didn’t. I was 17.
Her hands were smaller than normal, as she lay silent in bed. She had little energy to say anything more than what was necessary.
Her skin was green, but the colour of her eyes, a vibrant blue. It was as if her body broke down as the cancer spread, but the windows to her soul never faded away.
I felt her pain with every cough. My heart ached as the women I loved most in the world tried her hardest to pretend she was okay.
Most days after school I would go see her at the hospital. And with my laptop, we would watch shows that we viewed together at home. They would always be funny and the distinct snort in her laugh still echoes through my head. I’d get under the covers of the hospital bed and we’d always get tangled up in her oxygen cables.
Sometimes we would have sleepovers. The nurses didn’t mind and it made my mom happy that she wasn’t alone.
But it was the night that I wasn’t there when she decided to go.
I got a call from the hospital. It was my mom’s friend. They said to come as quick as I could and I did.
When I got to her bed, her eyes were closed. There was a circle of friends around her, but it was as if no one was in the room.
I knelt down beside my mom and held her hand one last time. She was a woman with so much warmth to give. But her skin now, was so cold.
We didn’t even get to say goodbye to each other, and even if I did get the chance I wouldn’t know what to say.
I will always be her son, and she will always be my mother.
But her bright blue eyes, unlike everything else, would never lose their colour.