More Than a Mother
by Sarah88December 5th, 2007 at 6:28 PM
Filed under: Other Discursive Dialogue
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My mother was the ideal mother. She drove my sister and me to our numerous lessons, cooked dinner, and did all the chores around the house. Aside from doing the things a mother would typically do, she went the extra mile to make each day special for my sister and me, such as sprinkling glitter along the windowsill on nights we expected the tooth fairy and having toys and activities for us on long car trips. Her primary concern was that my sister and I were taken care of and happy. She devoted herself to being a good mother even while holding the burden of cancer. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1990, two years after I was born. Being so young, I have no memories of her being completely healthy. However, even though I knew she was sick, I was unaware of the severity of her condition. As far as I knew, cancer was no more serious than a prolonged cold, and I am sure that is what she intended for me to believe. Trips to the hospital were normal to me, as was the wig she wore. She had to get chemotherapy and a double mastectomy, but those were nothing more than words to me. I could see that she was weak at times, but she always portrayed herself to be healthy. Her health declined greatly at the start of 1997, and she could no longer conceal her sickness. She spent most of her time in bed and even had trouble just walking to the restroom. I still have the vivid image of my sickly thin mother in a baggy t-shirt slowly walking across the hall, as though she had just sprinted a mile. While this sight was odd to me, I never expected my own mother to pass away. One Friday in late August 1997, my sister, Emily and I said goodbye to our bedridden mother before heading off to school, just as we did every day, unknowing to the fact that we would not speak to her again. Emily and I returned home that afternoon to find several nurses scurrying around my parents’ room. The house seemed to be in disarray. My grandmother, who had been staying with us to help, did her best to distract us and keep us out of the way. After the nurses left, my father told me that my mom had been in a lot of pain earlier, and the nurses gave her medicine to make her sleep. Everything was fine until my mother was not waking up that evening. I was very angry with those nurses because I figured they must have given her too much medicine. For the rest of the night, my sister and I sat on the bed next to her, and we talked to her. Even though my father said she could not hear us, we believed that she could because of the faint noises she made, which sounded like attempted responses. Eventually, Emily and I had to go to bed, so we left our favorite stuffed animals with her and went to our rooms. We were sure she would be awake by morning. The next day I woke up and asked my grandmother, “Grandma, why are you so dressed up?” “I have to go into town today” “Where are you going? Is mom awake?” My grandmother told me she was going to the funeral home, because my mom had passed away that night. My sister and I did not know that our mother’s illness was fatal, which made this news unreal and incredibly sudden. I was not even old enough to comprehend death fully; however, after the passing of my mother, I started to take notice of death, notably the deaths of Princess Diana and Mother Teresa within the next few weeks. It seemed so unusual that so many deaths occurred in such a short period, when in actuality I had just never been aware of death in the past. In the next few years, I had to grow up rather quickly. My father was not exactly “father of the year,” and even though my grandmother was a tremendous help, she could not take the place of my mother. Now that I am older, I do not just see her as my mother, but also as a woman. She was Barbara Fornof, a woman who loved her job as a teacher, being outdoors, skiing, and reading. Any time I meet someone who knew my mother, such as one of her students or someone who taught with her, I hear nothing but wonderful things about her. This shows me just how remarkable of a woman she was. Upon realizing that my mother had her own passions and life aside from being our mother, I also realized what huge sacrifices she had to make while she was sick, such as having to leave her job. I know now that each trip to the hospital meant an unpleasant day for her to say the least, and that, as a woman, she felt embarrassed to wear a wig. I am now aware of how much courage having gone through chemotherapy and a double mastectomy requires. Bearing all of this, on top of being a mother, took such strength. I cannot remember her complaining even once. Years after her death, my father told me that in 1990, doctors gave her one to two years to live, but she fought hard and made it seven years. He also told me that she fought so hard specifically so that she could help raise my sister and me. Even though my mother has not physically been with me as I am growing into a young woman, she has influenced me more than she would ever imagine. My mother’s strength, selflessness, and complete devotion to her family have inspired me to achieve those characteristics in all aspects of my life also. She is the woman I aspire to be. |
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