I drove through the city’s quiet streets, a gnawing sense of dread building in my gut. For three months, my mom had been insisting I stay away due to “renovations,” which seemed odd given our close bond.
As I arrived at her house, the once pristine garden was overgrown, and the front door was unlocked. Unease turned to alarm as I stepped inside, noticing a sterile, hospital-like smell.
“Mom?” I called, but there was no response. I followed the faint creaking upstairs and found her room. The sight that greeted me shattered my world: my mother, once vibrant, now frail and gaunt, struggling in bed with a scarf covering her head.
“Mom?” I whispered, heartbroken. She looked at me with sunken eyes and said, “I have cancer, Mia. I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
A woman walking up a front path | Source: Midjourney
The weight of her words crushed me. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why keep me away?”
“I didn’t want to burden you,” she said through tears. “I thought I could handle it on my own.”
Anger and sorrow mixed as I told her she could never be a burden. We held each other, crying out the fears and regrets of the past months. I helped her get comfortable, made tea, and listened as she shared her diagnosis and fears.
“I’ve always been the strong one,” she said. “I didn’t know how to be anything else.”
I promised to be her rock now. I moved in with her, took time off work, and ensured she received the best care possible. We spent her final days together, sharing memories and comforting each other.
When the end came, I held her close, cherishing our last moments together. Her final words were filled with love and regret, but I reassured her that what mattered was our unbreakable bond.
Saying goodbye was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but those last moments were a testament to the love we shared. In the end, love means showing up and holding on, even through the darkest times.
