Freak Magnet Dave

I arrived at the hospital to visit my mother Friday night and was met by my three brothers, sister, father and two sisters-in-law sitting around my mother's bed while she slept. Everyone looked pretty expressionless. "Did the MRI results come back?" I asked.

I don't recall who answered me, but I was informed that the results were back, and things did not look good. My sister-in-law took me into the hall to give me the news. The MRI indicated that my mother did not have a stroke as we thought, but rather that she has brain cancer. It is terminal. It's too late, too far gone. They are giving her medication to reduce the swelling and relieve her pain somewhat, but it won't get any better than that. We don't know how long she has left with us, and the doctor is pretty sure that she doesn't know us when we visit. He advised against resuscitation. It would be better to let her go.

It's pure agony watching my father deal with this. Tuesday was their 57th anniversary. And now he's losing his one true love, his partner, his friend and wife. The one thing that snapped me out of the shock of receiving the news and brought me to tears was to look my father in the eyes as he sat at my mother's bedside holding her hand while she slept.

One by one we left her room to head home and deal with our grief. My father and I left the room and walked to the parking lot where we hugged beside his van. I told him I'd be back today after work, and that he should call if he needed anything. I sat in my car and cried as he drove off. My drive home was mixed with sadness, rage, pleading, disbelief and acceptance. Some of those well-known stages of grief in no particular order. I cursed and begged my higher power in the same sentence.

I'm waiting to wake up and discover this isn't real.