My Mothers Keeper.

The splendid January morning sun poured through the bedroom window casting an ominous shadow on my closet door. As I began to wake from a fitful sleep, I laid there curled up with my sons and stared at the shadow, contemplating the last few months. We had all been through so much and everything had changed so quickly, none of us were prepared for the phone call we would receive in the next few minutes.

The past several months had been difficult since my mother had been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. My mother and I had never been remarkably close but I loved her and she loved me for what we were. I guess you could say we were both pretty poor at expressing our feelings. It all began in 2019 when I received a fateful phone call from my little sister in October, I was perturbed to learn that my mother was ill and being rushed to the hospital. I had known for some time that my mother did not look well and that she had been sickly, but she was not the type to visit doctors unless it was absolutely necessary.

The signs were there, and we should have all seen them as if they were a giant flashing billboard screaming CANCER. Nonetheless, we all carried on with our daily lives and assumed my mother was adult enough to take care of herself. So, when my sister called to say our mother was in the hospital, I knew that it was serious. I quickly informed my employer of the emergency and hit the road for my 355 -mile journey to be by her side. The few days we spent in the hospital were stressful. Our fears were brought to light when the surgeon came out of the operating room and confirmed that it was cancer and it had spread throughout her brain and lungs. We knew then, our time with her was limited.

The next few months went by like a blur. Multiple trips to the hospital and moving her back to our hometown so that she was closer to my grandmother ( her mother) and me. My younger sisters at the time were still minors and unable to care for her. The hardest part was explaining to my four-year-old and two-year-old that their grandma was very sick and didn't feel well enough to play and read to them. We knew we would have to start preparing for her inevitable death.

I had done some soul searching during the course of my mother's illness and it had really opened my eyes to the relationships I had around me and those that I would form in the future. I reminisced over all the good times that I had with her and even the arguments that had left us both in tears or screaming at each other. We were both headstrong and had our differing views of the world. She would tease me for my eating habits and I would beg her to quit smoking.

I reminisced of all the stories she had told me and the ambiguous life lessons she had inadvertently taught me. She had lived an adventurous life during her twenties in the United States Army and she had seen parts of the world and events that I will never get to witness in my life. I remembered her describing being in Germany during the 80s and being at the Berlin wall as Regan gave that decisive speech. She would recount the time she worked as a courier running to and from the pentagon with important documents. She had told me of her visits to various States amongst America and the incredible people she had met along the way.

As I lay there staring at ominous shadow lurking on my door, my phone rang and sprung me from my thoughts. My heart sank when I saw that it was my grandmother, I knew then that my mother was gone.

Life is a funny thing, you live it as you will never die and eventually it catches up to you. My mother always had big dreams and had planned on doing so much with her life. She was always writing in her journal and coming up with stories that could one day make her famous. Shortly after her death, we began the process of going through her things. Amongst her things was a small black moleskin journal. The journal was wrapped with a fine red string and attached was a small note. The note read;

" Dear Megan, as my oldest child and my most mature daughter. I gift you this journal. It holds all my hopes and dreams and stories that have affected my life. I hope that you can find use for it and maybe continue your writing, in hopes of making it big one day."

Tears welled in my eyes as I read my mothers note. I thumbed through the pages of the half-used journal and as I did, I knew exactly what would be my next action.

Over the next few months, my sisters and I each recieved our inheritance. It wasn't much but I would rather have my mother than the money. With that thought in mind, I imagined all the ways that I could carry on her memory. I thought of trips I could take to visit her favorite places and I thought of buying trees and planting her a garden in my back yard. However, the only idea that really resonated with me, was to keep writing and writing well. To tell the stories she never told and to relate to people who might need help. I divided up my inheritance and purchased several moleskin journals just like hers, a couple of different writing programs, and saved the rest in case of a rainy day.

That was a year ago. Now, I write nearly every day and I pray that my mother can read my stories from wherever she's at in the Heavens. My mother's moleskin journal goes everywhere with me and only gets written in when something spectacular happens. My mother left me with so much more than just $20,000 and a journal, she left me with a love for writing and a knack for dreaming big. Maybe one day I can be just like her and pass my love of writing on to my children. My mother is my hero and was an excellent writer and just maybe she's still writing somewhere off in the clouds.