And then Goodbye

Harsh fluorescent lights flooded the room, as did an overpowering odor of antiseptic. And the scent of death hovering? How depressing! I hated hospitals.

Normally, I'd rather be anywhere else at all. Normally. For now, I was right where I needed to be, although I couldn't help longing for my mother's kitchen. Countless hours slipped away there as we drank our favorite blend of coffee. It was always just the two of us—no one else. My 18-year-old father conveniently disappeared permanently when my 16-year-old mother became pregnant.

She'd never fallen into another romantic relationship. That left the Gilmore Girls taking on the world. We often joked about that... us being the real Gilmore girls. That would make more sense, though, if I shared our names. Mica Gilmore. That's me. And Nora Gilmore. My mom.

Even though I'd recently celebrated my 23rd birthday, she'd remained my best friend. So, we did what best friends often do. Cup after cup of java so strong it could wake a sleeping giant (my grandpa called it campfire coffee), we'd chat. Whether it was about the new neighbors or the weather, it was usually about nothing important. Meanwhile, the tantalizing aroma of homemade cinnamon rolls in the oven made my mouth water.

Despite my loathing of hospitals, nothing could've pulled me away. Not even the sandy beaches and crystal blue waters of Bermuda. For months, I'd saved every penny every way possible for that vacation. I didn't have to think twice, though, when I learned my mom had a stroke. I cancelled my plans instantly so I could be with her. There would be other chances, tomorrow, next week, and the years to come, to make new memories. I had 1440 minutes to etch into permanence the most important moments spent with my mother. I refused to waste a single second.

Beyond a quick bite from the cafeteria and fast as lightening showers, I'd remained by her side the past five days. It was nearly impossible to believe she was dying. Mom had always been so active... so vital... so alive. Now hooked up to a multitude of machines, she was ghostly pale and unresponsive.

Sobs wracked my body so ferociously I couldn't catch my breath when the doctors told me there was no hope. There was nothing more they could do for her. The massive stroke had left her a vegetable with no viable brain function. Their recommendation? Remove her from life support. Apologizing, they somberly left the room, allowing me to digest the horror. I'd fallen to my knees at her bedside, praying for either a miracle or that I'd awaken from the nightmare.

Eventually, I realized it wasn't a nightmare. We wouldn't be granted a miracle. Reluctantly, I faced the sobering fact that Mom wouldn't have wanted artificial life. She'd even said so once as we sat in her kitchen holding our coffee mugs, talking about one random thing or another. "If there ever comes a time I need a machine to keep me alive, you let me go." Only days before, my grandmother had faced such a dilemma. Unplugging her husband of 40 years nearly destroyed her.

Mom eyed me sternly when I hadn't answered, and said in an even sterner voice, "Mica, you hear me?"

Rolling my eyes, I scoffed at her insistence. That was something I couldn't conceive happening. Then again, she'd always had an uncanny sixth sense. Had she, in fact, suspected it was something I would one day have to face?

My breathing was staccato from all the crying once the latest round of tears finally dried up. I got up, pulled up a chair, and nestled my head beside hers. Stroking her shoulder-length hair, I noticed the lack of shine in the chestnut brown locks. The stroke must've stolen the luster. Not a single strand of gray, though. At only 39, she was still too young! How could I let her go? And yet, I knew letting go was what she would've wanted.

It would take everything I had to do it, but I would respect her wishes. Tomorrow, though. I needed one last day to sit at her side. I wanted to memorize every centimeter of her face... every worry and laugh line that photos didn't always capture. And, I selfishly needed the 24 hours to tell her all the things I'd always thought I'd have more time to say. Unfortunately, that was time denied.

Wondering if she could hear me, or understand if she did, I began. In a shaky voice that sounded raw even to my ears, I said, "Do you remember, Mom..."

And then, before my next breath, I transported. I gazed in wonder at how sunlight through faded yellow curtains replaced sterile white sheets... at how the sting of ammonia became an aroma of cinnamon rolls and freshly perked coffee. Best of all, there were my Mom's beautiful hazel eyes looking back at me. I nearly wept again. I wouldn't be limited to memorizing her face with shuttered eyelids. I could also commit to memory the myriad shades of her eyes. The greens, blues, and browns, rounded out with tinges of violet. Every vibrant fleck of color that made my mother's eyes uniquely hers.

"Mica, no more tears, sweetheart. This is what I asked you to do. No regrets, my dear daughter. I've lived my life, and it was a good one. Know this: you were the best part of it. Now, I want you to go and live yours. Be all you can be and, most importantly, be happy."

Despite her admonishment, another torrent of tears threatened. "But Mom," I began in protest, to no avail. She didn't let me finish.

"I said no more waterworks." She reached over with a fresh napkin to gently wipe away the moisture, then patted my hand. "Now, finish your coffee, eat your roll, and let's go for a walk. I want to soak in the sunshine one more time." Only then did I notice she had nothing to eat or drink in front of her.

With more than a little difficulty, I did as instructed, swallowing past the lump in my throat. After I'd washed down the last bite with my coffee, we made our way outside. Holding hands, we circled her massive English flower garden at least a dozen times. Occasionally, we'd halt talking to sniff the delicate roses and quintessential lavender. We finally ended our walk perched on her front porch swing. We shared a lifetime of memories, both hers and mine; poignant memories and happy ones. There were so many! We shared until she turned, cupped my cheek, and gave me a sad little smile. Instinctively, I knew she was about to leave. My heart splintered like time-worn wood as she spoke.

"It's time, Mica. Remember, find your happiness. I love you." She hugged me and faded away.

"Wait, Mom," I cried. "I didn't get to say I love you more!" That had always been our thing. But I was too late. She was already gone.

I jolted to. Was I back? Or simply awake? I shook my head to clear the cobwebs from my mind. Either way, I was sitting in that horrid hospital room, my beloved mother lying unmoving in the bed beside me. Was it only a dream? Surely not; it had seemed so real, and yet....

I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket. Checking the time, I jolted again to discover it was exactly 24 hours later. It felt like those 1440 minutes had been merely a blink. Yet, according to the date and time on my cell, I'd had that single day... the last one I'd ever spend with my mother. The trade-off was worth it. Sipping campfire coffee in a cozy cottage kitchen with the person I loved best in the world... instead of Pina Coladas in Bermuda alone. So what if our day was via a thoroughly exhausted sleep-induced illusion? It was a day I'd treasure forever. It had been perfect in every way... right up to the end when she drifted away.

I glanced at my mother and saw a lone tear trekking slowly down her temple. Reaching for a tissue, it was my turn to ever so gently dab it away. I had the feeling it wasn't a tear of sadness, though, when I spied the tiniest hint of a smile on her now serene face. It was more like her way of saying, "I love you," one final time.

Yesterday, Mom's features had been expressionless; no smile, no tears, nothing. No, our day couldn't have been a mere dream. It was really the Gilmore Girls making the most special day of memories ever... together.

I leaned across to kiss her brow. Threading my fingers through hers, I whispered into her ear. "Thank you, Mom. I love you more. Now I can let you go."