I have wanted to share this story.. for a long time. It may be long, but mostly, this post is for me.
Today is the 8th anniversary of my mother’s death. A lot of people ask me which days of the year are the hardest. One may think it would be Mother’s Day or Christmas. Those are hard days. However, those days are filled with friends and family. This day, 8-10, however, is the anniversary of a great loss, an emptiness that is indescribable. Her birthday is hard as well, but this day remains extremely difficult. In the past, I have made sure I did something to celebrate life on this day. I will do the same this year. I want to share her story. One that only a few of my very close friends have heard from my lips. Here goes…
My mother, Sue, was THE epitome of precious. She sacrificed for her family, she worked hard, she was always early, she was extremely thoughtful, and she loved the Lord. She always taught us that family was important, and to never take them for granted. She was an amazing person. She had the best laugh. I get mine from her. She taught me so much about life, and how to be a lady. She didn’t do this by argument, but by example. If I end up like her in any way, I will be proud.
We found out she had stomach cancer on July 3, 2002. I had just graduated from high school and I was working with her at the Shoe Show Corporate Office. She was a store designer, and I was an assistant. One day, she got a phone call asking her to come to the doctor’s office right away. We rode together, and I had no idea what was about to happen. We arrived at the doctor’s office, and they took us directly back. The doctor sat us both down in a room, and my mother said, “How bad is it?” The doctor shook his head, looked down, and then grabbed her hand and said, “It’s as bad as it can be… it’s cancer.” I thought he was kidding. I really did. My mom even thought he may be joking, until we both stared at his face of stone, and we all three just began to cry. He told her he was sending her to Baptist hospital, and they were going to take the best care of her because this cancer was aggressive, and in a late stage. I don’t remember much after that. The doctor left the room, and we both hugged and cried, and then we left to head home. I called my dad, who was working on site, and I broke the news to him over the phone. He rushed home. We all decided to be as positive as possible through the situation, even though all of our hearts had been broken into pieces.
We went to Baptist Hospital the next week, and she immediately began treatments. Rigorous. Three types of Chemo. One, she had pumping through her veins twenty-four hours a day. For the other two, she had to go to Baptist each week for treatments. It was brutal. After that round, she had a PET scan. This scan shows every spot of cancer in your body. The cancer had diminished, but not like they wanted it to. The doctors were confident that another round of chemo would diminish it more. At this point, the cancer was in her lymph nodes. She and dad decided one more round would be ok. This was the worst. This was when she lost her hair. I could expound on how terrible this round of chemo was, but I won’t. I have a strong feeling that my mom knew this second round wouldn’t work like they were hoping it would, but she did it anyway. I still think she did it for us. Like I said before, she made sacrifices, and in this case, it might have bought her a little more time with us.
The last week of July in 2003 she was in immense amounts of pain. Such pain that dad took her to the hospital. This was also the week of her 54th birthday. They admitted her to the hospital to run tests to see if the chemo had done its job, and to keep her pain regulated. She was very weak, and had trouble walking and maintaining balance. Dad and I took turns staying at the hospital with her. Nurses and doctors were not ok with me taking a nap in the bed with her, but we all knew that things were quickly coming to an end. No one said a word to us about breaking visiting hours.
One day, I had gone to the roof of the hospital to make a few phone calls and when I cam back to the room, mom’s doctor was sitting by her bed holding her hand. She had just gotten there, and had begun explaining that my mom had roughly three months left with us. It took every fiber of strength I had not to cry in front of my mom. My mom smiled at me, and I smiled at her, and the doctor, and said, “I had a feeling it would not be long.” The doctor left the room, and we both lost it. This time, my mom shared with me some of her deepest fears about death, and leaving her family. She shared her love for me in a way she had never done before. She told me how much she would miss me, but she made me promise her never to settle for anything less than what I knew in my heart was best for me. She made me promise I would finish college, and that in whatever I did, I would put others first. I love her for that day. It was a bittersweet moment, because she gave me so much advice in that moment, but it was clouded by the sorrow of knowing she was getting ready to leave us.
The next week, dad took mom to her mother’s house. She lives about two and a half hours east, but my mother’s roots were there. She wanted to return to them for her last days. This was the first week in August. We were not sure how much longer she really had, but we all knew in our heart of hearts that we had very little time left with her. I had to stay in town that weekend, and Dad came and got me and took me there. My brother came in the next day from Georgia. A lot of my family was in and out of the house, but we were sleeping there with mom. My mother was sleeping a lot at this point. She was eating very little, and weak, but her mind was in great shape. I was still able to joke with her about silly things, and I was still able to spend time with her. I still feel that this time was for her family. I feel that she wanted her mom to be the one taking care of her at this time, and that is exactly how it worked out.
On Saturday evening, someone in the community brought salt and pepper catfish for us to eat. We had a blast, mom was coherent, and she had a a few pieces of fish and some watermelon. She had a good day. We all got ready for bed, and before bed, I went and kissed my mom goodnight. She made a comment about making sure I got some good rest, and making sure I brushed my teeth. You know, mom stuff. There was a stain on my shirt, probably from watermelon, and she told me to change it, even though I was getting ready for bed. She was very proper in this way.
Around 2:30 AM, I woke up with a horrible feeling. Mom was sleeping in a hospital bed in the living room, dad was in the recliner, and my brother on the couch. When I went in to check things out, mom was not feeling well. We all knew. We knew these were her final hours. Out of respect, I won’t go into detail about that morning. I will just say, we woke everyone up and gathered them around her bedside in the living room. We called mom’s nurse to come and make sure things were ok. We held her hands, and each other’s hands. We prayed, and cried, and repeated. My brother was at her feet quoting scripture, and saying things to make her relax. My dad was at her head doing the same. I was holding her right hand, and her mother and sister-in-law were holding her left. I remember looking around the room at all of her family. I remember thinking how much of a blessing she was to each person in that room. I remember thinking how hard the next few days would be, but I also remember knowing everything would be ok in the end. Right before she took her last breath, I whispered to her that it was ok to go. I told her that she could not have been a better mother and wife, and that I was going to be ok. I told her I was so glad she was getting ready to be without pain, but that I would miss her everyday. My brother quoted the scripture “My grace is sufficient for thee”, and with that, she stopped breathing. It was a very surreal moment. We all sat with her for some time after. We prayed again, and began to talk with each other. We knew she was no longer in pain, and we were comforted by that.
Everything after that was a whirlwind. I went into planning mode, no lie. Dad, Jeremy, and I went to the funeral home the next morning to pick things out. We went to the florist. I had to buy new clothes, because I neglected to bring any for a funeral. I searched through photo albums to make a collage for her. We reminisced with family members about my mom. I heard stories about her I had not heard before. It was an experience.
The day of the funeral, the choir from my church all drove down to sing for my mom. She was very active in the choir, and it was a surprise and a blessing that so many of them were able to come and sing. It was almost like her two worlds, Harnett County and Rowan County, merged. It was a beautiful service, and I was proud of my family and my friends in those moments. We had many out of town friends come in, and we were so overwhelmed with love. We shared more as a family that week than we ever have before. In hindsight, I’m thankful for those days. Simply because my mother thought family was the most important, and it showed during that time.
Today, eight years later, I am my mother’s daughter. I wouldn’t have it any other way. She was the most amazing person I’ve ever known. She never met a stranger, always smiling and friendly. She was as bold as ever, always making sure you knew where she stood. She taught me more than I could ever teach someone in nineteen short years. At the time I didn’t know it, but she was my best friend and my biggest fan. I can attribute a lot of who I am today to her. Even though I only had nineteen years to spend with her, and I miss her so much everyday, I know I’ll see her again one day. I also know that if she were here, that wouldn’t be God’s plan. As hard as that is to swallow, it’s how I remain comforted. I will never ever forget her, and I will never “get over” her death, I will just always attempt to appreciate life because of my experience with my mom. There is always a silver lining. My mom taught me that….
In Loving Memory
Winnie Sue Cummings Collins
July 25, 1949 – August 10, 2003
