"A New Reason to Mourn on Easter."

Dear Mom,

I have decided to resurface this (digging it out from the prehistoric facebook "notes") after writing this over three years ago for my english composition class. Mary texted me asking me if she could read this out loud at tomorrow night's Relay team captain's meeting. I guess the captains were told to share their stories of why they relay, and she remembered that I wrote this.
I have the original paper somewhere in my room, with my grade (A+, sheesh, it better have been!) and a very eloquent and thoughtful note from Mr. Peters. He told me to cherish my story. Well, hear I am, cherishing it, and sharing it once again.

Note to readers: this is not a light read. Only read if you have time/the courage to read a 5 page paper about the worst night of my life. Grab some tissues.


Tess Kelly
Mr. Peters
AP Composition
9 September, 2009
A New Reason to Mourn on Easter
No one ever expects the worst to happen. For me, having to face the doom of having everything that was ever familiar to me in life, shattered, at only fifteen; well, it was not exactly my cup of tea. Still, my mind often drifts back to that night, in an attempt to remember how things used to be, even if it means going through that pain all over again.
It was early April, and I had just finished up another play. Mom and I were both pretty exhausted, after all the hustle and bustle. Mom woke up that Monday with the stomach flu, a really bad case of it. It got to the point where she couldn’t even walk from her bedroom to the bathroom without getting winded. She threw up constantly, and was living on Sprite Zero. Me being the selfish teenager I was, I didn’t think anything of it, until her best friend Nancy started nagging her to go see a doctor. It wasn’t until that Friday, when her boss screamed at her, that she finally gave in. We went to Pinnacle Urgent Care, but had to come back the next morning.
Mom had driven herself home, while Nancy’s son Danny and I went to the movies. I came back home, and the door was locked, and the light was off. I was so confused and couldn’t find her anywhere. I called Nancy in a panic. I went back outside and saw her; she was in the car, taking a nap. “It’s more comfortable in here,” she had said. I dragged her inside, now seeing that this was a lot more serious than I thought. I fell asleep to her wheezing in the next room.
She couldn’t even dress herself in a timely manner. I had to wake her up, and it took her at least twenty minutes just to change her clothes. She didn’t even remember to tie her shoes, so I had to tie them for her when we were in the waiting room. I was trying so hard to ignore how bad she looked. She couldn’t think straight at all. I was trying to tell her a funny story, and she had barely acknowledged that I had spoken. I was heartbroken.
PUC sent us straight to the ER, where they put her in an uncomfortable bed that she complained about. I couldn’t stand to see her in there, so I stayed outside most of the time. Still in a daze, I went to her friend Janet’s house to take a shower so I could go prom dress shopping with my best friend Jamie. I went into Mom’s room and said I love you, and she said it back.
I got a call about an hour later from her. She told me that they were moving her to Stanford to run some tests, and that she would have to stay there for a little while. With tears in my eyes and a forced cheerful voice, I said okay, and said that I loved her, and she said it back.
I worried about her when I went shopping, but not too much. I told everyone to call me if absolutely anything went wrong. So when no one called in those six hours, I felt at ease. I wasn’t called until around nine o’clock on my way home, from Mary, Nancy’s sister, who had followed the ambulance up to Stanford. I told her that I would just go up to the hospital after Easter brunch the next day, because I was burnt out. I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal since she was going to be there for awhile, and I hated being in hospitals.
Two minutes later, I got a call from my Uncle Jim from Turlock. “Honey, you need to come tonight. Your mom is really sick.” Those weren’t exactly words I could go home to.
By the time I got there, it was nearly eleven, and I was frantic. I had texted by friend Gabe, so scared for the unknown, and he assured me “Everything will be all right. Stanford is a really good hospital, and they’re going to take care of her.”
Having that in mind, I was not ready for the big news that was about to be laid on me.
I finally was allowed to see Mom, but before they let me, Mary warned me of what she would look like, so I wouldn’t be as scared when I came into her room. “She’s on a respirator to help her breathe, and she has tubes with blood coming out of her, and medicine going in.”
I couldn’t stand this, so I broke down. As the tears ran down my face, I tried to keep myself from picturing her as a sick person. How could that be? Just hours ago she was fine. My mom had to be fine. She just had to be.
I sat down in the waiting room, as more people filtered in to be with me. Janet, Mary, and Nancy went in to see Mom and to talk to her doctor. My greatest fears that haunted me on the way to the hospital weren’t going to be all in my head anymore.
Three of them surrounded me, took my hands, and held me. “Should we tell her?” asked Mary. They returned nods with teary eyes.
Mary sighed. “Mom has been diagnosed with Leukemia. She’s bleeding in her stomach, and her brain. She has a very special case, and they’ve been trying everything,” she paused, “but they don’t think she’s going to make it through the night. I’m so sorry sweetie.”
I felt my whole body grow numb. Everything became blurry, as I went into hysterics. Nancy held me close as I screamed uncontrollably “She can’t leave me! It isn’t true!” No matter how many times they said “Of course she won’t leave you. She will always be with you,” I couldn’t stop crying. One minute I thought she was staying in the hospital for a few days, the next she was going to die. How could this happen to me?
Somehow, I was able to drag myself to her hospital room. There were a couple of nurses in there, who looked up and smiled warmly. And there she was. Yellowed skin, tape over her mouth where tubes were hooked up, discolored hair. It was unreal; to see someone so who used to be so full of life, now slowly slipping away and turning into a memory, right before my eyes.
I went by her side, pulled up a chair, and careful stroked her hand. It felt smaller now; puffed up and scaly. I was almost afraid to touch her, but I knew I wanted to cherish these last moments with her.
Soon they kicked everyone out so that they could try their very last option, which was to try one session of chemotherapy. Meanwhile, the doctor called for a family meeting, to explain in detail what was going on. All twelve of us, four relatives, seven “extended family members,” and I squeezed into the conference room, listening to the doctor’s details of mom’s condition. Mom had a special case of Acute Promyelocytic Leukemia. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t keep up with all the blood she was losing, and not even the quadrupled medication doses could save her. There was nothing they could do, except make her last night as comfortable as possible. All I could do was sit there, nod my head, and hold back the tears.
Even when I went back to her room, I kept the tears back. With the beeping monitor, the numbers getting progressively lower by the minute; my random spasm jumps from nerves; people coming in and out to see her; nothing would stop me from being strong for her in her last moments on Earth. This was our last night, and it was going to be perfect.
It broke my heart to see her suffering in that last hour. All the while, I held her hand, adjusted her blankets, kissed her hand, yelled at the nurse whenever blood dripped from the tubes onto her delicate skin. I was so torn apart. I couldn’t stand her leaving me, before I had even turned sixteen, without sharing all the things I wanted her to in my life. I would be without her graduating high school and college, getting married, having children. I couldn’t comprehend the thought of all this. But, the unselfish side of me kept whispering to her softly, “Go on Mom. Go. I’ll be fine. It’s okay. Let yourself go. It’s time.”
I just kept looking back at the screen, expecting for the beeping to rise in high intervals all of a sudden, just in like all those hospital shows. But, before I knew it, the nurse calmly stated “Now, she has passed.”
My world turned upside down. I immediately let go of her hand, and ran to my uncle and sobbed. No one can ever know the pain that I felt, at fifteen years old, at two o’clock in the morning on Easter Sunday, when my mother just died of Leukemia, when she was diagnosed with it just twelve hours before. It created such physical pain to my nerves and heart, and face wait drenched with tears.
An hour later, I was sitting in the completely full waiting room. I said aloud, “You know, I don’t think she could have ever imagined that this many people would have come.” The whole room warmly agreed, reflecting on how modest she had always been. I felt so blessed, to be surrounded by a whopping fifteen loved ones, who I knew were going to take care of me. Even on my darkest day, I somehow knew that everything was going to be okay.
It was then that I went back to say goodbye to her. She looked so beautiful, now without all the tubes. She looked peaceful, and was even smiling slightly. I cried softly as I told her how much she meant to me, that I would be forever grateful to everything she’s ever done to me, and that I wouldn’t let her down. I kissed her hand, said I love you, and let go. I let her go, knowing that someday, I would be reunited with my one true hero, in that big musical in the sky.



Looking back on this, I am so incredibly glad I shared this story. Although this isn't a good memory, it keeps your memory alive. Also, I'm annoyed reading the awkward sentence structure, and mentally adding in details that I had to delete to keep the paper to 5 pages.

To anyone reading this, please call up your parents or caregivers and tell them you love them. It's horrible to think in a mindset like this, but you never know when the people you love will be taken from you. So make your last memory with them a good one.

I love you so much Mom. This goes without saying. But, I will always hold close in my heart what our last words to each other were.




                Love your babydoll,                Tessy Loo Loo