I wrote the following on February 28th, 2010, a day before my mom died. Her name was Vicki Simons. She had kept a blog at http://vickicancer.blogspot.com/ long before I ever imagined starting one or traveling the world. At the time, I wrote this as an entry for her blog, but somehow it never felt right to post. Here is what I wrote:
My mother can no longer write, so I am. I have been here (up from New Orleans) for the last 10 days now. For much of this time, I have sat at her desk, working remotely. I have always felt that my work, the majority of which is currently growing a New Orleans-based non-profit into a regional organization that develops more than 10,000 youth leaders across the American South each year, connects to me to my mom. I remember discussing my parents’ dreams with them when I was a teenager and trying to figure out what impact I wanted to have while I was here. And I remember them saying that at some point, they chose to raise children and invest their dreams and the changes they wanted to see in the world through us, as their children. So, it was nice last week when she would listen to my phone calls and interview me about them when I got off. She told me how proud she is. I was supposed to fly back to New Orleans on Saturday but found that overnight Thursday, her health had worsened. At that point, I realized I would have to say goodbye and I wasn’t ready to leave. So I have had the last few days to sit with her, tell her I love her, and say goodbye as best I can. It seems like she has been cataloguing her life in preparation to die. For months now, we have been going through old photos and sharing stories and memories. She told me the other day how cute I was in my striped shirt watching my big brother, Jayson’s Little League games when I was three. And in my process of saying goodbye, she opened her eyes, looked at me, and said, “that is your sad little boy face!” Jayson called from Colorado this afternoon. He is coming home tomorrow night and I told them that he probably missed his window to have a face-to-face conversation with mom, and asked me to put the phone next to her ear. I don’t know what he said, but she said, as she has to each of us so many times before, “I love you, sweety.” What a blessing it has been to have these last few months with her. A few months ago, one of my friends told me that even after my mother is gone, she will continue to live through me. I will see her in myself more than ever. I am beginning to see the truth in that, even as she is in her final days. I am seeing her everywhere. Today, a home health aide came for the first time. Her name was Victoria. She was incredibly helpful. And when we needed liquid forms of her medications, a warm and friendly hospice volunteer brought them. Her name was Vicky.
