"Your mother has pancreatic cancer; she probably has less than three months to live."  Is he talking to me?  I have never heard this doctor's voice before.  I am sure he dialed the wrong number. He couldn't be talking about my mother.  We don't have cancer in our family; I sleep well at night, with this knowledge. 

I had just started to live with the pain of death from my first husband. The eighteen-year love affair I had with my children's father ended with the removal of the life support equipment from his diseased ridden body.  I was eight months pregnant when he died.  The emptiness, the disappointment, the fog and the pain of living a life without my soul mate, almost took me with him to the grave.

Three years later, my mother, father and I purchased a house and moved in together to help support each other.  Living with my parents was like paradise; my mother was my best friend. My parents were my primary care givers for my children. We enjoyed and appreciated the change after sixteen years of having separate households.  We had only been in the house together nine months before this thing invaded her body.

"By the way, I haven't given these results to your mother yet.  I am not going to the hospital today, so I will inform her tomorrow of what I have explained to you."  As I sat there at my desk with my tears forming a puddle in the middle of my pile of work; I had to pull myself together and take this knowledge with me as I visited her that evening.  I don't know how long I held that phone; I eventually picked up my purse, walked to my car and sat there for a while.  How do I go through this evening, knowing this information?  I couldn't tell anyone, I couldn't say the words. I didn't believe it was happening.  I must be in a nightmare walking around until I am sure I will wake up soon.

In the car, I wiped my face, put on my sunglasses and headed home.  After praying that I don't fall apart as I go through the evening, I took my sister, father and son to the hospital to visit mom.   I let them out at the front door and went to find a parking space.  I needed the time to strengthen my performance; this was going to be the best acting job of my life. 

As I came into the hospital room, the nurse approached me and asked, "Are you Karen?"  I nodded.  Everyone in the room was looking at me; I had just put on a smile and was heading to kiss my mother's cheek.  "The doctor called and said he had given you the results of your mother's test.  She wants to know what he said." 

Time stopped, I stood there without breathing.  Tears were forming in my eyes and sweat was starting to run down my neck.  I was to be the one to tell my mother she was going to die.  I prayed, God how could you do this to me.  My heart was beating fast and hard in my chest.  Tears were running down my cheeks.  "Honey, what did the doctor say?" my mother asked sweetly and with a curious look on her face.  I ran out the room and mumbled something about having to go to the bathroom.  I threw up, as soon as I got to the toilet.  This was my favorite person in the whole world, my life started when she began to love me.  I couldn't lose her, I could not live without her, I decided I would just tell her a lie. 

I finally walked back into the room and my family's eyes stared at me.  I opened my mouth, choked and it seemed to get dark all around me.  I lost my voice, it came out as a whisper, "Mom, he said you have cancer."  I was hardly able to breathe and my mouth was bone dry.  I leaned back against the wall, using it as the only solid thing in my world.  She laughed, "Oh honey, I've known that for awhile."  I stood staring at her, she wasn't upset or dismayed, she had known this for a while?  "Did he say anything else?"  Yes, he said you were dieing, but that would not roll off my tongue.  "Did he say anything about treatment?"  I mumbled, "He said he would talk to you about it when he comes in to see you tomorrow."  She pulled me to her, kissed my forehead and hugged me.  I cried like a baby, because only I knew it was a death sentence.

So I took on the role of mom to my siblings and my father.  I thought I could do it all.  I had to be the one who was the strength now; the real strength was gone.  How could I possibly fill her shoes?  I couldn't.  After my nervous breakdown, I realized no one could fill them.  They would have to stay physically empty and only our memory would fill them.  After ninety days of three times a week therapy, I started to release trying to be stronger than life.  I had to let us all grieve and learn that she would not be coming back and we would forever feel the gapping hole in our lives. 

Moving on happens whether we fight it, embrace it or ignore it. The message from the doctor was callous and distant, but he told the truth and nothing would have made that message easier.  I never regretted what I didn't do with my mother, I enjoyed many hours taking her to concerts, talking, eating, playing, laughing and thanking God he blessed me with her love.  Ten years later, I still reach for the phone to call her and hear her voice, but it only lives in my heart and in my dreams.  Thank you lord, because she loved me and you love me, I can go on.