I miss her.

The pain I feel tonight is so great I can hardly breathe. My eyes are nearly swollen shut from the amount of tears I have cried in just a few minutes. When the flashbacks come, they come hard. I cannot stop them, although I wish I could find a way.

I cannot help but wonder the fear that my mom experienced during her entire illness, but mostly during the last few hours. What did she feel when the doctor told her there was nothing more they could do? Did she ever feel alone that night, or was I there enough to comfort her to some extent? As she gazed up at me, gasping for breath during the last minutes of her life, what was she thinking? Was she thinking, or was she already gone? Was she trying to tell me something with the look in her eyes?

I long, desperately, for one last encounter with her. I ache for closure from her about those last days and hours. Was I enough? What were her fears? What would she tell me, if we both had known those would be her last words?

The guilt I feel is sometimes tremendous. Why didn't I call my dad sooner to get to the hospital? Why didn't I recognize the symptoms of her illness when she first started experiencing them? Would that have made any difference?

Why has all this happened? This is not fair. Do I really have to live the rest of my life without my mother? And my dad without his wife? Why us? Why was she the one chosen to become sick and die? What is so great about God's plan that this needed to happen? What in the hell is He trying to teach me? To be stronger? To be prepared for the next huge loss He will present me with? I certainly hope not. Was I such a terrible person that I needed this to slap me awake to what is really important? I could go on...

I try to laugh about some things. As a nurse, I learned that if you don't laugh about things, it will eventually get to you. I try to laugh at the "your mom" jokes... but in all honestly, they cut like a knife. I try to keep silent about our story... I don't want to bore you with the details of my mom's life and death, but I am aching to talk about it. I want you to care. I want you to ask me what it was like, and mean it.

I cannot rehash this anymore. I am worn out.

Lord, from the flashbacks specifically, deliver me.