One of the mysteries surrounding my mother’s passing occurred a couple of months before her death. I walked into her bedroom and found her sitting on the edge of her bed, talking to herself.
“Is this it? Is this how it ends? Well, we’ve lived a long, good life, and we thank God for everything. Yes, this is life.”
She nodded and sighed. Then she noticed me and turned toward me.
I asked if she was alright. She looked solemn and lost in thought. I could sense her sadness, and her eyes were vacant, as though she were somewhere far away, detached from herself and the world around her.
I regret not asking who she had been speaking to. Hearing her words pained me because they rang true. I felt that death was drawing near and that everything around her, the bedroom, the house, and the familiar surroundings of her life, had somehow become meaningless.
I beckoned her into the front room and invited her for a coffee, a ritual we had always enjoyed together. She said she would follow. We sat in awkward silence at first, sipping our coffee while I tried to draw her into conversation.
I was due to return to England in a few days, and it hurt deeply to watch my mother slowly fading before my eyes. I tried to lighten the mood by bringing up something funny, but it had little effect.
Before leaving the room, I told her that I would be returning to England in a few days but would be back in the summer to see her again.
“That’s if I’m still around, son,” she replied.
I did not pay much attention to her comment at the time. I was in denial myself. My mother was more than a mother to me. She was my best friend, and I loved her dearly. I could not bring myself to accept that she, too, would one day die.
I travelled back to England with a heavy heart. It was the hardest goodbye we had ever shared because of what she had said, yet there was nothing I could do to stop the inevitable.
A couple of months later, I received the news that she had passed away. Although I believe she is in a good place on the other side, I miss her dearly every day.
The mystery of who she was speaking to in that bedroom remains unanswered. It is a question that died with her.
