Mother's Day Farewell

We knew deep down it would be Mom’s last Mother’s Day.

After a long battle with pulmonary fibrosis, a lung disease which slowly robs your ability to breathe, we knew she was close to the end of her journey in 2006. The plan was for one final Mother’s Day brunch at the nursing home where mom was being cared for. I was to fly from Los Angeles to surprise my mom for that last Mother’s Day brunch in Boston, along with family and friends.

Only one problem. I am petrified of flying.

I have panic attacks over flying. And I knew it was very stormy weather across the country. I was set to leave on Friday after work, to take the red-eye. I was set to fly alone. I wanted to back out. My wife wouldn’t let me. I wanted to delay the trip. My wife wouldn’t let me. I wanted to live with my head buried in the sand. My wife wouldn’t let me.

It was one of the bumpiest flights ever. When I landed in Boston, it was pouring rain, flooding rain, and it would be that way for the entire weekend. I took a cab right to the nursing home. It was early morning on Saturday, and guests would be arriving soon for our brunch. Mom was thrilled to see me. She couldn’t believe it.

Guests arrived. Mom wasn’t well enough to leave her room, so we all met in a function room at the nursing home and then a few people at a time went up to enjoy their time with her. It was a classic deli lunch with some of her favorites. So many people came to share this special brunch – from family and old friends, to my sister and I. It was a long day, but a great one. Mom was happy.

I met my sister for dinner that night, and we had some good conversations. Then I went back to the nursing home and stayed in the chair next to my mom. I didn’t want to stay with relatives. I didn’t want to stay in a hotel. I knew I had an early flight out, so I stayed in the nursing home chair. There were no big and dramatic conversations or revelations that night. I think Mom and I had both made our peace with things long ago. The night passed with ease.

The next morning it was Mother’s Day. I was happy I got to give my mom a Mother’s Day wakeup. I got up and got dressed so I could grab my cab for the airport. The plan was to make a return trip to Boston with the entire family in just a few weeks.

I kissed Mom goodbye. It was still pouring rain. THIS now became the bumpiest flight ever, as we bounced all around and the flight crew stayed strapped in. I remember tearing up in the back of the plane, and just clutching the arm rests, waiting for the flight to end.

Six hours later and I was finally on the ground in LA. I turned on my phone as we taxied, and had missed a call. I went to call my wife to tell her I landed safely; I was so relieved to be home. Her voice cracked on the other end. I asked her what was wrong. She told me Mom had died that morning.

How could that be? I had just seen her. We were just sitting together. I couldn’t believe it. I remember crying on the phone with my wife, while people unloaded their luggage. I remember a perfect stranger realizing I must have gotten some terrible news, and trying to console me. I remember the wait to get off that plane being the longest of my entire life.

I grabbed my bag and headed home to my wife and little girl, Alicia. Gloria and I made plans. We packed our bags and grabbed Alicia and our things. Instead of a Mother’s Day celebration with my wife, we headed back to the airport; this time to prepare for my mom’s burial.

All the while, I was so grateful that my wife wouldn’t let me back out of that initial trip. All the while, I was grateful she had made me go. At some point, she confided to me that Mom had known the secret long ago; Mom had already known that I was coming to that Mother’s Day brunch. She couldn’t wait to see me.

I think Mother’s Day often brings out strong emotions in people. I try to take time to remember these moments. But I also try to take time to make new memories. I am writing about this now, right before Mother’s Day weekend, so I can try and reserve Mother’s Day for some new and wonderful memories with my wife and kids.

Pete Wilgoren is outnumbered by a wife, two little girls, and a dog named Cupcake. Guess who named the dog? Find him on Facebook at Dadmissions – The Book.