This Too Shall Pass

Saturday marked sevens years since my Mom passed away.

I miss her.

I just plain miss her.

For me, the last breath my Mom took, forced me over the threshold of "just a little girl" to grown woman.

A few months before she passed away, one cool January afternoon, she needed help getting out of the wheelchair and into her bed after a going to the bathroom. Only two months earlier, she was diagnosed with an aggressive malignant brain tumor. This cancer lived up to its reputation. In only two months time, my Mom could barely hear or stand on her own.

"Mommy, are you ready?" I yelled from the hallway.

Sitting in her velour workout suit and grey knit hat, her crown of courage, she called for help outside of her bathroom. The radiation stripped her of her hair. She now covered her head even indoors.

"I'm coming Mommy," I shouted.

When I made my way into her bedroom from the hallway, there she sat in her wheelchair, patiently waiting for help right outside the bathroom door.

"Where's Bobby?" She asked.

"Where is he?" She repeated making no effort to disguise her panic.

"Mommy, he's doing something in the kitchen. I'll help you." I bent down and placed my arms around her waist.

"No, no, no Steffi! No! You're just a little girl. Where's Bobby?" My brother, Bobby, heard her shout and rushed into the bedroom.

"Right here Mom. I'm right here," he said, before he even got into the room. He bent down and adjusted her before he lifted her up.

"Mommy, I can do this. Really, I can." I stepped back to make room for my brother to transfer her.

"Oh, Bobby, I told Steffi, she's just a little girl."

That afternoon, we all got a good laugh out of that, considering I was pushing my mid-thiries. But my Mom's words waxed poetic. Watching her die, I did feel like "just a little girl" who needed her Mommy to comfort her, while she watched her Mom die. Other women have reported sharing this exact sentiment. No matter what our driver's license's say, in times of crisis, most of us want our Mommy. For me, there was no other crisis during which I ached for her more.

These past few days I've felt more like I am "just a little girl" than a grown woman. As I write my memoir, especially these last few weeks, a confluence of events and anniversaries have made me particularly weepy. But last night in spiritual direction, Sister reminded us of the mantra I bring you today.

This too shall pass.

God bless my Mom, Doris. Who I miss every single day. My world will never be the same now that she isn't in it. Her uncompromising love and devotion, makes writing my memoir possible.

l wish for every girl, a mom just like her.