Nancy Sue Bythewood

My mother is dying. In a few hours an old family friend will arrive to take me to her. I was supposed to go up there next Wednesday and stay the week, help out my father. Now she isn't expected to last until Monday.

My father gave me one of his old cameras. In the memory card I found two pictures, left behind by him. One was of my mother, as she is now, with her dog Freya. Originally I didn't want any photos of my mother as she is now. I didn't want to be reminded of what the cancer has done to her. That I am about to lose her. Now, I am glad I have this photo. I am glad I can see her, still being HER, even now.

The photos above are snapshots of my mother's life in recent years. You'll notice she's never alone in any of the shots. My mother always connected with people. She was a nurse. She worked in nursing homes, and did hospice work as well. Her mother was a nurse as well.

The top photo was taken in 2005. That beautiful, cheerful little girl she is reading to is our daughter, Janae'. When we had her, my wife was on the pill and we had no plans at all to have children, and no real ability to financially. My parents stepped in, and we are grateful. We don't get to see her even half as often as I'd like. But we know she is healthy and happy and loved, and given all she needs.

The next two photos are from 2006. My mother became a grandmother again. No, not from us. That young man is Carter, my sister's eldest now and first then. My mother loves children. She loves to take care of everybody, people and animals alike. Over the years she's taken in countless strays and shelter animals, animals too 'broken' by the standards of many, who found happy lives with my parents and a chance to heal. I realize now I've inherited a lot of that trait, looking after people, rescuing animals where I can.

My wife told me something today I hadn't known. I'd always worried a little about how much my parents were having to do to look after our daughter instead of just retiring. Mind you, there are my wife's parents constantly visiting, and my sister and her family are close by them, and they have many friends.

I know now that my mother wouldn't have had it any other way. My mother apparently once told Rachel that it was okay for us to have another child any time. ANY time at all. She gave her a wide smile as she said this, and I wish I could have seen it. My mother takes care of others. It's a core facet of her being. It's something I will always be proud of. Her compassion. Her empathy. Her caring.

The next two photos are family shots, both from 2008. The first was taken at Easter, the second in late December. They're mostly of my wife's extended family, as ours is scattered about the country more. You can see my mother clearly in the center in the top one, beside our daughter, and to the far right in the next.

This leads us finally to that last photo again. So small and thin now. According to the file it was taken on March 22nd, only a few weeks before the cancer was finally declared inoperable. She'd been through surgery, radiation, more surgery, and finally chemotherapy.

And even here she's not alone. That dog is my mother's dog. They have three dogs and one cat right now. Many others have come and gone. One of the dogs they have now was rescued from a puppy mill. This dog is Freya, as I mentioned before. Freya is fiercely loyal to my mother. My mother inspires that sort of loyalty in animals, and in people. I marvel at how many people my parents have kept in contact with over the years. They have so many friends from our travels, from everywhere we've lived, and they keep in touch with them, and often draw them back into their lives. As I said, one of those friends is coming to get me right now. She lived across the street from us during my last two years of high school, and my first few years of college when I still lived at home, and I watched their kids grow up.

The next time I post something here, whether it's a recipe or a piece of jewelry or a photo of an animal, my mother will be dead. I've had a hard time accepting the truth of that. But she won't be gone. I look at these photos, and I think back on how many she's touched, and I know that she'll never be gone. And I'll keep helping others where I can, how I can. That's my mother in me.