I Am My Mother’s Keeper
Helping her live through a painful illness has somehow has brought us closer together July 23 is a date that makes my shoulders tense. I was 11, and my mom was about to die. I remember calling my dad, who was working evenings driving a taxi, to come home because Mom was really sick. Truth be told, she had been sick for quite some time, but that night felt different — urgent — and I was scared. I don’t remember what or if my dad said anything at all. I hung up. I turned around to look at the Safeway calendar hanging up in my room: July 23. This was the day my mom was going to die. Except she didn’t die. Straight to the emergency room, into a hospital bed, countless machines hooked up to her, each thin wire a tentative hold keeping her with us. She was barely even a whisper of life, but she didn’t die. The coming months and years were filled with quite a few more trips to the emergency room, hospital visits, consults with specialists, myriad prescriptions, and moments that stre...