By Ecklebob Chiselfritz
It was early July of 1995 and my mother was dying. She had first been diagnosed with ovarian cancer in 1987. She said she could beat it and I had no doubt she would. She was my mom. The only person in the world who never gave up on me. Never. And I supplied ample reason and opportunity over the years for her to resign the position.
She fought the cancer for eight years with courage, dignity and grace.
A herculean task given the indignities and pain the progression of cancer visited upon her body and mind over the course of what must have been eight torturous years.
It was July of 1995 and I was sitting on the edge of her bed holding her hand. There was so much I wanted to say, but nothing would come out of my mouth. I love you, mom. Thanks for not abandoning me when I was young, mom. It would have been so easy for you to do given the circumstances and the times.
We held hands. We smiled at each other. And we smiled some more. I wasn't smiling inside, but I was unable to speak. I wasn't afraid to talk because it might make me cry. I just couldn't speak.
Mom squeezed my hand and called me something she hadn't since I was a small child. It was her nickname for me back when I was a blond toddler with a crewcut,
"My little yellow chicken."
I knew then and accepted she was dying.
Mom died a couple days later. I held her hand and talked non stop as she first slipped into a coma and then into the arms of Jesus. I told her everything.
I gave my lifes confession.
I was her little yellow chicken.
Thank you for sharing that very personal moment. You were blessed to have the opportunity to say good-bye to your brave Mum. My mother, also a very brave lady, sadly died alone and, most regrettably, we had argued the day before.
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