Mommy passed away early this morning.
I woke up at 1am last night to give mommy her pain meds. Then, at 3:30am, I was awoken by the sound of mommy's labored breathing and phlegmy noises. We gave her everything on the list of medicines, but nothing seemed very effective, so at 5:30am, I gave her one last dose of morphine, hoping that her breathing would steady by the time I was scheduled to give her next dose of meds at 7:30am. I gave her a kiss, said "even if you can't hear me, I am going to say I love you", and fell asleep on my own bed right next to hers. My alarm sounded at 7:25am, and I looked over at mommy's neck to see if her muscles were still straining to take in oxygen, but she was completely, peacefully still.
Every moment following that last moment has merged into a blur of calls, signatures, condolences, disbelief, and numb heartbreak. There's joy and hope, because we know that mommy will soon be dancing on the golden streets of heaven, free from pain, suffering, and sadness, but more than anything, we are so, so incredibly, indescribably sad. For 22 years, my mommy lit up my world with hugs, kisses, laughter, and the warmest love, and now that my bright light has gone, everything feels so dark and hopeless.
I will get to see her again in heaven, but for now,
I miss her so much.