17 november 2010 you passed away. At the age of 58.
You fought a brave fight against that horrible disease.
So full of hope and willpower. You always told us that you would stlll be there 10 years after your diagnosis.
Yet, one year later you had to give your fight up.
The last months, when you were bound to your weelchair, you still believed you would make it.
I believed you would make it. We believed you would make it. Because we didn’t want to see the reality. We wanted to hold on to the reflection of a cosy Christmas evening under the mistletoe. We still had so much to tell. You still had so much to do in your life. We were supposed to go to Mexico with you once you would be cured. Little did we know that the reality that awaited us between november 2009 and november 2010 was even worse than we had imagined. Every day you gave in a bit of your fighting energy. A bit of your autonomy. And you were still so eager to win it back. After all you had already been through, were did you still find that will, that power to fight back?
The worst that could happen to someone had already happened to you 4.5 years before you passed away. You lost the child that you carried in your womb for more than 9 months, the child that you woke up for at nights, to change his diapers and to feed him his bottle. The child that you saw making his first steps, in tiny little baby shoes that you meticulously chose by yourself. You were always like a mother lion keeping the guard over her welps. You were barely 19 when you gave birth to him. Still, you made the most wonderful mother anyone could ever wish for. I cannot imagine what a pain you must have suffered, burying your own flesh and blood at the measly age of 35 years old. After his passing, you devoted all your time at taking care of his children. You always claimed you saw him in his children. You took up the role of a mother for his orphan children. You were more a mother for us all than a grandmother. You have raised us all. You took care of a sick husband for more than 15 years. You never gave up on him despite all the pain that he caused you. You still felt sadness and emptyness when he passed away. Because he understood the grief of losing your own child, that you lived with. He felt the same, being a father.
At noon, you made sure the table was always neat and packed with delicious simplicities that you prepared by yourself, for when your children and grandchildren came to have lunch.
You were always the first to come and pick us up when school was out, if mom had to work late that day.
We saw you every day and still we were never bored in your presence. It was the center of our day, to spend a few hours at your home. We did that every day, for as long as we have known.
Between all your grief and sorrow and your busy family life, you still found the courage to work full-time.
That ilness made you into a person that you were not. You slept 22 hours a day, you became a very quiet person which was a total contrast with who you usually were.
Remember one thing : in your short 58 years on this earth, you have left a richer life behind than a centenarian. You have left a deep impression on so many people, who still speak daily about you more than 7 years after your passing. Every day when I miss you, I catch myself sneakily smiling because I remember that you are not forgotten yet. That the fact that so many people still take 5 minutes out of their day to commemorate you, day after day, means that the presence and the impression that you left is still alive.
You were the best grandmother, the best mother, the best sister and the best daughter, that someone could ever wish for. You were not even sad when your time was there to fly away, that 17th November 2010, 2 p.m. You would join your husband back and your son who shall stay forever young.
Thanks for all you have given us. You left such a rich heritage behind. Not with money but with something way more precious : your nurturing mother love that you passed on to your children and grandchildren.
I will never forget you. I will never let you go. My heart has captivated your beautiful memory.
And every now and then I hold one of your golden earrings in my hand and your eyes, the shine and smell of your hair and your beautiful modest smile, all come back.

This is very sad. I am so sorry.

Hugs, Elissa.

Sounds like the makings of an Angel

She was a very very good person. I just described the truth guided by my heart. Does my poem bother you??

Thank you, Lu_Rosemary.

Writing my feelings down is wonderful therapy that I need sometimes.