The last moments

How do I begin to write this blog post? The past 12 days or so have been some of the hardest of my life, adult or otherwise. Diana Glassman passed away on August 19^th after one of the toughest months of her existence. 

She was so brave and was incredibly mothering to the end. She didn’t want us to worry about her while we were over here in Providence, so she kept it quiet from us how terrible her life had really become. Tom and I were both shocked to learn of the state of her health when we finally got the call on Thursday the 17^th that she thought it was time we come home. Within 24 hours of our arrival in Tacoma, she was gone.

 

Many people have questions about how it moved so fast, what did she die from in the first place, and what her last moments were like. She was diagnosed with lung cancer in October 2016.Ironically it was just after her and John and Katie visited us in Providence. 

She had been coughing a lot and prior to her trip she went to the doctors office and got a chest x

-ray. While she was in Providence she got the result of this x-ray on her online my-chart. I recall vividly reading the x-ray report with her in our living room in North Providence. Instantly my heart sank as I read the words “5cm speculated mass.” She retured home to Tacoma and got the official words: lung cancer.

A never-smoker, active, healthy woman at the age of 59 doesn’t get diagnoses like that. But she did. She bravely endured chemotherapy and radiation, continuing to work at her job with an impeccable level of dedication. She managed to remain her normal chipper self, reassuring us with every phone call that she felt fine, that life was going well. In fact, when Tom went to visit in May, we were all convinced that despite her Stage 4 diagnosis, she was going to prove all the statistics wrong as she gardened, did her exercise classes, and cooked up a storm with Tom in town. 

Our last moments with her were remarkable. We all sat around her ICU bed, and shared memories, laughs and good times. She shared with us just hours afte our arrival on August 18^th some beautiful words, which I won’t try to summarize, I’ll let you read them yourself.

With that, we had one last task: Diana needed to meet our little kumquat. Tom and I had decided to try to get pregnant once we learned of Diana’s diagnosis in October and it was our hope that she would be able to meet her granddaughter in person. Thanks to my incredible friend Bri from medical school and some incredibly coincidental timing, we were able to get an ultrasound machine from the labor and delivery floor at the hospital. 

She got to meet little kumquat, and boy did she put on a show! She was kicking around like she knew she had a job to do. It was an incredibly beautiful and sobering moment as I placed the ultrasound probe on my own belly rather than a patient's belly, to discover the life growing inside of me. 

The night that followed was probably the longest night of my life. Tom and I sat by her bedside knowing it was the last night of her life. She had decided that she wanted to transition to hospice care on Saturday morning, so we knew that Friday night was all we had left. 

 

Her breathing was labored, and difficult, and somewhat painful to watch. We got some medications started to help make her more comfortable and the morning finally greeted us with beautiful sunshine. 

Family members showed up in full force the following morning and we all got the chance to say our goodbyes. She was able to look each and every one of us in the eyes and tell us of her love, her hopes and dreams for us, and her goodbyes to us. She finally expressed “I’m ready” and she was able to take the BiPap mask off of her face. 

She fell asleep and took her last breath about one hour later. 

The days that followed were some of the hardest that Tom and I have ever experienced. Simple things like taking the weekly "bumpy" photo of the pregnancy bump growing was incredibly difficult

Mourning the loss of your mother is never something you want to do, but something we all know is going to happen---just not when she’s under 60 years old! There were reminders everywhere of her from the fabric in the guests bedroom that she had purchased to make a baby blanket:

To the tomatoes in her garden that she planted with Tom

 

We hosted a memorial service at the UPS chapel and it was remarkable the turn out, particularly on a less-than-one-week notice that was provided. She had co-workers from her prior jobs, members of her knitting clubs, book clubs, and high school alumni all come and express their love and memories of her. She even had a woman from her book club get up to share that she and Diana met on the bus. They struck up a conversation about the books they were reading and just like that, a friendship was born. It was just further proof that she was caring and outgoing. 

 

We return to Providence after spreading her ashes at Point Defiance Park, one of her favorite places on the planet. AS we watched the cliff edges turn from brown to grey with the color of her ashes, we were leaving a piece of her behind, knowing that she wanted us to move on. 

She wanted us to continue to live our lives, she wanted us to have adventures. We know she wanted this because of how she kept her reality of cancer somewhat secret from us for the past several months. John and Katie are still in Lakewood, WA and we are in Cranston, RI and being this far apart has never felt like a greater distance. 

Tom said some very beautiful words at her service that went something like this: “I know that I have perspective in this time of grieving, but I also know that the number of times I had the oopporutnity to call, text, or just touch base with my mom was far greater than the number of times I actually took it. I didn’t know how few of them I’d have left, and I beg you to please—stay in touch with your family. Tell them you love them. Do it today.” 

Diana’s passing is a reminder of how frequently I get caught up in the day-to-day life. Yes, I’m a medical resident that works 60-80 hours per week, and yes, Tom works in Boston and commutes almost 3 hours a day so we end up with similar work hours and we live in a time zone 2-3 hours ahead of the rest of the family. But none of these are excuses for not keeping touching with you all—the ones that I love and care about most. 

So, I guess what I’m saying is that I learned more about Diana in the past 12 days than I have in the past 10 years of knowing her. She gave an incredible example of selflessness, patience, dignity, bravery, kindness, and compassion in her entire existence and it was truly magnified at the end. 

It seems selfish to write about anything else at this time, but suffice it to say, we had some other adventures earlier in August that I hadn’t yet been able to share with you all on the blog. I know Diana wanted us to keep having adventures, so I will share them eventually. But for now, rest in peace Diana. You were loved, and you now serve as an incredible reminder of what love looked like. Our little kumquat will be sure to learn about you, although she’ll never get to meet you.