Shortly after Christmas we started to notice that mom was struggling more to stay in the present. She often talked about days gone by with wistful joy and quiet understanding. She was almost always positive in spirit and continued to live her life in the rhythms that had long been established – normally around the next celebration. In this case, my third son Ian’s birthday. Ian would be turning 2 on January 18 so mom’s thoughts were often centered around what kind of cake he might like and what he was hoping to receive for gifts. I cannot honestly say I don’t remember his actual birthday, but I do know that she and my grandmother (then in her late 80’s) were involved and I am sure there were donuts, tea, coffee and gifts.

Soon after Ian’s birthday, mom began to take a turn for the worse. She was often confused and regularly asked the same question numerous times. I cannot remember where she was in the chemo/radiation cycle at the time, but she would often call me and tell me she hadn’t eaten and was alone. One particular winter morning sticks in my head as it would forever define my role in this journey. She had called telling me she was hungry and could I come by. I packed up Ian and headed to her home. My grandmother lived in the same house in an in-law apartment so was always available, but they both needed the extra help. Half way to mom’s my cellphone rang. It was the school. Adam and Erik were both in the nurse’s office with a stomach bug -great! Here I am set to deliver my daughter in less than a month, mom needs me and the boys do too. Never before or since have I felt so split – pulled in two different uncompromising positions with no one that could really help solve either problem quickly. I did what I believe any mother would do – I turned around and got my boys, found a friend willing to be contaminated, settled them all in at home and went and fed my mother. It was a surreal experience, but not as surreal as life was about to get.

My sister and my birthdays are one day apart – Feb. 3 and 4 – we had celebrated with my folks the night before and I was home preparing for a day of snow fun as we were just seeing the beginnings of what would turn out to be a fairly large snowstorm. I packed the boys (school had been cancelled) and headed to mom’s to make sure she was all set until my dad arrived home. When I pulled into the driveway, my father was already home snow blowing to keep ahead of the storm. I headed inside. Immediately, upon entering, I knew there was a problem. Mom was grabbing her leg and complaining about heat radiating from inside. She was also talking in gibberish in between bouts of normal speech. I immediately phoned 911. Within minutes, they were on the scene and mom was experiencing a grand mal seizure. Thank God the boys were downstairs visiting with great grandma so none of them, or grandma, experienced this. The paramedics loaded mom quickly and efficiently and off she went with my dad close behind. I was left to deliver the news to my grandmother and get the boys home before running to the hospital myself. This would be a process as I would need to find care for them as well.

When I arrived at the hospital mom was already in a room and, unfortunately, in a coma. I remember a very young girl (like under 25) introducing herself to us as the doctor and explaining to us that seizures are common with glioblastomas and often signify the end is near. She strongly suggested we all say good-bye. How fascinating, I thought, that she waited until after my sister and my birthday, but how strange that it did not appear likely that she would meet my daughter.

I was scheduled to be induced on February 12 – exactly one week from now – as my sons had all come screaming into the world in less than an hour and it was winter in New England. That gave me five days to potentially watch my mother’s life end and plan and execute a funeral before welcoming a new life. It struck me as so odd that this seemed to be my reality and I wasn’t feeling a darn thing.