Terminal Illness. Immortal Spirit.

It feels like yesterday. My mother visited my husband and me in the fall of 2013 for his birthday. She taught me a typical Indo-Surinamese poultry dish for dinner, and the three of us stayed up late and talked for hours. That was the last time she visited our house in Belgium. I am so grateful that we celebrated Christmas at her place, but I never imagined it would be our last one together.

February 10th, I remember it clearly. My mom, my husband, and I sat on her hospital bed with her in the middle, anxiously waiting for the doctor to tell us the result of the tests and scans. The doctor told us that my mother had cancer, which had spread to the right side of her brain, slightly paralyzing her on the left side of her body (she was left-handed, unfortunately). Meaning that she was in the last stage and incurable, but they couldn't say how "long" she would be with us.

I remember my mom breaking down, grabbing our hands close to her face while our heads leaned against hers. I also cried but didn't want to break down before her, so I hugged her immediately. We all cried without saying much to each other, and my husband embraced us. After a while, the doctor told us they did not yet know where the disease originated from and would conduct more tests and scans to find it. Eventually, they found out that it originated from her left lung.

We went through a rollercoaster of emotions, and the journey was challenging, to say the least. They removed my mother's left lung, which means she was living with only one lung. We didn't know that it was possible. The human body is incredible, and we were surprised by how well it went after that. The morning of the surgery, I visited her. It was such a weird feeling because I was afraid but hopeful at the same time. She looked at me, and we hugged each other so hard. It almost felt like we were saying goodbye, but we didn't because we wanted to stay positive. I could see how scared she was, as was I, but we both smiled at each other, comforting one another like always. We have a picture of that exact moment, and you can see our pain even though we are smiling. The doctors told me to go home because they didn't know how long it would take, so they would call me when they finished the surgery. I went home to my mother's home, but it was still home to me because I had lived there since I was born until I got married less than a year before all this. My husband came as well from Belgium. We decided to sleep because there was no way to distract ourselves, and we were exhausted. The phone woke us up with good news and we could come immediately. They did tell me that her heart stopped during the surgery and that they had to reanimate her. It hit me that I could have lost her, but I decided to focus on the fact that I didn't.

My mom was discharged a few times during this journey, received a home nurse, and was readmitted to the hospital again. Every time I went to see her, I drove for one and a half hours, but it didn't matter to me. It was challenging, exhausting, and traumatizing, but my mother inspired us all. She was incredibly positive during the whole journey. She focused on being alive and enjoyed herself in any way she could. My mom loved food, music, family, and friends and made sure she could talk to anyone she wanted. Family and friends made her all kinds of dishes. She took pictures and made videos of herself (I am so grateful that I have those), and she listened to music to make herself feel good. However, I can't imagine how she must have felt because we didn't really talk about it. I guess she wanted to protect me while I did the same. But I know she cried and felt miserable many times. If I could go back, I would have told her to share her pain with me.

We had ups and downs, days where she would feel great (medically), and other days when she needed more medication or aid. She had infections and was on antibiotics, and we had to wear masks and wash our hands before and after we visited her. It felt so weird to do that, almost inhumane to visit my mom like that, and just between you and me, there were many times when we just didn't wear masks. Since Corona, it might be the new normal to us, but this was not the norm back then.

For me, it was a tough time. Since I am an only child and my parents divorced when I was 7, my mom was my family. She was my home, we only had each other, and I couldn't imagine living my life without her so soon. I wasn't even married for a year when we found out. There were so many things that we had to do together with my husband. On many days, I just wanted to break stuff to get rid of my anger and frustration, but instead, I would cry and scream. The fear of losing her always bubbled up, but I pushed it back down and tried not to focus on it. I tried anything to avoid the thought of losing her. I felt so powerless. I couldn't help my mother, and I couldn't protect her. I felt useless. I often thought I had chosen the wrong field of study; thoughts like "I should have studied medicine or oncology" entered my mind. Also, I felt guilty and angry for not knowing earlier, and I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if we had found out way before.

But then, I always returned to reality, thinking that none of these thoughts would help me and, more importantly, my mother. It was about her, not me, so I tried to be there for her as much as possible and be together while we still could. Her attitude and spirit were one of the biggest reasons I stayed calm most of the time when I was with her. Her positivity gave me strength, and I loved her energy. We have no control over what happens to us that I know for sure, but I can somewhat control how I want to react to it. Again, it was a rollercoaster of emotions, and there were "good" days and "bad" days, but it never was easy, nor is it now.