It was Sunday. I’m not sure where Garth was, but Dan (who was just over seven months old at the time) had just gone down for a nap when the phone rang. I answered it and heard a voice say “My f*****g mouth hurts”, I laughed. It was mom, and it was the beginning of the last conversation we would ever have.

For those who don’t know, mom had been diagnosed with lymphatic cancer in November and with brain cancer in December. December had been a hard month, with her getting sicker and sicker until she was diagnosed just before New Year. Conversations at that time had been harder and harder, so to have her call me and sound happy and be joking was a miracle (at least in my mind). Now on to the conversation…

I asked her why her mouth was sore and she said it was full of sores from the radiation so the doctor had given her a rinse to use. What made this part of the conversation even more funny was that she was more ticked off that she couldn’t eat canned tomatoes anymore (they now tasted like metal and burned) than she was about the after effects of treatment.

We talked about the weather, Dan, Garth, dad, Brent Terry, you get the picture. We talked about everything and everyone. It was the best conversation we had had in a long time. After about 90 minutes it was time to say good bye, she was tired and dad told her to lie down. This is where the conversation turned and I didn’t catch on, it would bug me for years after.

You see, we had driven home to see her in Regina at the beginning of January while she was having treatments. We decided, on the way home, that we would take another week off in February when we went home for our friend Owen’s wedding. As my talk with mom ended I told her that we had decided to go home in February and would go to see her after the wedding. Here is the conversation as I remember it:

MOM: Why are you coming home?

ME: Owen’s wedding is Valentine’s weekend and we will drive down on Sunday.

MOM: I liked Owen, I hope he and Karla have a nice wedding.

ME: I am sure they will. The whole family will be there.

MOM: Well, you don’t have to visit in February.

ME: Why?

MOM: You just don’t have to.

ME: Why? You don’t want to see your grandson?

MOM: I don’t need to see him, you’re good parents, he is loved. He will grow to be a handsome boy.

ME: Fine. So you don’t want to see him. But you want to see me right? (Insert sarcasm here)

MOM: No. You won’t need to visit because everything will be better by then.

ME: Oh. Are you saying you will be feeling so much better that you will be out watching dad curl?

MOM: Maybe. But both of us will be feeling better. Your dad will feel better because he won’t have to worry about me and I will be feeling better because the pain will be gone.

ME: Okay then. But can I at least call you from Regina and see how you are?

MOM: You can call but I don’t think I’ll be here. *Laughs* you tell Garth I love him. Give Danny a hug and a kiss. I love you. And Tanya, God Bless All Of You.

ME: Love you too.

I hung up thinking about nothing but how good she sounded. It was about 10 am the next morning that dad called and said she wasn’t feeling well and called an ambulance to take her to the hospital. She was rushed into Regina and passed away that Wednesday. It took me years to realize she was saying good bye. I believe she knew she wasn’t going to live much longer and was making it as easy as possible on me.

I am not writing this for sympathy but to memorialize my last conversation with mom. It seems right, it finally seems okay. I am ready to let others know her last words to me. I can still remember her voice and her laughter as if it was yesterday.

I love you mom and God Bless you.