Mom

(Mom and I -- Thanksgiving 2001)

It's been four years now. I can't think about Thanksgiving now without thinking of this picture of the two of us. It was probably the last picture taken of you and I together. We didn't take a bad picture, did we?

It was Thanksgiving Day 2001 and I picked you up at Vicky's and we went over to St. Mike's and spent Thanksgiving with Father Bill and the rest of the Roza family. I was hoping that we could get some time alone and talk seriously about the battle you were fighting. I don't know how you felt, but it was probably the hardest conversation that I ever had to have with you.

Mom, you had been fighting your cancer for a long time and you thought that your doctors were going to put you through another session of chemotherapy. Driving over to Father Bill's, I can remember telling you that you didn't have to put yourself through it, especially if it wasn't improving the quality of your life. I wanted you to know that if you were doing it for Vicky and me that you didn't have to do it. I know how you worried about us -- but as I told you -- Vicky and I will be alright -- you were a pretty good mother and you taught us how to survive.

It took a lot for me to say what I did to you that afternoon. I love you Mom and the last thing that I wanted was to "see you go", but I know how much pain you were in and how the chemo wasn't doing anything but drain you physicially.

That whole day -- You kind of refused to say either way whether or not you would go through more chemo treatments -- but in a round about way -- you told people at the Thanksgiving dinner that this would probably be the last Thanksgiving dinner you would be attending... (Although you did surprise everyone by showing up for Father's Bill's Christmas party and you even got to sit on Santa's lap that night.).

After dinner -- remember joining Father Bill, Rosie and I in that little room off from Father Bill's living room at St. Mike's? I don't think you were prepared for what was coming -- you got to plan your funeral service. You, Marty and I had already been to the funeral home and we picked out your casket -- Father Bill was about to take you to that next step. It was pretty emotional in there, Mom, saying good-bye to someone you love can be pretty emotional.

Before we left Father Bill's, I can remember him having everyone there hold hands and say a prayer for you. I don't think that there was a dry eye in the house. After that I drove you back to Vicky's place -- and it was a quiet ride wasn't it? I let you know one more time that I would understand if you didn't consider going through anymore chemo and that I loved you more than anything.

I gave you a kiss good-night. You kissed me a couple of times on the cheek and then gave me a couple of more kisses for Marty.




"Tell Marty I love her," you said. 




I promised I would tell Marty and that I promised I would talk to you soon.

Once you got up the stairs and into the house, I began my journey back to Avoca. The journey home was tough one...full of tears....I cranked up the radio to the public station in Detroit playing the blues -- because I didn't want to hear any music that I was familar with -- but I wanted noise to fill my head and drown out my screams and the thought that it was only a matter of time before I lose my Mom.

It was a helluva Thanksgiving Mom. And now that you're gone -- I want you to know that everyone misses your carrot cake -- but they miss you even more.

Your son,

Rich