Nine years ago today my mom passed away after a short but horrific battle with stomach cancer.
The year back then was 2001 and our nation had just lived through the largest terrorist attack in history when I got the call from my dad that it was time for me to head back to Germany in order to spend the last days my mom had left with her.
My mom had suffered from stomch ailments as far back as I can remember, always handled them without much complaining and had always bounced back. That’s why we were convinced that she would recover from this latest illness as well.
This time however, fate was against her. Stomach cancer is usually diagnosed in its advanced stages and my mom was no exception. She was not the miracle patient to beat the odds.
ALL cancer sucks!!! But stomach cancer has got to be one of the most brutal forms of this relentless disease.
By the time I got to my mom’s bedside I had not seen her for a year and the last time we had spent together she had been her healthy self. One year later she lay in her hospital bed barely weighing 60 pounds. Three days after I got to her she died in the early morning hours. Without going into the gory medical details of the last three days of her life I can without a moment’s hesitation say that her passing was a relief for both my dad, myself, but especially my poor mom. In fact the moment I had walked into her hospital room and laid eyes on her emaciated body I painfully realized that the sooner she would be relieved from her unimaginable suffering the better. My mom had been tough as nails all of her life and to see her barely able to sit up was more than I could bear. We all expect our parents to leave us one day but nobody should have to go through what my mom had to endure.
Unlike my dad I had not lived through the entire illness with her, the increasing, unbearable pain, the inablity to eat and drink. And so my mom’s death took a while to set in as reality. In fact I did not grief for her for many weeks, even after I had returned home to California.
It was when my dad came to visit us the following Christmas and stepped off the plane all by himself that the finality of what we had been through together that fateful September hit me. The reality of her passing was no more clear than seeing my dad come off the airplane alone.
The first two or three years I missed her increasingly more with each passing month and often caught myself wanting to pick up the phone and talk to her. We had never had the sort of relationship where we needed to talk to each other constantly but not having her to chat at all became harder as time went on.
Naturally as time has passed I don’t actively grief for her as much as I used to but I still miss her and probably always will. Her excitement for for new life experiences, her love for David, her compassion for the underdog, how she cheered me on during sports related endeavors, not to mention her tremendous cooking skills. I even miss how we used to drive each other crazy at times! Good times!
Todays’s Running Tip: There will be no running tip today!






























