Friendo and Shadow- I have always been my mothers’ little shadow.

Friendo and her Shadow – A Mother and Daughter Journey.

Life is full of joys. For me, the most important joy in my life is my mother. She filled me with love ever since I was a little girl, and there was nothing she wouldn’t do for me – her Little Bits (LB). We were the original Thelma and Louise, just without the guns and, you know, the car scene.

My mother never owned a cape, or had a secret headquarters, but she has always been my superhero. She was no Batman – because Batman has nothing on her. If she was mad at me for some reason, and there probably was a good reason, her nostrils would flair, she’d place her hands on her hips and yell at me with the fervor of a drill sergeant – except this drill sergeant had a heart full of love.

I learned that she did this because there was nothing she wouldn’t do for me. She got angry when I messed up not because it annoyed her, but because she knew I could be so much better than the little twerp I sometimes was. She would do anything for me, whether that meant making the best sweet potato pie I’ve ever tasted,  being my means of transportation if I wanted to play with my friends or cousins, or join me in uproarious laughter as we carried on with our typical shenanigans.

Like Spongebob and Patrick, or macaroni and cheese, or summertime and ice cream, the two of us were inseparable. I stuck more to her than her own shadow – because even shadows go away at night. Spending time with her was like being in the presence of a magic queen, with a smile that could brighten even the darkest of nights, and a laugh that could cheer up even the grumpiest of monsters. Honestly, I still do not know how she shined so brightly, but whenever she showed up, all my fears disappeared like little bugs scurrying from the light. Of course, it could have just been strength that she built up throughout her life, but I like to think that my mom had magic. She could pull the fun out of any situation like a magician might pull a rabbit out of a hat.

Mom wasn’t just a superhero, or a magician – she was a spy, too. She was my secret keeper. She would cover my ass if I ate my stepfather’s favorite coffee cakes, displaying the most impressive espionage by claiming that she was the one who had eaten them. Amid all of that, she never stopped believing in me. She agreed with me when I told her I was going to become the best veteran in my school, even thought I was – academically – as smart as a bag of rocks. Even worse, honestly – at least rocks could be good at geology.

People always told me to be more independent and leave my mother behind. But why couldn’t I be independent and be my Mom’s best friend? Like a less violent Bonnie and Clyde, me and my partner in crime were always up to no-good, like when we would take my father’s favorite vodka and replace it with water to stop him from drinking. Even when I wanted to venture out on my own by joining the military, my mom was the only one who supported me. She had my back from day one.

When I grew up, I joined the army, but I still visited as much as I could. No amount of years would make me any less my mother’s daughter. We would still watch movies, or talk as we walked through the park, or eat some delicious meals at upscale Baltimore restaurants. We would laugh like hyenas and giggle like sisters – except when she was mad at me. Even if we didn’t get along, though, we were always able to make up, whatever the reason for our fight. Sometimes, on nice hot sunny days, we would sit on the front porch and gossip like schoolgirls, laughing at and with the characters walking up and down the street. We were the old men from the Muppets of her neighborhood.

Mom was with me even – or especially – when things got tough. I got engaged, but it didn’t work out, and at one point I lost my baby too. Mom wasn’t just there for me – she got me through it. She helped me understand that things didn’t always go as expected, and that didn’t mean something was wrong with us. Without mincing words, Mom helped me move on and keep going with my life. And now, I have to go on without her.

Throughout all of that, I had never thought about life without my mother. When I realized I could lose her, though, I was as sad as Peter Pan without a shadow.

It started with Mom’s constant stomachaches. This worried me, especially when I started seeing that the woman who could eat fifty pounds of gummy bears without so much as a gurgle couldn’t eat anymore. She hated going to the doctor unnecessarily, but went anyway, and they told her she was fine. They said that she could go to the casino, no problem. I figured as long as Mom could gamble, she was good.

Before she could leave, though, things got really bad. Mom was a tough lady, so I was starting to suspect it wasn’t just stomachaches, and it took us about fifteen days hopping to different laboratories and doctors like we were on some morbid, terrifying treasure hunt. Finally, one November afternoon, we got some bad news: Mom had pancreatic cancer. We thought it was a mistake at first. My mom – my superhero, my magician, my secret spy – couldn’t have something like cancer. We went to three different doctors, but unfortunately, they all confirmed the diagnosis. And it was in a late stage.

Mom was a rock, so watching her in pain was like watching snow on the dessert. After being told she had three months to live, my mother was devastated. She didn’t want to go anywhere with me anymore, and I felt like the ground had fallen out from under my feet. I couldn’t believe I was going to lose her. I wasn’t just losing a person, I was losing my foundation.

During that time, I would spend a few minutes in the car crying as I tried to build up the strength to see her. I was devastated, but for the first time in my life, I was determined to use the same magical powers that she had for my entire life. It was hard being magic, though, when she was my magic.

She couldn’t eat much because of the pain, and she lost a lot of weight, soon becoming nearly unrecognizable. After only three and a half months, my mother died. Now, I feel empty – because what’s a shadow without something to cast it? I was 55 years old when my mother died, and in these last two years, I have been trying to find the same magic and happiness that my mother used to give me every single day. What helps, though, is the memories. Don’t let me forget to tell y’all about the 1987 argument in Amsterdam with mom – you will laugh out loud!

Our mother and daughter journey together had an unexpected end. In a blink of an eye, I ended up alone, and now I am without my best friend. I have lost the only one who always believed in and understood me. When I lost my mother, I lost a piece of my soul, but I know that if she could see me, she would tell me to get it together. Now, I am determined to be as strong and funny as my mother was. All she needed to make the world shine were her powerful sweet potatoes, her striking dimples, and contagious smile.

Folks, tell us about the weeks that led up to your mom’s death.  How are you doing now? Leave a reply below in the comment section.