Young Anakin Skywalker: Will I ever see you again?

Shmi Skywalker: What does your heart tell you?

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September 22, 1989... the day my world changed forever. I remember every moment of that day as if it was just yesterday. How could I not? That was the day my mom died...

In October 1981 my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer after a routine trip to the Mayo Clinic for a visit with her heart doctor. I was staying with a friend's family while both my parents were in Minnesota. I received a call from my dad saying that my mom had to have some routine surgery, but that she'd be fine and they'd be home in about a week. Nothing to worry about. I was in 8th grade.

My mom came home a week or so later and when we got back home she took me into the bathroom and closed the door. She told me she had to show me something but she didn't want me to be scared... then she took off her shirt. My mom had had a total radical mastectomy. Not only her breast was gone, but all the surrounding tissue and some muscle as well... and it was hideous. An angry red scar close to a foot long from the center of her chest to around her side, just below her armpit.

I tried to be brave because I felt that it was important. My mom told me that it would be okay. The doctors gave her about 6 months to live, but she told me she would not let that happen. She promised me she would fight and that she would be with me for a long time to come. We would fight together. My mom and I would always fight together... it was always just us.

The surgery did not get all the cancer... it had gone into her lymph nodes.

The doctors at home were given orders from Mayo's regarding her chemotherapy treatments... several times a week for 3 months to start. My mom lost all her hair and her fingernails. She was violently ill and eventually she quit the chemo. Enough of that, she said. The doctors tried various experimental drugs available at the time...

A year later, my mom lost her second breast... another radical mastectomy. Still, the cancer eluded the efforts of the doctors. It was traveling throughout her body and another round of chemo was called for.

Her doctors wanted her to consult with a plastic surgeon to see about reconstructive surgery. My mom refused. She wore a specialized mastectomy bra for a time, but gave that up, too. This was how she looked now, and if people were bothered by it, tough.

Over the next number of years, there were countless trips to the Mayo Clinic for radiation therapy, surgery, experimental treatments and healing masses. She lost her spleen, her pancreas and a kidney. Cancer attacked her throat, she became diabetic (in addition to the pre-existing ulcers and heart problems for which she took nitroglycerin tablets), suffered nerve damage in her arms and finally suffered a series of strokes.

The strokes were a sign that the cancer had invaded her brain. They found that she had 5 tumors, two of which were benign and three of which they believed to be malignant... and inoperable. Radiation treatments began... but she decided to stop them soon after.

Late summer of 1989 the strokes continued, each one taking her further and further away from me. We called in hospice care and had a hospital bed set up in the dining room. Her one wish was to die at home. NO MORE HOSPITALS, she said.

She then suffered the most serious stroke and my dad called 911. She couldn't talk and I'll never forget the frenzied look in her eyes as she squeezed my arm. I think she knew that if she went to the hospital, she'd never come home.

She was right.

She was taken to Palos Community Hospital, since that is the closest to our home. That night she was transferred by ambulance to Christ Hospital in Oak Lawn, about 20 minutes from where we lived. A priest was called in and she received the Last Rites of the Catholic Church. A week went by and she seemed to stabilize. Some speech came back and her good humor returned. Then, quite suddenly, she took a turn for the worse. She was in terrible pain, so the doctors put her on a morphine drip. The morphine made her sleep all the time and she never spoke to me again.

The night of September 21st, my dad and my mom's brother, Tom, were with me in the hospital room keeping vigil. We all knew the time was near. My dad told me to go home around 11 pm and get some sleep. I didn't want to go, but he insisted so I left. That night I prayed to God... the most fervent prayers I'd ever said. I told God I was ready to let go... I didn't want her to suffer anymore, so His will be done...

I got up the next morning and got ready to go back to the hospital. I got there about 9:30 am, saw my dad and uncle, saw my mom sleeping, and went back downstairs to get some breakfast. I came back to the room and everyone was quiet, worn out from the ordeal. My mom was sleping... breathing... a raspy, shallow sound... I walked over to the window to water some flowers I had brought her a few days earlier and as I watered them, the room became silent. She had stopped breathing. I heard my uncle walk over to the bed... I had my back to her still... and he said quietly, "It's over."

I turned around and walked over to the bed and looked at her... God had answered my prayers, but, in His mercy, He waited till I got there so I could be with her when she passed. That still means the world to me...

Still, I wailed.... I grabbed her and held her and she was so cold. My dad and my uncle stood nearby, but no one moved. My dad says some nurses came to the doorway and looked in with such compassion... He'll never forget that.

Soon after, a nun came to the room and put her arms around me, gently pulling me away. Quietly she explained to me that they had to take my mom's body... she was with God, now... at peace. She took me to a waiting room that was empty and held me for a time. Then I was left alone, for how long I have no idea.

Eventually, my dad came to get me and told me I had to go home and he would be there shortly. My dad and I were not close at all up to this point, so there was no effort made to comfort me... I don't think he knew what to do with me. I was Mommy's girl, not his. It would take us years to build a relationship after my mom died.

I drove home that day and began to prepare things for her funeral. My mom had already left instructions, so we had little planning to do. That afternoon we went to the funeral home to pick out her casket, mass cards, etc... We had to write her obituary...

My mom was buried on September 25, 1989 (Mark Hamill's birthday... how's that for a Star Wars reference ) during a grave side ceremony at St. Mary Cemetery in Evergreen Park, Illinois. She was 57 years old... and she was the best, most beautiful, most incredible person I've ever known... She had humor and strength and intelligence and unwavering faith in God... and she loved me more than life itself.


I love you Mom... and I miss you every second of every day...

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So, back to where I began with Anakin and his mother parting ways... I know it's not quite the same, but I feel that quote does fit my situation. I've looked deep into my heart and I know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that I will see my mom again.... and I live for that moment with joy and great anticipation.

But first... I have a wonderful and amazing and unpredictable life to live... !!!

Thanks Mom!!