Until It’s GoneYou know the saying “You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.”? That wasn’t the case for me when my mother died. I was fortunate enough to be with her in her final moment on Earth.
A fire needs a space to burn
A breath to build a glow
I've heard it said a thousand times
But now I know…
That you don't know what you've got
Oh, you don't know what you've got
No, you don't know what you've got
Until it's gone…A dear friend of mine (
DaSpecial1 ~ thanks Dasi, love ya!) suggested maybe I write something about my mom. I’ll admit I didn’t want to at first – since she died I haven’t been motivated to do any writing. But maybe this is what I need to help bring me out of this darkness.
I thought I kept you safe and sound
I thought I made you strong
But something made me realize
That I was wrong…
'Cause finding what you got sometimes
Means finding it alone
And I can finally see your light
When I let go…
I don’t know if this will help me, or hurt me. The memory of that April evening still burns fresh as the morning sun in my mind, and my heart is still tender from the pain of grief. But I’m going to give this a try.
‘Cause you don't know what you've got
Oh, you don't know what you've got
No, you don't know what you've got
Until it's gone…I remember what my mother was like before she was diagnosed with cancer: vibrant, funny, caring, but no tolerance for bull****. She basically became a second mom to many of my friends, they call her Mom or Momma Bev. I was fine with that; they were (and still are) like my siblings to me.
Most of my happy memories of her were from long summer days and nights at the Pond with my dad, Uncle Phil, Aunt Marilee, and my cousins Micah, Mariah, Asher, and Dan. Like how she and Aunt Marilee would sit on the porch of our one room “Dora Store” cabin, chatting and keeping an eye on us kids swimming in the pond, while my dad would work on the tractor and Uncle Phil would go fishing.
Or one of our infamous shaving cream fights where we would all –kids and adults alike- would chase each other around with giant cans of Gilette, squirting each other with shaving cream, then invading the pond to wash off, likely terrifying the fish in the process. (“What the hell are those white blobs?!”)
Cookouts. Bonfires. S’mores. I could go on forever about all the fun-filled, happy memories of my mom.
When my dad died in 2002, I pretty much shut down. She stepped up and took on the role of two parents. I didn’t understand at the time just how big of a responsibility that was.
In early March of 2010, my mom was diagnosed with terminal bone cancer and lung cancer. Her life expectancy was 8 - 12 months.
I remember my reaction. I was shut away in my bedroom, heavy metal music blasting from my stereo; screaming, crying, and throwing whatever I could reach.
Ceramic angels lay in pieces on the floor. Papers were scattered about. Books, movies and games littered the floor.
I couldn’t eat for days. I’d already lost my dad, now the possibility of losing my mom too? I didn’t know what to think or say or do.
Until it's gone…
Until it's gone…
She underwent a month of radiation treatment in late March 2010. While it helped the aches and pains throughout her body, it didn't do very much to the cancer.
She began chemotherapy in May 2010, and the kind she was on was the kind that made her hair fall out, and made her sick and unable to keep food down. She dropped to 90 lbs.
Later that year, she started a different kind of chemo. Her hair started growing back, with the worst side effect being fatigue.
She surprised us all, I can honestly say; she was originally given 8 – 12 months, but she fought like a cat at bath time for four years.
In June of 2013, she went into a nursing home. I will admit, when I first learned that she was going to Autumn Ridge, I was upset. I’ve heard horror stories about nursing homes, and was worried for her. But the staff took wonderful care of her and she told me that she was happy there. Now I am grateful that she went to Autumn Ridge; many close friendships were formed.
The main reason my mom held on as long as she did, and lived with terrible pain that no amount of pain medicine could relieve, was because she was worried about me. Everyone told me to assure her that I’d be okay so she could let go and be free of pain. But selfish little me didn’t want to let her go.
Finally, on April 7th of this year, I sat by her bed in the nursing home, holding her hand and talking to her. She couldn’t respond, but she could hear me. I said, “Mom, you’ve kicked ass for four years now. It’s okay to let go. I love you so much and I’ll be alright. Give Dad a hug for me.”
She passed away less than an hour after that. I was holding her hand and surrounded by many loved ones, including Natalie and Michelle, two of my chosen sisters who considered my mom like their mom.
I really don’t know what else to say here, other than Beverly Anne Yohe was a truly wonderful woman and she touched more hearts than she knew, and will be sorely missed. By a lot of people.
I do feel a little better now. I’ll get through this because being a fighter runs in the family.
'Cause you don't know what you've got
Oh, you don't know what you've got
No, you don't know what you've got
It's your battle to be fought!
No, you don't know what you've got
Until it's gone…Song: Linkin Park, “Until It’s Gone”
shaving cream fight 1 by
ShadowMoon23, on Flickr
pond fun by
ShadowMoon23, on Flickr
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