Last Thursday, the day before we learned that my mom had a brain tumor, I woke up and cooked eggplant. I nagged my daughter to do some SAT prep. I did laundry. I made salads for lunch, and my children and I sat at the kitchen table and complained about the heat.
Before she knew she had a brain tumor, that Sunday before, my mom drove herself and her friend to church. After church, she took her friend home and stopped at the nursery and bought flowers to plant in the pot on the front steps. She picked red ones. She also stopped at Safeway for fruit. She bought cherries and peaches, strawberries and watermelon.
On Thursday morning, my sister called my mom to see what time she wanted to leave for the doctor. She had a dermatologist appointment, a follow up visit for an earlier procedure. My Mom answered the phone, but couldn’t speak.
That was the moment. That was when the before and after separated.
My Mom has always been smart and independent. She is 87 and has lived in the same house for nearly 50 years, alone since my father died. On Wednesday night, the last night of the before, she climbed the stairs and went to bed, just like she had for thousands of nights before. The next morning, there was an ambulance ride to the emergency room, scans, and tests. The doctors discovered the tiny tumor, just 7mm big. But it was aggressive, they said, and there was not much they could do for it. The tumor has made her right side weak. When she got home from the hospital two days later, she couldn’t climb the stairs anymore.
In the days since then, we moved the twin beds from the guest room downstairs. Now she has a bed in the family room, where she can easily watch TV. She is a Giants fan and hasn’t missed a game all summer. The other bed is in the living room, set up for whoever is staying with her. My sister, niece and I have been taking turns. We ate some of that fruit she bought on the last Sunday of the before, but not enough. Some of it went bad. The six pack of red flowers is still on the kitchen counter. We are watering them and tending them. Somehow, I can’t bear to put them outside.
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