That fateful day. The day of my mother’s ALS diagnosis was, at that time, the worst day of my life. It was raw and it was real.
After spending 6 hours at University Hospital getting through all of the tests, and getting our diagnosis right then and there, we had to make the trip to tell my sister. My mom wanted to make sure that her family knew before anyone else. So we drove through London to see her. My mom couldn’t muster the strength to get out of the car again (because remember we had to physically lift and position her to get her in and out) so we let my mom and my sister sit in the car together. Alone just the 2 of them. My mom was strong in other ways besides the physical. She insisted she tell my sister herself and she did. We are a family all together. But my mom she was the rock. The glue that made sure we all stayed strong.
And so we made our way “home”. Except for home for my mom was still at the hospital. Still away from her family and it would stay that way for another month and a half.
That night she insisted we go home to our own beds. She would be fine. So we did and she stayed up all night crying quietly to herself. An inconsolable, “now I know for sure that I AM dying” cry. And when we saw her the next morning, she was all smiles and back to being the strong “rock” of a woman we always knew her to be.