I put this post in draft on Valentine's Day
There was nothing in the post, maybe because my mom was on life support and we were facing tough decisions. I haven’t been able to write about her death; it’s too much to process, and even trying brings me to tears—like now. I’m heartbroken she had to die that way, believing she’d make it through the surgery. The night before, she was so positive and brave, making plans to go to Portugal and confront someone she thought deserved it. A nurse gave me the wrong time to be at the hospital, but I made it just in time before they took her into surgery, touched her hand, and gave her a thumbs up, telling her she had this. The last time I saw her alive was about an hour after surgery. I rushed into the recovery room; she was awake but couldn’t talk, trying to tell me something before everything happened so fast. I was whisked away, and the next time I saw her was hours later in the ICU after neurosurgery. I knew the moment I saw her that it was bad, and each day things got worse. She was kept ...
