How I Lost My Mother
The phone rang and my body tensed, just as it had for the last two days whenever the phone rang. I was waiting for the call. The one where the voice on the other end of the line would tell me, “She’s gone, Jacqui. Mom died.”
This was the call. Not a false alarm like the day before, when I breathed heavily in sadness, trying to picture the vigil around my mother’s rented hospital bed in her living room. While she lay in a tiny suburb of Toronto, I was shielding my eyes from the bright California sun. I had skipped Thanksgiving dinner, because the nurse was sure was that it was going to be time. It wasn’t. And now, on Black Friday, my phone was ringing.
Through his tears, my brother told me that the end was near. Even more than 2,000 miles away, I knew he was right. On speakerphone, I could hear her breathing. It was loud and rough, and sounded like a coffee maker percolating — gurgling. “Jacqui,” he whispered, “the nurse told me that it’s not uncommon for people to hold onto life and not die when someone they love is about to give birth. The nurse thinks she’s waiting for your baby to be born.” I gasped. This baby wasn’t coming out any time soon, and my mother had been in a drug-induced coma for a few days already. I didn’t have a crystal ball, but having had two children before, I knew how my body felt when it was preparing to go into labor. I was close, but not that close. Hot tears started to stream down my cheeks, one after the other, at a fast pace. “But I just came from the doctor,” I told him. “It’s not going to happen for at least two weeks!”
“Well, I think the nurse may be right. Do you want to talk to Mom?”
He put the speakerphone close to our mother’s body, and I took a deep breath. I had done this several times over the last few days. Talk to her, I mean. I told her about what my kids were doing, what we were thinking of naming the baby; how much I loved her; how my brothers and I were always going to stay close. Words of comfort. Comfort for her, and comfort for me. This conversation was going to be different, though. I felt something grow heavy in my heart, and I knew I had to let it out. “Mom,” I sobbed through thick tears, dripping onto my maternity pants and making a big, wet circle on my thigh. “Mom,” I said again. “The nurse thinks you may be holding on, to hear about this baby being born. But Mom,” I paused, the words pushing heavily on my chest, as if refusing to come out, “he’s not ready. You can let go, Mom. It’s OK. Let go.” My body was trembling and shivering, and I couldn’t stop crying. My husband, ever the sensitive soul, watched me like a statue as I had to force myself to say those words. When they were out, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, like a crane resting on a building. Nothing could be pleasant or soothing at that moment.
I stayed on speakerphone, and listened as my uncle, my mother’s brother — a doctor — explained how everything that was happening was normal for this situation. A situation that I couldn’t see, but could understand through the sobs of my brother. My oldest brother had just walked the 10-minute stroll back to his house to eat dinner with his family.
Gurgle gurgle. “Sob.” “It’s OK, this is normal.” I wiped my nose with the cuff of my sleeve, since the box of tissues was now empty, and getting my full term pregnant body up off the couch to grab another one was more than I could bear in that moment.
“It’s happening!” My brother screamed. “Oh God, It’s happening!” The tears that I thought couldn’t flow any heavier began to spout out in a way I never knew my body could express itself. “Aaaaaaah.” Letters and words can’t do justice to the sound my brother made when he knew our mother had passed. My dog heard the sound through the phone and began to bark. “It happened?” I asked. My brain was trying to imagine the scene at that moment, so many miles away, but the thoughts weren’t forming. “Is she gone?” I said again, almost as if this was a false alarm, and perhaps she woke up, healthy and cancer-free.
“Let’s just take this off,” I heard my uncle say. I later found out it was in reference to her watch. A watch I now keep in my bedside table.
The next few minutes and hours were a blur. I couldn’t process what had just happened. My mother had died in Toronto from pancreatic cancer, while I sat on my brown living room couch, nine months pregnant in California. As my brothers prepared her funeral, I stared out the sliding glass windows into my backyard. I wouldn’t be there. No airline will let a full term, due-any-day pregnant woman fly. I wouldn’t be there.
I did see her funeral, later on that Sunday, when my eldest brother face-timed me to watch the clip on his computer. And I cried as I felt my baby kick as I watched the rectangular wooden box being taken to the edge of the cemetery.
Twelve days after my mom died, my son was born.
I’ll never know if my mom let go after I gave her “permission” to, but it’s something that I think about often. Just as I think about so many other memories that I have of her. The same ones that I’ll tell my kids about as they grow and begin to forget her…
“You who have a mother, love her while you may, for the world is quite another, when she is taken away.” –source unknown

I don’t think there are any words I can say other than thank you for sharing and I am sure your story will resonate with others who have experienced loss.
Thank you, Gail. I’ve heard from a lot of ladies with a similar experience (though they were in the same town). It’s comforting!
I am so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what you had to go through and are still going through.
Thank you, Tarynn. It’s full of ups and downs.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Your story was very moving, and I’m touched you decided to share it.
Thanks, Tessa. Honestly, it’s still hard to believe that it happened to me.
What a touching story! I can’t imagine.. Although I know the day will come, it’s hard to think about. My mom is my best friend!
It’s a very weird thing, to not be able to pick up the phone and call my mom. Take every chance to talk to your mom!!!!
So sorry you had to go through this tragedy, especially while preparing for the wonderful birth of your son
I think that his birth helped….the smushy love of a new baby is the best way to get over the sadness.
Oh, my goodness. You sent shivers running up and down my entire body. There are just no words. I’m so incredibly sorry for your loss, even if it was some time ago.
Thank you, Erika. Tomorrow would have been her 69th birthday. It’s bringing up some emotions for me. By the way, it happened a little over a year ago.
Made me cry.
Sorry! It still makes me cry, too.
Oh my, I am so so sorry to hear this. My worst fear each time I was pregnant was that something would happen at home (Ireland) as I am in Japan. So while this has not happened to me, I can kind of imagine… but not really… there are no words. Cyber Hugs.
Thank you so much. I hope you never know it, either!! I’m going to your page now, I love your geographical path!
Oh Jacqui….I cried all the way through this and my heart is still hurting for you. I cannot imagine going through that. I fully believe our loved ones know when it’s time and they hold on until both we and they are ready to let go. When my brother passed away, my mom,held him in her arms and told him it was ok to let go. I can’t even type it without crying. You are so strong and I know your mom is proud of you and with you and your babies in spirit, though that’s not enough I’m sure. Thank you for sharing such a personal and painful time. You did it beautifully. ❤
Thank you Rachael! <3
I still have a hard time accepting that this happened to me, but it's getting easier. I sometimes see people with their moms and I get pangs of jealousy...
Jacqui, my heart is breaking for you, and for your brothers. I could not contain my tears as I read your touching account of your mother’s last moments. just know that she is and was loved, and so are you. I think of her very often, and wished that I had been able to speak to her more often than I had. we are all with you.
Thank you, Ruth. My mom spoke about you often and highly. True friends know that they don’t need to talk everyday to be in each others hearts.
Jacqui, I am really sorry for the loss of your precious mother. It especially resonated with me as my Mom, my best friend, is also battling a rare cancer for the second time. This time is different and your story brought me to tears and also helped me to realize how heartbreaking that moment will be when it comes. I am appreciating all the days we have together. God Bless you on your journey and Congratulations on the birth of your new son!
Thank you so much, Karen! I really appreciate it! I know it’s hard to imagine life without our parents, but I’m glad I can help others see the heartbreak of it…
Jacqui, I felt compelled to write because the same thing happened to me. My father passed away in Ohio 8 days before my daughter was born and I live in LA. It hurt so much not to be able to be at his funeral, but a cousin kindly offered to Skype the funeral and graveside service and I am forever grateful to her. That was on March 3rd, 4 years ago. Thanks for sharing your story. My best to you and your family.
Thank you very much, Cindy. I’m so sorry to hear about your loss, and such a similar story!! I sometimes feel like I’m better off, not having seen her funeral. Does that make sense?
I was touched by your story Jacqui and I loved the quote that you used at the end. I’ve never seen or heard it before but it is one I will hold onto! Thank you for sharing your story. So very sorry for the loss of your mom.
Thank you so much, Erin. I really appreciate it.
That quote really touched me, too and I knew I had to include it in my piece.
Thank you for visiting MrsMuffinTop!
this brought me to tears! I am so sorry for your loss–what a powerful story!
Thank you!! xoxo
My thoughts are fully with you. I’m here. You have support, friends and a community who loves you. We are here for you.
Thank you so much, Marissa!!
I am so incredibly sorry for you loss. Reading about your story resonated with me because it was similar to how I lost my dad…but he died when I was trying to get pregnant. I always like to think that my dad is my sons’ guardian angel…I’m sure your mom is that for all of your kids. Much love!
Thank you, Amanda. I’m sorry to hear about your loss, too. It’s so hard to lose our parents
I am so sorry.
She did go because you let her go with love. I believe this. My mother did the same with my oldest son. She wouldn’t go until he could see her, he was away at camp, we brought him home early, and then, as they held hands, she passed away.
You have done a beautiful piece on her. It’s gorgeous.
Wow, what an amazing story. And heart wrenching. I cannot imagine the pain and the myriad of emotions that you went through during that time. Bless you for being so strong!
I am sitting here in tears at my desk at work because of the beautiful words you’ve written about your mother, and I don’t know either of you. The love you had for her is so palpable in your words, and my heart breaks for you.
This was beautifully written. I am so sorry for your loss, I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for you. Thank you for sharing your story.
I am so sorry to hear of your loss of your mother. It’s always so heartbreaking to hear of the passing of a loved one. May your loving memories with her comfort you during this difficult time. No matter how long it has been since the passing, it’s still difficult.
Awww, my heart is with you. It’s so hard losing mom. I lost mine 5 years ago. I found out about 3 weeks later that I was pregnant with her third grandchild.
That had to be tough for you, tough for me and I’m only reading it. My Mother is a cancer survivor but I worry that it will return and she might not fight like she did the first time. Keep your Mom in your heart, I’m sure you are. As you get closer to her anniversary, do something she enjoyed doing.
That’s really difficult being far from your mom when she died. It was nice that you were able to still talk to her on her last days. Your mom is a really brave person.
I’m so sorry for your loss. I just lost my mom two weeks ago from stage 4 cancer. It was so hard to see my mom go through so much pain before her passing. I was pregnant with my daughter when my father passed away too. It was so difficult to move on. Hugs to you!!!
I’m so sorry to hear about your losses, Michele. My heart goes out to you. I don’t know how long ago you lost your mom, but I’m hear if you need to talk/email.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing your story!! Keep your mom in your heart, I know she is looking over you as your angel.
Ugh I lost my dad 4 years ago. It’s never easy. But it does ease up. Prayers for your family as you deal with this. It’s almost surreal when it happens. Hugs.
This was so heart wrenching. I’m so sorry for your loss. It seems like you and your mom were very close, and I’m sure she’s watching over you and your little ones.
I am so sorry for your loss, I can’t wait to see my mom later today so I can give her the biggest hug ever. I really can’t imagine life without her, it’s so weird how things happen, but I think you giving her permission gave her peace. Through your little one you will be able to see and love your mother. In my cultures they say when someone passes when a baby is about to be born, means they will be with them through the baby. I believe this and hope you find peace in that belief.
So sorry for your loss, no words can even come close to the pain. I do believe your mum left go after she got your permission
Oh Jacqui, I’m so sorry. Even though some time has passed I could tell that this was a moment you think about often when we were talking in LA last weekend. Of course it does. I hope the pain has eased some.
I’ve been thinking of you! Thank you for reading this piece. I’ll send you the follow up to your email, the one I told you about… xoxoxo