A Son Remembers His Mother -

This post is written by Allan Huskins and dedicated to his mother, Faye Huskins, who lost her battle with breast cancer earlier this year. Allan’s wife, Char, is a big part of the NanaHood family, and when I read his story about his mom I asked Char to ask him if I could share it with you. He graciously agreed.

My mom’s been gone five months now. It’s been a year since we entered the beginning of the end for her.

While it was the worst year of my life, I can’t begin to imagine how it was for her. Bedridden for nine months, one indignity piles upon another until the only dignity that remains is the preservation of personality and will. There is no good news to be had: “more comfortable” becomes the best you can hope for. This, periodically interrupted by discussions and decisions of mortality. Literally life and death. And of course, tears. Plenty of that. Some laughs too, though not like the laughter we’d always known. This laughter feels hollow because there’s humor, but no joy in it.

Mom remained hopeful and stayed as strong as she could, but beating the breast cancer again obviously wasn’t to be. Truthfully, I am amazed at how strong she was. Much stronger than she ever took credit for. I’m so proud of the battle she fought, and the grace she showed in the face of her own death. I don’t know that I would have done as well, and pray I never have to find out the way she did.

It still barely seems real. Dad and I visited her grave in Denver last week to see the newly installed sod. It’s a beautiful place. With a backdrop of the beautiful Rocky Mountains, Fort Logan National Cemetery is rolling hills of lush greenery, studded with marble headstones, arranged perfectly from every angle. I see her name and her birth date on the marker, but my mind doesn’t fully embrace the meaning of that other date. Perhaps a subconscious refusal to do so. My eyes reflexively avert from that line of information. If I don’t dwell on it, maybe it still isn’t real. We’ve all heard the expression “hey, it’s not written in stone” when plans can be changed. But there it is, written in stone. No arbitration or appeal. In stone. Permanent. Final. I know eventually my subconscious will catch up with my conscious, but it’s not really there yet. I still want it to not be.

I know I took her for granted, though to be honest, that doesn’t really bother me. We all do that. It’s part of our human nature. I know I did the best I could for her, and I’m thankful for the wonderful relationship we had. I still can’t help but go through the occasional ” wish I could have just one more (whatever)”. Hug, talk, laugh… heck I’d take another argument! Of course all those things are now archived in the “Memories” section of my heart and mind, and, Lord willing, I’ll always be able to stroll through there whenever I want.

I just wish my kids could say the same.

I love my mom! I miss her very much.