My heart silently shouts "Come back to me," to the loved ones that I have lost.
BY Barbara Tako
PUBLISHED August 10, 2019
Barbara Tako is a breast cancer survivor (2010), melanoma survivor (2014) and author of Cancer Survivorship Coping Tools–We'll Get You Through This. She is a cancer coping advocate, speaker and published writer for television, radio and other venues across the country. She lives, survives, and thrives in Minnesota with her husband, children and dog. See more at www.cancersurvivorshipcopingtools.com,or www.clutterclearingchoices.com.
I grabbed my cell phone on the first ring in the middle of that night. Calls in the middle of the night are never good. Right?
I had been dreading that call for days, weeks, maybe even months. I had hoped to be with Mom when she died but, in the back of my mind, I always sort of thought she might slip away quietly in the middle of the night.
Mom was a quiet, modest person who would not want to draw extra attention to herself. Mom died of breast cancer that had spread to her brain at the age of 84. As a 54-year-old breast cancer survivor of seven years myself, oddly a different type than my mother's, I felt that call on many levels as an adult only-child.
I had been dreading that call for days, weeks, maybe even months. I had hoped to be with Mom when she died but, in the back of my mind, I always sort of thought she might slip away quietly in the middle of the night.
Mom was a quiet, modest person who would not want to draw extra attention to herself. Mom died of breast cancer that had spread to her brain at the age of 84. As a 54-year-old breast cancer survivor of seven years myself, oddly a different type than my mother's, I felt that call on many levels as an adult only-child.
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