I have been thinking a lot lately about the concept of quitting.

I’m reading a book on knowing when to quit in business. I’m writing an article on starting something new, forging through the hard stuff, and not succumbing to the desire of wanting to throw in the towel.

And it was twenty-one years ago today that my mother quit; that she gave up.

Now, I don’t want you to look at quitting as a bad thing, like we have been raised to believe. Quitting is merely redirecting yourself. It simply means moving on.

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Twenty one years ago today I laid next to my mother, my dearest friend, as she took her last breath.

I thank God I was there to hold her as He took her into the heavens.

It made me wonder – when is it ok to quit? How do you know when it is time to give in?

It’s a crazy experience ya know . . . watching someone die. Even though my mom was in a coma and had lost her ability to communicate days earlier, to witness the light in someone just go out is surreal.

One minute she was there, the next she wasn’t.

And once that last breath was taken, my mom looked nothing like the woman I knew before. It took me years to erase that image of her lifeless body; rigid limbs and jaw, eyes open, a hairless head. And a skeleton there merely to hold up her skin. I knew without a shadow of a doubt, the soul that was my mother had moved on to greener pastures and no longer inhabited that body.

She was an exceptional person and she and I had a beautiful bond. I miss her fiercely even after twenty-one years. Time helps you make sense of the pain but it never makes the sting of the loss any easier.

Time also has a way of burying certain memories. It seems silly, but I had forgotten I wrote her eulogy.

I had to write my mother’s eulogy at just 26. A eulogy for a woman who died at 51. That’s fucked up.

Looking back, I know she was watching over me as I put my pen to paper. I remember the words flowing out of me just as cool, rushing water travels down a stoney riverbed.

As I reflect on this task of having to write my good-bye to her, I realize, that was my first real work as a writer. The first time I reached into my guts and pulled out what was honest and raw.

That was the beginning of this road I am currently traveling. At the time I had no idea it was even a road that was meant for me. In fact, I would take many detours and wrong exits before I arrived at this point.

But, she started me down that road and is the one that led me to this point.

I am sure my friends and family get tired of me talking about my mom; tired of me writing about her. But, that is how I keep her close. That is how I hear her. That is how I can fool myself into thinking she is still with me.

If you have lost someone you love, you know that ache. That void in your heart that can never be filled.

So, bear with me as I honor this day, the day that was her day to quit and move on.

Maybe you will get a glimpse of who she was and in turn, get a glimpse of who I am.

And maybe I will come to an understanding about giving up. Learning that sometimes, it really is okay to quit.

July 1994  –  A Portion of  My Good Bye

I would often take mom to her chemotherapy appointments. An experience that would cause her to feel nauseous as soon as we entered the hospital, her body reacting to the familiar sights and smells that were an indication of the poison that awaited her.

As I would wheel her into the waiting room, I would sometimes just watch her as she sat in the wheelchair. Thin frame, denim floppy hat covering her bald head, jaundiced skin; and the familiar soft smile crossing her lips. After arriving, the somber room would soon become filled with conversation and laughter. Her positiveness was contagious. She had a way of touching everyone with her gentle grace and compassion; through her words, her eyes and her easy laugh.

She was a determined woman. She was living by her own plan.

But by looking at her, it was apparent the cancer was winning. She was losing her fight.  She had been able to keep the cancer at bay until she could see certain things to completion. There were things she needed to do before she left.

But, the sands were quickly descending the hourglass.

She was determined to be there for the big things. She wanted to join in the celebration of my wedding. She wanted to help my brother celebrate his 18th birthday. She wanted to watch my sister ride her new horse for the first time. 

She wasn’t leaving until she had participated in each of these events.

This was her schedule and the cancer was just going to have to wait until she was ready. 

And six days after she accomplished the last of her tasks, she was ready.

My mom lived on her terms and she died on her terms. She knew that only after you’ve given it your all; only after you’ve done what you know in your heart needs to be done; only when the time is right, only then is it really okay to quit.

Salty Kisses,

Karen