My Life’s Story

Stage 4 cancer is no joke, especially when it strikes someone you love. My name is Jayson, and I'm the youngest of five siblings. This is the story of my mother's final months. One night, while we were chatting in her room, my mother suddenly felt a sharp pain in her stomach. She urgently asked me to grab a bucket from the kitchen—she needed to vomit. I rushed back and placed the bucket on her bed just in time. When she finished, we noticed something alarming: the appearance of her vomit was unusual. I asked what she'd eaten, but nothing matched what we saw. That night marked the beginning of her daily stomach pain. As the pain persisted, we decided to take her to the hospital for answers. We visited many specialists and doctors, but none could identify the cause. Finally, during a colonoscopy, a doctor discovered a mass in her intestine. The camera couldn't determine whether it was inside or outside the intestinal wall, so they recommended exploratory surgery. At first, my mother refused. She remembered a friend with similar symptoms who had died during surgery, and at 71 years old, she wasn't sure her body could handle the procedure. She feared the worst. But as the pain intensified, she changed her mind. She could no longer bear the suffering. "I'm ready," she told us, "even if I don't make it." During the operation, the surgeon opened her abdomen and found numerous tumors—both small and large—scattered throughout her body. The doctor called my sibling out to deliver the devastating news: the tumors couldn't be removed because the cancer had already spread. It was stage 4. When my mother woke up after surgery, she asked my sister if they'd removed the lump. My sister had to tell her the truth—the cancer had spread too far. After a few days in the hospital, my mother decided she wanted to go home. In the days that followed, my mother's body weakened like a candle slowly melting away. The pain grew worse, and her strength faded. She began hallucinating, seeing people walking on our roof when no one was there. On her final day, she called me to her side. I hugged her while tears streamed down my face. She also held our father, and he gently rocked her in his arms. As he held her, my father noticed her skin turning dark. He laid her down and realized she wasn't breathing. He immediately called for an ambulance. When the paramedics arrived, they confirmed she had been gone for eight minutes. I saw something dark rising from her body toward the ceiling. Could that have been her soul leaving? When I learned my mother had passed, I went up to the roof of our house and prayed. I thanked God for giving us a mother who was kind, loving, and caring—a mother who will live forever in our hearts.