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One day in fourth grade, my parents sat me down in my living room. My Dad told me Mom was having really bad stomach pains and needed to go to a special doctor. “Okay,” I thought, “I can handle this. I might even be able to pretend it’s not happening.” So I told them, “That’s fine. As long as she doesn’t need surgery, I’m okay.”

As my 10 year old mind raced, my thinking turned to, “well, as long as it’s not cancer, I’m okay.”

Weeks later, as my mom emerged from surgery, my dad sat me down in the waiting room and told me my mom had cancer. And she had it bad.

My little self took a deep breath and thought, “Well, as long as she doesn’t die, I’m okay.”

I don’t remember much more of that day, probably because I wasn’t told much more. I’ve only found out in recent years that my dad shielded me from a lot of hurtful truth for the time being, knowing I probably couldn’t handle it, and I appreciate that. My mom was diagnosed with C-4 ovarian cancer – the worst kind.

She was given three months to live.

 
 

I read in her journal not too long ago that when she came out of anesthesia she noticed that no doctors or nurses were saying “Hey Karen, you did great!” It was simple silence.

She thought to herself, “I must have cancer.”

That next year and a half is quite a blur.

Miraculously, though she was given just a few months to live, my mother went into remission right around her 50th birthday. We had a huge party by the beach with the theme “Celebrate Life!”

The chemo had taken all of her hair, but even if she didn’t wear the wig to the party she would have still been beautiful. It was a special night. We bought her a new, red car and she squealed with glee. Dad put together an encouragement scrapbook where almost every friend and relative wrote a letter or card to her about her beauty, wisdom, meekness, and love.

But then the cancer came back. And it came back hard.

She whittled down to 60 lbs. The little hair she had left turned grey. You could see all her bones and her veins. She could no longer garden or walk on the beach with me. We weren’t learning how to make pasta from scratch or eating Dutch Chocolate ice cream.

This wasn’t my momma.

She got more and more sick. More and more emaciated. But not any less beautiful. She still had those eyes. Those blue-gray eyes. I’ve never found another person with gray eyes.

She got so weak that my dad had to carry her from room to room. Soon, hospice came into our home.

I remember the stench of our house. The smell of decaying flesh juxtaposed with bouquets from friends. The meals that were brought over were appreciated, but also a sad reminder that the woman who learned to cook in Italy could no longer sip out of a straw – she’d become that weak.

One night, my dad called me into their bedroom. He got a tiny box out of the closet and placed it in Mom’s hand, who placed it in mine, gently urging me to open it. I opened it and it was a heart-shaped locket with a cross on the front. Inside was a picture of Mom before the chemo had taken its toll, and on the back was engraved “In quietness and trust is your strength. Isa 30:15. Love, Mom.”

She was still strong enough to open her eyelids, and I remember catching her gaze for a long time. I think I was holding her hand. The thoughts raced. I wanted to tell her everything there was to know about me, but I was too scared. My then sixth grade self didn’t know how to handle the situation.

I remember she fell asleep and I went back to my room and cried. Hard.

I wrote my Dad a note asking if mom could write me a letter or something to help me remember her. She did, I still have it. It includes everything from memories of baking chocolate together and learning to “be patient with daddy during homework time” to future dating advice. The letter begins and ends with her shaky handwriting,

“My dearest Stephanie, I loved being your Mom.”

That week was bizarre. It seemed almost normal to sit at the kitchen table picking out gravestones or to go shopping for coffins. I remember we picked a pale blue one with a white, creamy interior.

 
October 15, 1999. Somewhere around 10pm.

I knew my dad was sitting in the bedroom with my mom. What I didn’t know was that every night they’d sit together and weep, holding each other and crying out to God for healing. For some reason I decided to check in on them.
I walked in and Dad waved me over. I had to be strong for him, so I came over, and held back tears at the sight of my mother. She was dying. Her hands, feet, and legs were starting to turn a dark purple as they began their de-oxygenated decay. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing in this dark, heavy, raspy wheeze. In and out, in and out. We were just sitting there, holding her hands.

My dad stroked her stubbly hair. Her eyes were closed, and I was scared I’d never see them again – she didn’t have the strength to open the lids.

And then all of the sudden the wheezing stopped. Her breath calmed. A beautiful silence filled the room. Her once sealed shut eyes shot open and she gazed right through the ceiling. Somehow she managed an enormous smile.

I’d like to think she was catching the first glimpse of her Savior.

I remember a small tear welling up, and I said the words, “See ya later, Mom.” After that the breathing stopped, her eyes closed, and her grip on my dad’s hand loosened. He looked at me and said, “I think she’s gone” and prayed.

There are times in all our lives we’ve prayed for healing. For the pain to cease, the cancer to flee, and the dead to raise. And we should do that. Because if that’s the story God wants to write in our life and the lives of our loved ones, it’s a wonderful display of his grace and power. Pray for healing. Do it. Watch what Jesus can do.

But after seeing my momma’s face light up with supernatural strength at the first glimpse of Jesus face, I think the story we’ll care about in the long run is that Jesus loved and saved us.

Lazarus was raised from the dead. But one day, he died again. Jesus told a little girl to stand up and walk. But one day, she died again. My momma went into remission. But one day, she died. And I believe the story each and every one of them tell in heaven is that Jesus is good, real, beautiful, extravagant, and he saved them. That’s the real story. He is enough.

                                       Karen Elizabeth Bernotas
                                March 31, 1948 – October 15, 1999

 

64 responses to “See You Later, Mom”

  1. I was in tears reading this Stephanie. Simply beautiful and heart breaking. Your immense love is straight from Papa.
    Thank you for sharing your story. This gave such a sense of hope I haven’t felt in awhile.

    You carry your mother’s tenderness and beauty. Love you

  2. I remember laying in a cold tent at training camp, looking up at the stars as you told me this story. I don’t think it’s one I’ll ever forget. So beautiful and tragic and heartbreaking and hopeful. Thank you for having the courage to share the amazing legacy that your mom was, then and now. Lovelovelove you.

  4. Wow.
    Absolutely beautiful.
    Reading stories like yours helps with my healing process.
    Thank you so much for letting us in on something so precious to you.

  5. Dearest Stephanie,
    Your words convey so much precious emotion. You may have lost the physical presence of your mother but you have gained so greatly the love of a Savior Who thinks the world of you and all you are doing for Him and His creation, our brothers and sisters throughout this earth. Your mom would be so proud of you as you learn daily what the Lord would have you to do that day, that moment.
    Know that you are lifted in prayer, you and the ministry that has chosen you. May you enjoy special blessings this day as tears of memory cloud your eyes.
    Love you.

  6. Oh Stephanie! What a beautiful tribute to your Mom!! Please don’t ever grieve what you didn’t say or do as your 4th or 6th grade self. You were there. You held her hand. You gazed into her eyes and met with her there. As a Mom myself, I can tell you that no words are needed in those moments. She KNEW you and it was hard for her to leave. But I am certain that it was made all the easier knowing that she’d “see ya later” just as you said. And I’m also certain that she is proud of the woman you’ve become and will rejoice on the day you yourself become a Mom, and the legacy she left, and what she sowed into you, continues on. So much love and big hugs to you today my friend.

  9. Stephanie, I saw this picture and knew it had to be your mom. You look so much like her.

    And your heart written here is worship-full. Thank you.

  13. Absolutely weeping.

    The love you have for your mother and the Lord are so evident in this story,and how precious to be able to witness your mom’s first glimpse of the Father.

    You look just like her Steph.

    Thank you for allowing us into this precious story.

    Love you!

  15. Tears…for the loss of your beautiful mother. I can’t imagine. But also tears…tears of thankfulness for her life and testimony – although I never met her, nor do I know you all that well. Yes, your mother – rests today in the arms of her Creator. My prayers are with you and your father today.

  16. Thanks Steph.
    I haven’t sobbed like this in quite a while. Your mom would have been (and I’m sure IS) proud of you. I love you, sweetie.
    Love,
    Dad

  17. Steph, I always have seen that you were special but now i can see why! You have been brought through an amazing experience. Seeing someone go through an ordeal like your parents’, it makes you wiser than most and the fact that you actually eventually SAW your mom’s facial expression as she entered eternity with our Lord-PRICELESS!!
    You are truly Blessed!!

  18. Steph, I wept as I read this. I don’t know when I have ever read anything so touching (and I hate that word because sometimes it denotes something trite and this is SO deep, so personal). Because I know both you and your Dad, it even makes me more in awe of your (plural) faith. So many get mad and strike out at God. But you gave me glimpses into some intimate moments and the end of the story. What I mean in the end of the story is your Mom’s triumphful exit from this world into the loving arms of Jesus. That is what this sometimes stinkin’ life is all about, ‘Soon our lives will be in the past, it’s only what’s done for Jesus that will last’. Thank you for that glimpse into your house in Mamasquan, for a glimpse of that beautiful lady, who was your Mom.

  19. Thank you so much for your post… I was 11 when my mom passed away after battling breast cancer, in remission for about a year, then the bone disease. She passed away on October 14, 1991. Now 22 years have passed. I still cherish my mom’s letter to me, and the family videos my dad took and wearing some of her jewelry. I shared a short post on Facebook yesterday and was so encouraged by so many people who are my friends, and who were my mom & dad’s friends. I always love hearing their memories of her. Bless you! I so know what it’s like.. and so agree that you’ll see your mom some day, and I’ll see mine. God is good. And eternity with Him is rich indeed.

  21. Stephanie….. so deep and tender. No words to describe how precious and powerful. And yes, you look just like her. Thank you for putting this experience, as best you could, into words. I don’t know how it could have been done any more beautifully. Love you.

  22. I am ugly crying. You are beautiful, and so is your sweet mama. You look so much like her. I love you Stephie.

  23. Whheww… That was powerful. I’m speechless Stephanie. Thank you for sharing such a raw depth of your heart with us.

  25. Having never met you means very little when your experience took me back about 4 years to my Dad’s death and Home-going which could have mirrored yours. I was 44 and still don’t know if what I said could be considered right or correct buy what is right and correct is that no matter our age, we are loved as precious children just as our Father loves our parents as precious children.
    So grateful I got to read this. Thank you.

  26. Oh Steph and Lenny,

    I am in shreds. She was such a treasure as a mom, a wife, and a friend. I still miss her, too and I know she would be so proud of you.

    Love and hugs to you both,

    Capi

  27. Steph,

    What a gift, you didn’t just sharing a blog with all of us you shared a priceless picture of who you are, and a glimpse of who the father is.

    I was moved by your blog and for your willingness to let us into that scene where you and your dad were on the front row. When I was reading all of the responses and saw your dad’s comment to you I was so moved and humbled to see the father’s love in your dad. What a great dad who stood by his little girl in this scene and continues too, and what an amazing daughter who stood by her dad in the midst of an incomprehensible season of life.

    Thank you

  28. Stephanie, what a beautiful tribute to your lovely mom. thank you for sharing all the personal words and photos. Your mom was a very special lady and we loved her so much.
    Prayers for you and your dad as you remember your mom.
    Love, Peg

  29. Dear Stephanie,
    Thank you for sharing the whole story, as painful as it may have been. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard the story of the last few minutes of Mom’s life. I’m sooooo glad that you were able to share that together. You are so blessed to have seen the look on your mom’s face when she first glimpsed eternity.

    I miss her so much, but it can’t compare to what you and your dad must feel. My prayers continue to be with you, and I am so proud of you! I LOVE you, Girlfriend!!!!!!

    Aunt Betsy

  30. I don’t think I happened upon this blog by accident. Today is the 4th anniversary of my daughter’s passing from this life into the next from the after math of cervical cancer. It is true, sometimes God doesn’t heal here and death is a part of life on this planet. I was not lucky enough to be there when my daughter died, but maybe, just maybe that is a blessing in itself that I have yet to fully comprehend. What a beautiful testimony this is to your mom and your dad.

  32. This helped bring a little more healing to me after burying a son and my own mother to Cancer who now lay side by side. My heart still gropes in the dark for meaning even though my words, my testimony speaks otherwise. Each time I had to be the strong one and only cry when no one’s looking. The best advice anyone gave me is; “It doesn’t have to get better, it never get’s better and you don’t have to be strong.” You’ve helped me, thank you…

  34. Speechless and deeply moved by your Faith, Love and Maturity.Your insight is inspiring. I hope you will try your hand at writing to be published someday. So often there is doubt, anger and blame toward God when miracles don’t come people face the struggles of human weakness and mortality. I deeply appreciate your words of love, faith and hope that you and your mom will be together with Jesus someday.

  35. My mom died the same way on almost the same day but in 2006. I was 42. You are a brave girl and your mom would be so blessed to be honored by this blog. Thank-you for sharing these tender memories. It is a gift to everyone. For me it helped me re-connect with my memories of my mom. The think I appreciated most in your processing – “I think the story we’ll care about in the long run is that Jesus loved and saved us.” Yes He does indeed love us all in every moment. My mom was talking to Jesus the day before she died. We were all in the room. Amazing.

  36. This is so powerful. I can relate in so many ways and I am at least twice your age. Like many others, I cried. My mom died when I was 10 like you, but the title is true too. I believe that God allows our loved ones in heaven to witness things we are doing to glorify Christ while we are doing it. Just like your father is very proud of you, I truly believe your mom feels the same right now. Your suffering and writing about it has blessed so many already. I can hardly imagine what a blessing you will be to those on the World Race when you do it. God bless!

  37. Steph….I can’t believe how much she reminds me of you. You look just like her and the stories of how she loved to cook and bake, my best thoughts of you are watching you create beauty in the kitchen for others. Thank you for letting us into this place of your heart.. what a tribute and what a blessing. She would be so proud of you, you are everything a mom could ever hope for in a daughter.

  39. Thank you for sharing your heart and giving us a glimpse into your lives. Beauty flows from your story. Sometimes the healing comes in seeing the victorious smile as the gentle Saviour is seen face to face.

  41. This was so beautiful. My mom passed away in July of bladder cancer, and as I read this it was like walking through that experience again. You expressed the feelings and the fear perfectly. I’m so happy our moms are with Jesus. We were lucky they were ours 🙂 thanks for writing this.

  42. That story was so very beautiful ! I cried all the way through from the beach on …. I watched a very dear, dear man pass away from the horrible disease of Cancer ! I remember talking to him and telling him what a valiant fight he had put up, but it was time to let go, as he had been in a coma for two days ! I assured him I would ALWAYS be there for his wife and grown children and he need not worry anymore ! His God was waiting for him now ! I went back out to the porch where everyone was and within two minutes his son-in-law came and told us he had passed ! I have no idea if he could hear me, but, I like to think sometimes that he did hear me and he was at peace after knowing his family would never be alone ! Your father was a GREAT man and you were such a special daughter ! God Bless YOU for sharing your story !

  45. You are SO right — the most important thing is going into His eternal presence. Once we whom He has loved all go to be with Him . . . . . the difficult and sad moments of this world will fade away and all that will matter is that we have the privilege to live with Him.

    I’m very glad that you have the precious memories of your dear Mom that you do have. Those years were a gift for you to savour for the rest of YOUR earthly life. Thank you for reaching others with your poignant story. Blessings on you.

  46. Thank you for sharing this beautiful story with so many people. I cried reading your post and honestly believe God caused me to stumble upon this. I am a current racer on the field and have been praying/processing my families situation back home. A month and a half before launch I found out my dad is terminally ill and was given 2-3 years to live. The story of your mother’s battle with cancer and death reminded me that in times of sadness and pain there IS hope and joy. Learning how you and your family cared for your mom during this time is a huge testimony to the power of Christ’s love for His sons and daughters! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

  49. What an awesome story! I cried as I read it, but it was also beautiful, that after all this time, you remember so much of what happened. God Bless you in your life and your journey on the race!

  52. Stephanie,

    What a post! Its gutsy and took a lot of stamina & courage. Your heart poured out vulnerability in such great depth. Thank you for painting a vivid scene of glimpses into your life and of how faithful He is. My heart wept with the rest of these folks. Thank you.
    May this sweet love live on.

  56. Thank you so much.
    I’m an old racer that now works with high school youth. This summer 2 of my girls’ dads were diagnosed with cancer. On has since past about a month ago. And the other is in as out of the hospital.
    Your hope and faith inspire. Keep going strong in that love!

  59. This is one of the most beautiful things I’ve read in a long time. “I loved being your mom.” Oh man….that got me. The whole thing got me.

    Sitting in an office, crying, wasn’t how I planned on starting this Monday….but it’s worth it for the reminder of how beautiful life is…how precious it is, how short it is, how miraculous it is….how we have no control, and we need Jesus. How we’re all so closely intertwined.

    Thank you for the reminder, and for sharing this.

  60. I never knew how your mom went home, Steph. This really touched me as my memory (though I was much older when it happened) is very similar. You’re very right, we all die eventually. Our prayers were answered. Our mothers weren’t preserved here, but forever healed in the Savior’s presence.

  61. Thank you for sharing your story. I barely remember your mom but my recollection is of a gentle woman with a pervading kindness. I know your dad much better. He was a pivotal character in my coming to the Lord. I thank God with each remembrance of him. From your writing I glean his gentleness and sensitivity. It seems you have a great measure of both of your parents. You have much to be grateful.

  62. Steph
    Thanks for continuing to find and hold onto your faith in God’s amazing plan. This brought me great joy as I thought about my dad.
    JG

  63. Thank you for your amazing story. Yesterday we buried my sister who passed away as a result of pancreatic cancer. We had her less than 5 months after her diagnosis. As I made the four-hour trek home last night, I kept thinking how I would never have any more time to share with her. Your story has made me realize that her last breaths and soft prayer to God followed by a most peaceful look as she passed was the beginning of a wonderful journey for her. My sister turned to her faith in her last moments to carry her through and I should do nothing less. Thank you for your amazing story, which has helped bring a great peace to my heart today.

  64. Steph,
    The tears came slowly and then flowed steadily… such healing God gave us in our tears. Having just lost my brother less than 3 month ago…my heart can identify
    with both the sadness of lost opportunities to share with them…yet joy..because Jesus has them now! And they have new bodies & no pain & the biggest smiles !!!!
    Remembering your Mom in such a heartfelt way is sooo honoring to her life and the legacy she set in motion in you, her beautiful daughter. Indeed you have much to be thankful for….as do I in the blessing of my sweet brother of 60 years.
    The journey we travel is long & often painful…but filled with Hope, Joy & Comfort by the precious friends God places along our road.
    Thanks for your transparency & your loving heart.
    YOU ARE A BLESSING IN MY LIFE.
    love an hugs…………..iris

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