This Mother’s Day was not a good one for Charlotte Woody. As many celebrate the day with flowers and thoughtful cards, her son Bobby is sedated on morphine and Ativan. Around her are husband Robert, daughter Robin and three grandchildren, playing, aloof in their seriousness of the days ahead and the pain of letting go.
Yesterday, my friend Steve Thompson joined me on a road trip to Atlanta. I visit this big sprawling Southern city a few times a year and most every time make after the journey of some 320 miles, I would meet up with Bobby Woody as he toured us around the most interesting destinations – attractions, social areas and the hottest spots for live music. This time was different and I’m already missing my friend.
Charlotte was perfectly dressed when we arrived at Hospice Atlanta. Her red hair a tired eyes were a contrast to the many nights she has held vigil for her son as he has battled several short months with an aggressive and terminal stomach cancer.
At 43, this is a rare form of the disease that attacks the stomach where the esophugus meets – the doctors explain it most often occurs in elderly Asian and African American man. It’s hard to imagine Bobby losing a battle with such an obscure disease.
Bobby’s father, Robert was stoicly anguished with miltary-like stare that seemed to count every moment as his song drifted in and out of consciousness. Bobby and he had a hard time growing up. Like most fathers, he wanted more for his son and Bobby wanted to find his own way. He did too. When he left Sullivan Central High School, he graduated from East Tennessee State University and began his career at Emory University in Atlanta working as a cardiac care nurse.
Charlotte recanted with me all of the nurses and colleagues that he worked with. Many visiting daily and the words Bobby would share with them– “I’m tired of fighting it.”
Bobby has little time left with us and I won’t go into many more memories about our time together. I’ll save that for another day, but for now, my focus is on Mother’s Day.
It was hard to say goodbye yesterday. What words do you choose when you say ‘so long’ to a friend and you both know it will be your last?
We both hugged Charlotte, but the urge to say ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ seemed completely irrelivant as her embrace turned to tears. It’s hard for me to work or celebrate the day otherwise as time ticks away and her son has stopped eating altogether.
As we drove back last night across the Carolina’s the silence was consuming as the memories raced back and forth in my mind. The tenderness of this family and the gratitude for our visit was generous, but looking back at this helpless time, my heart continues to go out to them during this very difficult time.
To Charlotte – you are a pillar of strength to your family. Your gentle and caring love for your son touched me and may your healing give even for strenth and inspiration for those around you during this time.