Dear Journal,
I continue to live with anger about the care my mom received in the weeks before her death. Maybe now it’s time to finally let it out, to start the process of releasing it instead of carrying it quietly. This is going to be long, but I need to get everything off my chest.
My parents went on a cruise to Alaska with a group of friends—eight couples total. They’re from Michigan, so this was a big trip they had talked about for a long time. They were gone for twelve days, including extra time in Seattle before the cruise.
On the day they disembarked, my mom started feeling sick. Thankfully they had their flight home that day so they flew home before it got worse. Once she was home, she tested positive for COVID. That was just the beginning.
After a few days, my mom started to feel better, but then my dad got really sick—sick enough to go to the ER, which he almost never does. He was given IV fluids, labs were drawn, and he tested positive for Influenza A. He was sent home. A few days later, the doctor called to check on him, and by that time, my mom had started feeling sick again. The doctor advised her over the phone to seek care if things worsened.
They did. My mom went to Urgent Care, where she tested positive for Influenza A as well. By then, my dad was improving, so once again the caretaking roles reversed. A few days later, my mom went to the ER—the same one my dad had gone to—but was told she simply needed more time to recover from the flu. They gave her nausea medication and sent her home.
I remember my mom calling me on a Tuesday, telling me she had gone to the ER expecting IV fluids because she felt extremely dehydrated, but they didn’t give her one. I told her that if she felt like she needed an IV, she should go back and advocate for herself. She told me she had an appointment scheduled with her primary care provider in two days and would just keep pushing fluids until then.
But she wasn’t drinking enough.
She went to her doctor’s appointment and ended up seeing a nurse practitioner. The NP said she would give her IV fluids, but they didn’t have any available. Instead of sending her to the ER, she told my mom to buy “Liquid IV” from the store and drink that, saying it would have the same effect.
Even though my mom couldn’t sit up on the exam table and laid down for the entire visit, she was sent home.
My parents stopped at the store. My mom wanted to grab a gift while my dad ran to get the drinks. She couldn’t walk far and ended up sitting on a bench near the pharmacy. When my dad returned, he helped her to the car, and they went home. My mom said some strange things on the drive, but my dad knew she was sick and didn’t think much of it at the time.
They watched Thursday Night Football that night and went to bed.
Friday, September 12, 2025, my dad woke up first and ordered my mom Stevie Nicks concert tickets for her birthday. He sent her the screenshot so she’d see it when she woke up. She ended up waking to a call from my youngest brother wishing her a happy birthday. They talked for a bit, and when my dad came back into the room, he overheard her say that her right arm was numb and she couldn’t lift it.
After she hung up, my parents were lying in bed watching TV when my mom told my dad that her head felt like a rubber band was squeezing it tightly. Between that and her arm symptoms, my dad told her they were going back to the ER. While getting ready, my mom collapsed, and my dad called an ambulance.
When the ambulance arrived, they assessed her and believed she was having a stroke. They rushed her to the hospital, which was a fifty-minute drive away.
My dad called me while they were on the way. It was around 8:45 a.m., and I was still driving kids to school. It had been a hectic morning. We had planned to call Nana after school to wish her a happy birthday. At the same time, I was preparing to take my oldest to Urgent Care for ear pain.
After her appointment and a quick stop at the pharmacy, my dad called again. My mom had arrived at the hospital, and after initial scans, the doctors determined she had a severe brain bleed and needed to be transferred immediately.
I rushed my daughter to school, called my husband to tell him I was packing to leave town, and contacted my boss for help getting my mom transferred closer to me.
Ultimately, the doctors decided transferring her to my area was too risky. Instead, she was moved to a hospital less than half the distance away. I arrived about forty-five minutes after she did. My youngest brother had just arrived, and my dad and other brother came shortly after.
The doctors told us there was too much damage to perform surgery. She was admitted to the ICU and placed on medication to reduce brain swelling. She arrived in the ICU around 4:00 p.m.—that’s when we were finally able to see her.
Around 5:00 p.m., we were asked to leave. Things were worsening. We were allowed back in around 6:00, and then around 8:00 p.m., the doctors gathered us in the waiting area.
They told us the unthinkable.
The bleeding had progressed rapidly. My mom was brain dead. She was not going to make it.
There is so much more to this story, but this is where I need to pause. Writing this stirred up anger I’ve been holding deep inside—along with grief that still catches me off guard when I least expect it.
In the next part, I’ll share what came after and the moments that changed our family forever. For now, I’m giving myself permission to stop here, to breathe, and to let this part of the story exist without rushing to the end.
If you’re reading this and carrying your own mix of grief, anger, or unanswered questions, please know you’re not alone. Sometimes healing begins simply by telling the truth, even when it hurts.
I’ll return to continue this story when I’m ready.
With love,
The Shattered & Glowing Mama 🤍