my mother is norma jean, she is 78 and she is dying of breast cancer. i am writing this to help me to remember and to make sense of all the emotions that are coming up with this process. there is nothing i can compare it too. even though i have witnessed the agonizing death this same disease tortured two dear friends with, i cannot compare it to what i am witnessing with my mom. don't know where to start. so i will just go. a rambling story which is par for the course for me. my mom used to say that i talked in run on sentences and would never take a breath. always excited and eager. anyone who knows me can attest to that fact. so, i will begin my story; the memories i have of my momma. these are my memories and mine alone. no one elses, i cherish these memories and challenge anyone who says that they do not exist or that that is not the way things happened. this is my experience. so, here it is. my mother and i butted heads from the beginning and through out my life and here i am by here bedside as much as i possibly can be. the first time i saw her, in the hospital section of the nursing home, i lost my shit and bawled my eyes out. there was a shell of the woman i knew. i had seen her begin to deteriorate over time but nothing prepared me for how she looked. a shell. there was nothing to her. truly, skin and bones. she had an odd yellow-gray tint to her skin which reminded me of dull paint water. no hair, no eyelashes. blueish lips.. this was my mom, norma jean. all i wanted to do was crawl in bed with her and hold her. all the past just slipped away. the anger, sadness, disappointment, betrayal. i just wanted to make sure she was okay. it was one of the most amazing, heart-breaking moments of my life and that is when i began to let go.