Well, summer is almost over again. I know because I have that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that has been welcoming the return of August for five years now. Mom died on August 27, 2008, which was the second day of school. It had been a fun day for me.

As a teacher, I used to really love the beginning of a new school year. That's when we get to meet our newest students, the kindergartners. It is also when we get to see the changes our older students have gone through over the summer. I'm not that in to it anymore. Dad died on August 18, 2011, which was the Thursday before the first day of school. No. I'm really not that into it anymore. But this isn't about me. This is about the night Mom passed away.

I came home that day and decided to cook chicken breasts for dinner. I would be lying if I told you I knew how I cooked it. Most of that day vanished from my memory before I even took my first bite of dinner. I do remember that I had that bite on the fork and had just started to lift it to my mouth when the phone rang. It was Dad. He was out of breath and obviously panicking. He kept saying, “I can't wake Mommy up." I told him to calm down and asked him a few questions. When I understood the situation, I told him to hang up the phone and call 911. Then I just disappeared from the face of the earth, and some kind of auto-pilot version of me took over for a few days.

I calmly told Rachel that there was a problem with Mom, Dad had called 911, I was going to change and head over there, and would call her when I knew something. The next thing I knew, I was in my van driving past Connally Middle School. I calmly called Mom and Dad's friend Eugene who lived down the street and asked him to go down to see what was going on. The chemotherapy had turned Dad into a near invalid at that point, and I didn't want him to be alone. Then I called Mom's best friend Jan and asked her to head over there. I remember telling her I wasn't sure what I was going to find, but if it was really bad, I was going to need help dealing with everything.

When I got to the house, there was a firetruck parked in front of it. Mr. Hall, next door, asked me what was going on. I told him that I really didn't know, but Mom was sick. Then I went in the house and saw Mom laying in the middle of the den with about five firemen working on her. Dad was sitting on the couch breathing heavily as if he was going into an anxiety attack. I knew the second I looked at her that Mom was dead. Don't ask me how I knew, but I did. I watched Mom's foot dressed in her cute little “around the house" booty move side to side every time the fireman pushed on her while doing CPR, and I knew. She was gone.

I stood there stunned in the knowledge for a few minutes longer watching the men give her shots and use the paddles all in vain. Some reality resistant part of my brain wanted me to be wrong. After all, if these guys were working so hard to save her, maybe I was wrong. But I knew they were working in vain. I looked at Dad and said, “This isn't going to be good." Then I asked the men, to help me get to him so I could take him to the front room and try to get his breathing under control.

At about that time, Bob and Jan arrived. They came in and sat with us while we waited for the men to finish. Charlotte came in her wheelchair, but she couldn't get in the house because the only ramp was through the garage and Mom and the guys had that way blocked. I think Bob and Eugene lifted her up through the front door. I'm not sure.

An ambulance came next. They joined the little crowd in the den and did more to save mom. One of them came back out, went outside, and returned with a gurney. That little reality resistant part of me reared its head again. I said, “Maybe she is okay", just to hear it said, but I didn't believe it. The guy came right back out with the gurney and took it to the ambulance without Mom. When he came back, I followed him into the den and asked the guys, “Is she gone?" They told me she was. I said, “I thought so." Then I calmly went back to the front room and told the others the news.

A policeman came in the house and asked to speak to my dad. I told him that wasn't possible right then. Dad was now in the midst of a full blown anxiety attack. Jan and Bob were trying to calm him down and help him with his breathing. Jan told me that Mom had told her he had some anxiety pills somewhere in the house, but I didn't have time to look for them because I had to talk to the policeman. He made me lead him through the house collecting all of Mom's prescriptions while he asked me questions in some strange language that I couldn't understand. More surreal was the fact that I was answering him in that same language. I must have been pretty fluent because he finally went out and sat in his car waiting for the coroner to come. Evidently, since they couldn't get in touch with Mom's doctor at Wilford Hall, the coroner had to come on a technicality.

Dad's anxiety got worse. I asked the EMS guys to check him out. He did have a bad heart valve after all. I was in no mood to lose him, too. While they checked him out, I looked everywhere for his anxiety meds. Mom and Dad had prescription bottles all over the house. I kept having to step over Mom. They had left her sprawled on the floor with a blanket thrown over her. I would say, “Sorry, Mom" each time I passed. Anyway, none of the pills seemed like the ones I needed. I even called Walgreen’s and asked them for names to look for. Somebody asked if the policeman might have taken them. I walked out and banged on his window to ask. Everything he had was labeled for Mom.

When I went back in the house, they were teaching Dad some breathing exercises. Eventually that worked enough that I was a little less worried about him. Jan went into the kitchen to put a pot of coffee on. Low and behold, the pills were there hiding by the stove. We went ahead and gave some to Dad. He seemed pretty tired, so I got him into his bed and tucked him in. I looked at the poor old invalid man laying there before me and became very aware that our roles had now changed forever. I would be the parent from that moment on.

I don't remember the others leaving, but they must have. I also don't remember getting myself into bed. My next memories are of me laying in bed all night long in my childhood bedroom, too terrified to sleep. My world had suddenly fallen apart around me. Nothing would ever be the same for me again.