My side of the story...

I realized that I haven't really ever shared our family's story from my perspective, and though this might be an appropriate place to do so.  A lot of the details of the last year are blurred by pain, shock, and denial.  My timeline is a little hazy, so things may be out of order.  Accuracy isn't really what I'm going for here.
Just over a year ago, Mom started to be very forgetful.  It seemed to come on very suddenly and was very scary.  I am ashamed, now, to admit that I often got frustrated with her.  I remember looking for something one day for about a half an hour and not being able to find it.  About every five minutes, Mom would ask what I was looking for.  By the fourth time, I wasn't so patient with her.  Then there were days where I would come home with 15 minutes to gather my things and be out the door for a rehearsal or performance, and she would have picked things up in my room and put them who knew where.  I hope that one day I will be able to apologize for my frustration and impatience.
Mom had an MRI done the first week of April.  That's when they found the tumor.  I refused to freak out about it until I knew if it was cancerous or not.  I think I was in denial.  I was in the kitchen when Mom came home from the doctor a few days later.  I looked up and saw tears streaming down her face.  I asked her what was wrong.  She kind of sighed and said, "Oh, it's just cancer."  I hugged her and we sobbed together.  I know they told me the details of the tumor, it's official name, what stage it was in, how big it was, stuff like that.  The pain, shock, and confusion I was feeling blocked all that out.  The one thing I know no one told me was her prognosis.  That wasn't discussed until much much later.  At least not with me.  The day I found out my mom had a brain tumor was by far the worst day of my life.  The bishop and stake president came and gave us all blessings.  During Mom's blessing, I listened specifically for him to say that she would be cured of the cancer.  But he never did.  I think I knew at that point that we didn't have much time left with her.
The following weeks were difficult.  She was traveling to Salt Lake daily for radiation treatments.  I took over the housework and the cooking.  I was very anal about absolutely everything.  This really isn't that rare for me, but this was pretty intense.  I would freak out when people brought dinners.  I still can't really explain why, it just bugged me.  I couldn't control the downward spiral my world was taking, but I could control what food got placed on the table.  I am grateful for that time, though, because I learned a lot about cooking.  Mom would sit at the counter as I cooked and try to answer my questions.  She usually could.
Pretty soon, her sodium levels dropped.  In 24 hours she went from being able to go on evening walks with my dad to barely being able to get out of bed.  She became so frail and sick and so very confused.  It was so difficult watching my dad help her walk to and from the bathroom and try to get her to eat.  Dad resisted taking her to the hospital, but I think that's what ended up happening.  She returned to her previous level of health.
Some of the people that visited frustrated me too.  They would come and start talking to her and then start crying, and she ended up comforting them.  Or there were people that came and asked her for advice.  The poor woman could barely find things in her own kitchen, and people expected her to be able to give advice for hours.  She was always tired after people came to visit.  Socializing takes a lot of effort from your brain, and that made it difficult for her.  But she was still always sweet, understanding, and caring towards those that entered our home.
I was glad when summer came and I could spend my days at home.  I went on trek in July.  Not only did trek seem daunting, but I was nervous to be gone for that long.  I thought of her a lot as I walked.  And worried.  And prayed.  I was glad I took big sun glasses, because I also did a lot of crying.  I was grateful to get off the bus at the end of the week and see her waiting for me.
Soon after trek, Dad and I headed off to New York with Nessa for a shortened version of a trip Mom had started planning the previous fall.  We saw the sights of New York, including Wicked, of course, and then headed to DC for some sight seeing there.  My sisters took care of Mom while we were gone.  The following week, Dad had meetings in Virginia.  I stayed with Mom during that week.  My most vivid memories come from that week.  We started out the week very well, going to the 24th of July parade with Becky's family and to lunch with Uncle Byron and Aunt Joan.  She deteriorated quickly, though, as her sodium levels decreased again.  Rachelle came to help me take care of Mom one day and called the doctor. He came to see how she was doing and suggested we take her to the hospital.  Within moments an ambulance was there.  And so were the neighbors.  That was another frustrating thing in this experience.  We seemed to have absolutely no privacy and no space.  And we did some comforting of other people ourselves.

This was taken while Mom was at Huntsman.
It was Rachelle's idea.  She told Mom to smile, which
obviously worked.  I think Mom forgot she
was smiling, though, because that smile stayed
on her face for quite a while after the picture.
It was so great to see her smile!

Dad came home from his business trip a day early so he could be with Mom.  We transfered her from MacKay Dee to the Huntsman Cancer Institute.  It was there that we had to make incredibly difficult decisions.  We had to choose between continuing treatments and letting her go.  The chemo and radiation we had been attempting previously were not working as the doctors had hoped they would.  We decided to try one last treatment.  The next day, we moved her to a care center here in Ogden.  For a few days following the treatment, she seemed to improve.  She was more aware of her surroundings and was able to laugh and joke with us.  She went downhill after that, though.  We each spent hours helping her walk the halls of the care center.  If one of us was there, she was decently happy.  Otherwise she was sad.
She spent the last few weeks of her life at home.  We took turns taking care of her and talking to her.  And, for the first little bit, helping her walk around the house.  I helped her walk to the front room one morning and played and sang for her.  My only regret during this time is that I never really said goodbye to her.  I just couldn't bring myself to do it.  But I think she understood that.
A few days after my senior year started, I woke up about 11:30 with terrible cramps.  I got up and took painkillers, soaked in the tub for a bit and then moved to the tv room where I put on Anne of Green Gables and drifted off to sleep.  At 2:00 AM on August 26, my Dad woke me to tell me that my sweet momma had passed away.  My siblings came and spent the wee hours of the morning together.  We cried a little, but mostly we enjoyed each other's company.  We joked and laughed as we looked through scrapbooks and planned for the funeral.  I'm grateful that she passed in the middle of the night, because it gave us a chance to have some privacy and some time as just a family.  Those were probably some of the most peaceful hours of the whole ordeal.  At one point, just after everyone had arrived, we'd been joking and laughing a little and we looked over at Mom.  The corners of her mouth seemed to have turned up into a small smile.  It made each of us smile, knowing that she must have been looking down on us with a smile on her face too.