Daughter's Intuition Is A Real Thing. If Only I Had Listened To Mine Sooner...

It’s been over a year now since my mom passed away, and yet even as I write those words, it still feels so unreal. When someone who played such a central, vital part of your everyday life suddenly vanishes into thin air, their absence leaves an indescribable sadness you simply can’t prepare for, even if you knew it was coming. And my family knew it was coming.

Ever since my mom was first diagnosed with Stage 4 pancreatic cancer, we all realized her time on this earth was limited. But while that knowledge gave us the chance to try and savor the time we still had together, it also came at a cost. A dark cloud always loomed above our heads, leaving us to wonder how many precious moments together we had left.

For two years, my mom fought as hard as she could, trying different chemos and radiation — she was even put on a clinical trial at one point. But as time went on, there was only so much her body could take. She grew weaker and more tired with every passing day.

In the summer of 2024, my husband and I traveled with our son across the country for our annual trip to New York, where my parents live. He always had the best time staying at his Grandma and Grandpa’s house — swimming in their pool, going to the beach, and just getting completely lavished with the kind of love only grandparents can provide. We all looked forward to the trip every year.

But as soon as we arrived, it felt different. The house was so much quieter. Mom was barely able to get out of bed, and when she did, it wasn’t for very long. To see a woman who was always such a bubbly, social butterfly — sunshine personified — to be bedridden and exhausted all the time, unable to come out and enjoy the fun, broke my heart.

I kept trying to convince myself that she could rebound from this and get better. She just needed to get some rest so she could be strong enough for another round of treatment that would help shrink the cancer, like it had done so many other times before. I desperately wanted to believe that. I needed to believe that because the alternative was simply too devastating.

Even as I helped her get dressed or convinced her to eat a few bites of food or tucked her into bed, like she did for me so many years ago, I spent the majority of our weeks-long visit in denial of what was happening right in front of me.

Then it was time for us to leave.

I remember feeling the boulder-sized pit in my stomach when I went to hug my mom goodbye. And then again, when my dad pulled the car out of the driveway with all of us loaded in and I saw Mom wave to us from the living room window.

It didn’t feel right.

Admittedly, I was always sad to say goodbye to my parents, but this was different. It didn’t just feel sad; it felt wrong. Suddenly, there was a nagging feeling inside of my head, screaming, begging me not to leave — to tell Dad to turn the car around and go back to the house.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but that voice was my intuition as a daughter warning me that I needed to stay. Mom needed me. But I pushed those worries away and reminded myself that my son needed to get back to his routine, and school was about to start up, and our dog was waiting for us, and I was needed there. I kept assuring myself that Mom would be fine and I would FaceTime with her soon and feel better about the whole thing. So off we went to the airport.

About a week after we got back home, my mom took a turn for the worse and ended up in the hospital for several days. By the time I was able to get a flight back to them, she was finally released home with the plan of having hospice come by the following week. I took a red eye on a Thursday evening and, thanks to a delay, I had to run across the airport to my connecting flight and almost didn’t make it. Fortunately, I did and was back at my parents’ house around 11 a.m. on Friday morning.

She died only a few hours later.

I’m grateful that I was able to see her and talk to her on that final day. She knew I was there, and we both told each other, “I love you.” So many people I talked to afterward said they think Mom held on as long as she did because she was waiting for me. There’s no way to prove that, of course, but it feels true.

I’m glad I was able to be by her side. I’m also extremely grateful for the wonderful relationship we had, both as a mother and daughter and as friends. I knew how much she loved me, and she knew how much I loved her. Knowing that brings me a great deal of comfort. But sometimes I can’t help but wish I had been there for her in those last few weeks leading up to her death. She had always been there when I needed her throughout my entire life, and it kills me that I wasn’t able to return the favor — not in the way I would’ve wanted to, at least.

The thing is, I know Mom would hate for me to feel this way. The sadness, the guilt... she’d tell me I was being silly and that I was a wonderful daughter to her. She’d tell me she knew how much I loved her, and that she wanted me to go home and be with my family. But that’s just it. She was my family too. The first family I’d ever known. If only I had listened to that little voice inside my head, I never would’ve left in the first place.

I try not to dwell on it. I know she wouldn’t want me to, but it’ll be something that, deep down, I’ll always regret.

You always hear about women's intuition or maternal instincts. Well, I think there’s also such a thing as a daughter's intuition: a strong feeling or instinctual pull that connects a daughter to her parents — especially her mother. Nothing can change the special bond that Mom and I share. Not even death. But I kick myself for not trusting in that little voice.

I’m living proof that daughter’s intuition is a real thing. I only wish I had listened to mine sooner.