She had battled cancer for 11 years, until her body just couldn't take it any more. The brain tumors didn't kill her. Between treatment and general stress on her body, her bloodstream just shut down.

I'm still in too much shock to be able to write anything that will even give you an inkling who my mother was and what she meant, but I think I'm finally ready to tell you what happened.

One week ago this past Wednesday, Shawn and I were sick and sleeping all day long. We'd gotten a nasty bout of food poisoning, and spent a lovely morning taking turns throwing up and napping. Just after midnight, I received a call from my dad, telling me it was time to go home. He scored me a bereavement fare for the next day.

I attempted to get some sleep and packed in a frenzy. Stopped into work and then took off for the airport. After a small episode in Chicago, I made it home in time to catch mom in her last evening of lucidity. She told me she was scared of a few things, but one of them was gone, meaning she was worried I wouldn't make it in time. So Mom knows I was there, and for at least one night, she knew who I was. I don't know whether she did after that, though, because she only said, "Uh-huh"s Friday, and then nothing from Friday night on.

Those couple of days, watching mom fade away, were some of the worst of my life. She told us she just didn't want to die back there alone, so Mollie, Carrie, Dad and I took turns, pretty much sitting vigil.

She died quietly in bed Sunday evening, at about 5:30 p.m., holding the hand of one of her best friends. When the friend came over, we all cut out to give them a little private time, and that's when she went. At first, I felt guilty that I wasn't actually back there when she died, but mom's friend made me feel a lot better. She thinks mom waited on purpose, so none of us would have to actually see the life leave her body.

There isn't much to say about this week. Many firsts. The first time I've ever chosen a coffin. First time I've ever flirted with a guy who works in a funeral home. The first time I've ever hugged a lot of people I'd previously only heard about.

After a parent dies, a lot of people want to tell you they're sorry. It's hard for me to make eye contact with most of those people, and I don't know why. A lot of time is spent in or near churches, listening to a pastor you barely know say tons of nice things.

If you're in my family, a lot of time is spent drinking Crown and Seven, smoking, and singing loudly along with Louis Prima and The Mamas And The Papas. Tons of cards arrive, but the "Get Well"s and "Happy Birthday"s sent to mom soon become "We're Sorry"s sent to dad.

A lot of food is eaten, but none of it tastes very good. I've never seen so many cassaroles in my life. People have filled our fridge, and it seems like there's a whole new food layout wherever we go.

But who cares? I really just miss my mom.

I feel sorry for my sisters, and for my dad. I feel sorry for my mom's dog, who is clearly a sad, sad puppy. And I feel sorry for me. Before this week, I didn't know that it was possible for a person to feel this sad.

I will tell you one more thing about grief. It makes you really, really tired. I'm fucking exhausted, and I have to leave for Florida in the morning.

So I'm going to bed.