No guilt, my mom said. She didn’t want me to feel any guilt for her fatal diagnosis. I told her that I felt guilty, or maybe just naive, that I didn’t encourage her to get her pesky gastrointestinal problems looked at sooner. She had been complaining of digestive issues for a bit, prompted by a batch of spicy chili, and I thought her newly sensitive stomach was run-of-the-mill aging.
It turned out to be a football-sized tumor that a biopsy revealed to be stage 4B aggressive uterine cancer (carcinosarcoma) that had metastasized to her bones, pelvis, etc.. The doctor said it was rare and fast growing, and that no one was to blame. It probably happened within the last few months, he said as we sat in his office in mid-April.
With treatment, she could live maybe up to two years. Without treatment, she might live two months or up to six months. Sometimes patients live longer when they are comfortable, he said. I cried at the possibility of only two years with treatment. My mom quickly said she wanted hospice care at home, and asked if I agreed. I said that I did, as chemotherapy could be difficult and would ultimately lead to the same end result. The cancer had already spread, and hope wasn’t really part of the equation.
It seems natural or instinctual to want to extend life as much as possible, even by just a couple of years, but my mom said herself that she had enjoyed a great life, and the choice was obvious. The journey is the reward was her motto.
But this was all new to me. It was like getting married or becoming pregnant for the first time. I had to learn all about death, and quickly. It’s true when you hear that hospice teams are wonderful. They helped tremendously, and I am so thankful to nurses.
In the 36 days from the first emergency room visit to my mom’s death, I learned a lot about the process of dying, but mostly I learned about love. In life, my mom and I had a strong bond, but we didn’t always agree on topics of politics, religion, or pandemics. In death, there was only love along with humor and sweetness.
I brushed her hair and brought her fresh glasses of Aldi milk and cold tap water. I thanked her a lot for being a great mom, but she didn’t want me to be sad, and thinking about how she raised us as a single mom while keeping her house and working hard at various jobs always would make me cry.
She remained good spirited, and when my brother would panic after calling without her answering, we came up with a text to send to him: NDY for “not dead yet.”
We got along really well in those last days, and she would say the most endearing things, like, “I just like looking at your face.” She was always full of compliments even to strangers, and she would notice my hair or my outfit every time I stopped by. She liked my coordinated army green outfit and my cropped black sweater. “You always look so cute,” she’d say. Moms are the best.
When we thought she might have six months to live, I asked her what things she wanted to do, like an end-of-life bucket list, and we quickly made plans to eat Gario’s Pizza, go see the tulips at the sunken gardens, and she also wanted to go to White Fence Farm on Mother’s Day. We did get to take her to Phillips Park to see the tulips April 26. She was too tired to get out of the car, so she looked out the car window as we slowly drove by.
She quickly progressed over the next week and a half. My brother flew in April 30, the same day I met with Healy Chapel to make funeral arrangements. The next few days were a whirlwind, but we didn’t need a continuous care nurse until May 7. My mom died May 8.
I was so grateful to be able to care for her. It was a true joy. A few days before she died, we sat around her dining room table – my brother, me, my husband, and our son – to eat dinner, and although she wasn’t eating with us, my mom said, “This will be the best dinner of my life.”
Her positive attitude was always contagious, and I’m so honored that she was my mom.
Local historian and friend Tracy Duran shared this about my mom, “Jill was a true champion of Aurora, co-founding the “Aurora, Illinois… Our City of Brilliant Lights, Past & Present” group in 2013 with Vicki Moore. Her love for our city shone through every beautiful photo she took and every story she shared. I was honored to work alongside Jill as a co-admin for the page, sharing her passion for preserving and celebrating Aurora’s past.
Jill inspired me to dig deeper, to seek out the most accurate and meaningful pieces of Aurora’s history. Her passion for preserving and celebrating our city’s past will continue to inspire me—and so many others—for years to come.
Beyond her love of Aurora’s history, Jill also created beauty in her own backyard, lovingly tending her beautifully manicured garden at her adorable pink house on Aurora’s west side.
Thank you, Jill, for seeing the beauty in Aurora and helping all of us see it too. You will be deeply missed.”
Add these art events to your 2025 calendar:
•June 6 First Fridays, Aurora
•June 13 Second Fridays, Batavia
•July 26 and 27 Geneva Arts Fair, Geneva.
•August 30 Alley Art Festival, Aurora.
alleyartaurora.com.
Marissa Amoni is the owner of Marissa Bright, a public relations and event management company specializing in shining the light on nonprofits and small businesses. She runs Alley Art Festival, celebrating 15 years this year. Follow her on Instagram @marissashinesbright. Visit a full calendar of art events on alleyartaurora.com/artscene.