A new chapter, and phone call that changed everything...

This was a very hard post to make… and honestly, I’ve been sitting here for days trying to figure out how even to start. I’ve written a lot of things in my life — stories, posts, recipes, thoughts — but nothing prepares you for writing something like this. Nothing prepares you for trying to put words around a moment that cracked your world open and left you standing in the quiet afterward, wondering what the hell just happened.

So I’m just going to tell it the way it happened.

Before Everything Changed

The trip to Colorado started beautiful. One of those mornings where the sky is clear and the air feels like it’s trying to tell you something good is coming. Mom was in great spirits — better than she had been in a while. She kept saying how good it felt to get out of the house and away from the dust and the smells of the oilfield towns in New Mexico. She hated Carlsbad. Hated how the air felt heavy and dirty. So just being on the road felt like a breath of fresh air for her.

She even said her vision felt better that morning. She was excited — genuinely excited — talking about maybe being able to see her mountain when we got to my property. She always called it her mountain, even though it was just the one she liked to look at when we talked about the future. And we talked a lot about the future that morning. About moving forward once we got settled in Colorado. About finally having a place that felt peaceful.

We’d been talking about me becoming her live‑in caregiver. I’d been laid off and struggling to find work in a field that i was qualified for, and that paid enough, and wasn't going to require me to be on my feet for hours. Unfortunately the nerve issues that i had been having in my lower back and legs were, as much as I didn't want to admit it getting worse. Being on my feet for extended time difficult and painful. I needed to find something where I could sit down frequently or was behind a desk, like the job that I just got laid off from in the Operations Center, or even maybe a remote job that I was qualified for that I could do at home. i was not having any luck in my searches. So on her own she’d found a couple programs in Colorado, that she qualified for, where i could get paid to do what i was doing everyday already - be a full time, live caregiver and she wanted me to move forward with it once we got settled. It felt like a plan — something steady, at least for the time being, Something that would slow the bleeding of all of the money I had to my name, so I could start using it to build out the property for us.

And Tess… well, Tess was just happy to be going anywhere with me. That dog doesn’t care where we’re headed as long as she’s in the truck.

A Few Days That Felt Like a New Beginning

The hotel was comfortable, and Tess did her usual routine — jumping between the beds like she owned the place. Mom laughed to the point that she had tears in her eyes, and I remember thinking how good it was to hear her full on laugh like that.

Mom was also over the moon about eating some good food, real food — not the stuff you get in oilfield towns where everything tastes like it was cooked in the same fryer. That was honestly one of the things she was most looking forward to on the trip.

That night, after we ate, I messaged a couple property owners about rentals I’d found online. I was hoping to secure something quickly so we could finish packing and finally make the move. I set up appointments for the next morning, and everything felt like it was lining up.

The next day, after a solid breakfast at the hotel restaurant, we headed out to look at the rentals. The first place was… fine. Old, cramped, not much natural light — not ideal for Mom. And too far from my property.

But the second place… that one felt right, from the moment we pulled up.

It sat outside of town, almost directly between town and my property, on six acres. The rental had its own little half‑acre spot, a fenced yard perfect for Tess, and a big garden area that Mom immediately started imagining planting in. Inside, the house was one level, open, full of natural light, spacious, with a big kitchen and good‑sized bedrooms, two full bathrooms. And most importantly, it was fully ADA accessible.

The landlords, Debbie and Mike were retired, friendly, down‑to‑earth people — the kind you feel comfortable with right away. They loved Tess (of course), and they even offered to check in on Mom or be available in case of emergencies when I was away working on my property or grocery shopping. That made both Mom and me feel more at ease.

The price was right. The location was perfect. The setup was ideal.

We didn’t even bother looking at the other houses. We knew this was the one.

I paid the deposit on the spot. Called my landlord, in New Mexico, and put in my notice.

Just like that, in less than 24 hours after starting the trip, we had our new home in Colorado. Thank God.

The Last Good Day

The next couple days were peaceful. Mom talked nonstop about the garden she wanted to plant, how she wanted to set up her new bedroom, how excited she was to finally have a place that felt like home.

We explored the area a little, ate good food, and just enjoyed being somewhere that felt like a fresh start.

On the fourth day, I wanted to go check out my property and the surrounding area. So we headed out and spent most of the day doing just that. We even met one of the other property owners near my lot and talked for a couple hours about contractors and who to talk to for certain parts of the buildout.

At the property, Mom sat quietly for a while, just taking in the warmth of the sun and the peace and quiet. We talked about where I’d put her house, what she wanted to do with her space, how she planned to set up her little garden so she could sit outside in the mornings and watch the wildlife and see her mountain.

It was a good day. A full day. And by the end of it, we were both tired. So we headed back to the hotel.

And that’s when everything changed.

The First Sign Something Was Wrong

I stopped to get fuel, and Mom started having trouble catching her breath. She’d just gotten over a chest cold, and we wondered if the altitude was affecting her. She insisted she was fine and just wanted to get back to the hotel and rest.

But after a couple hours, it was clear things were getting worse. We were both concerned. I called an ambulance, and she was taken to the nearby hospital.

They ran tests and found fluid in her lung, elevated blood pressure, and a high heart rate. They got those under control, but after her overnight stay, they decided she needed to be transferred to the cardiac ward at the medical center in Pueblo. So that evening, they flew her out.

I kept in contact with the doctors. They said she was stable, doing fine, responding well to antibiotics for her pneumonia. She was annoyed about messing up the trip — I told her she hadn’t — and she wasn’t happy about being poked and prodded, but she said she was okay. She asked me to bring some of her stuff when I came the next day.

The Hospital in Pueblo

I was completely in my head during the hour‑long drive to Pueblo. Worried. Thinking too much. Even though everything seemed fine.

I called my niece in Oregon, like I always did when something was going on with Mom, and told her what was happening.

At the hospital, Mom seemed to be doing good. Feisty, even. She was arguing with the nurses because they kept giving her too many pills at once, which made her sick. She kept trying to explain that they needed to space them out, but apparently the instructions weren’t being passed between shifts. She was irritated, but otherwise in decent spirits.

The doctor told me she had responded well to the medications. Her blood pressure and heart rate were much better. They still needed to run more tests, and she needed to finish her antibiotics, but nothing he saw was concerning. He said she probably wouldn’t be discharged until Monday or Tuesday.

Mom and I talked about what we needed to do going forward. I mentioned extending the hotel stay, but she suggested something else — going to a rehab or care facility temporarily while I packed up the house and made the move. After a long discussion, we agreed it would be easier and safer for her. She wouldn’t have to deal with the stress of packing or the long drives.

So Tess and I said goodbye to her, and we headed back to the hotel, then back to New Mexico the next morning.

The Myriad of Phone Calls

I talked with her on the phone while driving back, and again Friday and Saturday. She was doing good. Getting better. The doctor even said there was nothing troubling and that she would be ready for discharge as planned.

I made sure to keep my neice in Oregon updated, and then I turned my attention toward what i needed to get done. I spent the rest of the time packing, moving toward moving day.

The Call That Broke Everything

Sunday morning… everything came crashing down.

I woke up, headed toward the backyard to take Tess out, and my phone rang. I almost ignored it, but the number was from the medical center in Colorado. I thought it was the caseworker calling about the discharge.

It wasn’t.

It was the doctor. He sounded rushed. He told me Mom had coded while he was in the room. He said her records showed she was DNR and needed me to confirm it since I was her primary caregiver and sole emergency contact.

In the background, all I could hear all of the medical monitors alarms going off. That is a sound that I will never be able to unhear again.

It took me a second to process what he was saying. Then I had to confirm it, as hard as it was — yes, she was DNR. She didn’t want life‑saving measures.

And then… I just dropped the phone.

Just like that, my mother — the one who always had my back, the one who sacrificed everything as a single parent, the one who worked three and four jobs so we could live in a decent neighborhood, the one who gave up her dreams to take care of my grandmother, the one who made me laugh, the one who never gave up on me — was gone, and i never got to say goodbye...

In one phone call, my entire life upended.

I fell apart.

The Quiet Afterward

After I collected myself, I made the calls I needed to make to inform the family. Then I sat in my big stuffed chair in the quiet house, half‑packed boxes everywhere, Tess laying in my lap, and I just stared at the walls.

My brain was fogged out. Empty. Heavy.

Where do I go from here?

I still don’t fully know.

Trying to Make Sense of It

I’ve replayed every moment of that trip in my head — the excitement, the plans, the hope, the laughter, the food, the house we found, the garden she wanted to plant, the mountain she wanted to see. All of it.

It was supposed to be the beginning of something new. Something better. Something peaceful.

Instead, it became the last trip we ever took together.

I keep thinking about how good she felt that first morning. How she said her vision was clearer. How she talked about the future. How she smiled at Tess jumping between the hotel beds. How she sat quietly on my property, soaking in the sun.

I hold onto those moments because they were real and they were good. And they were ours and they always will be.

But the truth is… I’m still lost. I’m still hurting. I’m still trying to figure out how to move forward when the person who was always a huge part of my life, is gone.

I know she’d tell me to keep going. To finish the move. To build the house. To plant the garden. To keep chasing the things I want.

But right now, I’m just trying to breathe through the fog.

A Final Thought

This post isn’t neat or polished. It isn’t some inspirational message wrapped up with a bow. It’s just me — trying to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense.

But I needed to write it. I needed to put it somewhere outside my own head.

If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you’ve ever lost someone suddenly, you know this feeling — this hollow, stunned, quiet ache. Hold your loved ones close.

I’m still figuring out where I go from here. But I know I’ll carry her with me — in every plan, every project, every sunrise on that Colorado mountain she wanted to be able to see.

And maybe that’s the first step forward to starting over.

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