I was sharing a bed with my mom for a few weeks, my dad switched with me because mom and I were both severely ill at the time. We both were getting IV morphine and nausea medication, along with TPN, which is a backpack filled with a milk-like nutrient substance. All of these medications attached to us via tubes connected to our port’s which were implanted beneath our skin to the right of our hearts.

We watched a lot of TV while ill. ‘Animal Planet’ was our favorite channel in the mornings. This particular morning the show we were watching was about a polar bear family. The mother bear was playful and aloof but at a moments notice she could become a fierce force not to be reckoned with, ferociously protecting her cubs. I think we watched it partly out of jealousy and partly in hopes that one day we’d be health and happy again.

During the commercial break mom asked me to fill her water bottle. My brothers were at school and my dad just left for work. I mustered up the endergy and walked to the kitchen. Not a minute passed when I heard a crash. I dropped the water bottle and hurried to her room.

Her IV stand lay across the bed and her pale motionless body at the foot of the bed. Somehow she was face up and seemed at peace. The emotions I felt seeing her laying there caused unbelievable pain, worse than any physical pain I’ve experienced. I called 911, withe the phone to my ear, I laid down trying to revive her. Our small black poodle whimpering next to us.

Two minutes went by, she wasn’t conscious, but breathing. The paramedics would be there in three minutes I was told. I laid down next to her, resting my head on her shoulder, looking into her eye’s and suddenly our world went quite. Everything around us was still. I stopped crying, and Henry, the poodle, stopped his whimpering and I felt her life drift away.

The ‘Animal Planet’ show ended with the mother bear being shot and her cubs taken away and caged. That show became my life that morning. My strong, ferocious, loving mother was taken away and I was caged in a sadness that will never go away.

February 17th is my mother, Connye Jo Miller’s birthday. She would have been 46 years old. In honor of her, and all the other people living with Porphyria, visit the American Porphyria Foundations’ website and make a donation.