Mom and I were close, very close. We laughed , we argued, we planned, we figured things out. Spent a lot of time together. Discussed every detail of my life, the kids, Mike, and her and Dad. Mom was one of those people who are like glue and magnets. She knew how to engage people and knit them together in a substantial way like glue, and people were drawn to her warmth like iron to a magnet. The last five years of her life she was in a wheelchair, her body failing her from forty years of insulin-dependent diabetes. She was overweight, partially blind from macular degeneration. She was on oxygen twenty four hours a day, due to chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Despite all this, she was full of life.
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| College graduation, Mike and I with my parents |
I got a phone call from Dad on December second, to come right away. Mom had fainted and fallen, and didn't want him to call 911. I was close by, and got there in about ten minutes. Mom had gotten herself back into bed and was lying on her right side. I lay next to her, she was crying. She said, Sara don't call the ambulance. I just want to die. I am ready. Please just let me die. Oh no Mom, I said. Let's get the ambulance, have them take you right to the Winter Park Hospital and let's see what happened, why you fell.
So we did and they came. For eighteen days in Winter Park Hospital we were hopeful. They tested Mom all around, she was walking a few steps with her walker, she was breathing better. She had a private room, we had a CD player with Christmas Carols going, we read from the Bible, from the Episcopal Prayer Book. So hopeful.
The morning of December twentieth, I walked into her room to see two nurses holding her up in bed, trying to get her sit up. She couldn't hold her head up, kept slouching her back, couldn't talk. It was as if she were continually almost waking up, then right away falling asleep. I told them to lie her back on the bed. They did. I called her doctors and Dr. W arrived within the hour. Her kidneys had shut down, her heart rate and blood pressure were below normal, her oxygen level was terribly low, her body was failing.
Thankfully we have fantastic General Practitioners who are willing to talk honestly. And pray with you. They explained to us what was happening to Mom's body. They would do their best to keep her comfortable throughout her dying. He had the IV and monitors disconnected. Medicines discontinued. The nurses came in every three hours to check Mom's pulse, that is it. And morphine if she ever grimaced or groaned as if in pain.
I stayed in the chair next to her that day. And the next. And the next. She lay there not moving. I massaged
moisture cream onto her feet and legs. I moistened her lips with water and lip goop. I prayed, sang, read to her. I talked to her. I told her it was okay to die.
The afternoon of December twenty second, Mom hadn't moved or spoken or opened her eyes in two days. I was sitting in my brown vinyl reclining chair next to her hospital bed. Mom was lying on her side, with her back to me. I heard her say, Sara, and then she giggled. Two days she hadn't moved to spoken a word. I shot up, leaned over her and said, What is it Mom?
She said, in a clear strong voice, Oh Sara the puppies, don't you love the puppies? So many puppies. Yes, I said. I love them. Her eyes were closed, she was gripping my hand in hers.
She went on, smiling and talking with animation, And the daisies. So many daisies. In the meadow, so beautiful. Daisies all around me. I can pick them. Aren't they beautiful, Sara?
Oh, they are beautiful Mom. Just beautiful.
And there's Uncle Charlie. Giggle - giggle. Uncle Charlie.
Who's Uncle Charlie, I ask. No answer.
Sara, You have been the best daughter I could ever have had. I am so happy.
Oh Mom, you have been the best mom. I love you so much.
Yes I know.
Silence.
Mom, what do you see now?
Daisies, daisies. Uncle Charlie is holding out his arms to me. He wants me to go with him. I love you.
Mom, go. It's okay. I love you.
Then she stopped talking. Didn't move. Didn't say another word. This was late in the afternoon of December twenty second. I was speechless. I had heard that she felt my love. Through all my years with Mom, the mistakes I made, anything I had done that had hurt her, she forgave me. She knew I loved her. Oh, thank you Lord for these words. And she was happy, dying was a happy ending for her. I knew what the puppies and daisies meant, but not Uncle Charlie.
Puppies. Mom's father's job was raising, showing and judging Golden Retrievers and Irish Setters. They had a six run Puppy Kennel at Tercor Kennels. It was like heaven in there. You would step into the puppy box and six to ten puppies would crawl all over you, licking and nudging and tumbling. I can even smell their warm smell now. Cuddly and cozy. Unconditional love.
Daisies. Mom's favorite flower. White with yellow centers. Her childhood home had a meadow beyond the kennels. In summer it was filled with wild daisies. Magical. The brook beyond, and past that the blueberries and asparagus patch. Joy as of a child.
Uncle Charlie. I asked Mom's sister who he was. He was their first relative to die, their mother's brother. My aunt remembered the funeral, the reception afterward at the house. My Mom saw her uncle reaching for her. Being carried by family. Family.
What a gift for me to hear. That Mom loved me, knew I loved her. That Mom wasn't afraid of death, in fact she giggled and was joyful. What a gift from God.
By 10 PM that evening, I was exhausted. I had been sleeping in the brown vinyl recliner for two nights, and had woken up every three hours anyway when the nurses come in. I craved a good night's sleep. So I prayed: Dear Lord, I know this sounds unusual, but you will understand. Could you keep Mom alive until tomorrow morning, or let her die right now? I am really tired and would appreciate a good night's sleep. I find it hard to believe I really prayed that, but I did. She died within the hour. Another gift.
Do you remember your thoughts the moment your mother died? I felt as if I were a boat and my anchor had been cut off. I was happy for her, to no longer be contained in flesh that failed her. Sadness for me missing her. Thinking of her feelings, I pictured her dancing, with a body that would let her move and be light and energetic. So I was so thankful for her she could now be free.
I hugged her and felt the warmth leave her flesh. I wanted one last hug. Mike and Dad came to her bedside with me. The nurse that night, who didn't work this hospital but had been scheduled this shift, was the mom of one of Mike's ex-little leaguers. So good to have her voice, which was familiar, telling me there was no pulse.
We drove home, I piled into cool sheets. It felt like I was lying down in a cloud. I fell right asleep, and I think I slept for two days.
What a gift, to hear Mom's words. Knowing she was happy, happy with me and happy to be moving on to heaven. Surrounded by love and beauty and family members.
I grieved Mom's death for weeks. The ache and tears receded over time. At random moments I miss her still. I will break out in tears wishing I could lean towards her and tell her something that's on my heart. Then she would look at me, put her arm around me, and talk with me about it. She didn't have all the answers, but she certainly would walk through it with me, whatever it was and however long it took.
I have thought, I am really glad for Mom that she is watching my breast cancer healing from heaven, where she sees the happy ending. When you know there is a happy ending, it makes the in between tough days a lot easier to take.
Everyone's life has a happy ending. That's my prayer.
