The End of the Road
Mom passed very early on Thanksgiving morning, being cradled by my brothers and me, in her hospital bed in my tv room/makeshift bedroom. She was oh so loved, and as far as deaths go, it was a good one.
Mom was never in pain and told me constantly (partially because she didn’t remember that she had told me already, and partially because she really felt it), that she felt so loved and well cared for. She was never ungrateful, and for as long as she had her words, she told us over and over how much she loved us and how happy she was to be staying with us.
She often forgot that her diagnosis was terminal, and after several times of telling her, I just decided to let it ride. If she didn’t want to think about it or discuss it, that was alright by me, because telling someone over and over that they’re dying, well, it sucks.
Agitation didn’t start until a day and a half before she died, and then I came to heavily rely on the ever-present cocktail of drugs provided by hospice to keep her settled. One of the meds, I forget which, was labeled as for the “gotta gos,” as in “I’ve gotta go to work” or “I’ve gotta go to the bathroom.” I am forever grateful for nurse Felicia, who visited after a particularly hellish night of trying to keep mom in bed and let me know, “we won’t be doing that any more.”
The three of us, my brothers and I, kept watch the day before she died, knowing that it would come soon, thanks to nurses and helpers. We stayed with her and talked to her as she slept, laughing and crying, and just wanting to all be over and not, at the same time.
Her funeral was lovely (as far as funerals go) and we all acted as a team, really considering each other and everything that had happened in that past month. Mom would have been pleased with the turnout and proud of us for the job we did honoring her. I am deeply grateful for my husband and kids, and for my brothers and their families as well. We all miss her like crazy, and Christmas was tough, but not unbearably so.
When the second parent dies, it feels as if you’ve become completely untethered, floating in nothingness, all alone. Whereas I used to call mom every morning on my walk into work, now I hate making the walk and not being able to talk to her, even though we had the exact same conversation every single day. I miss talking to her about every day stuff, gossiping, laughing, and hearing her say that she won’t be going into work today…ha ha ha…isn’t that funny?
So here I sit, figuring out next steps and what life do I really, really want to lead, because it all seems so fleeting now, even though she was old, and forgetful, and didn’t move around well. It feels so quick and so sudden because we never really thought she would leave us, especially from some weird cancer that would take her in less than a month.
Anyway, I guess it’s time to get back to cooking now.
Many thanks for bearing with me as I spill my guts. I’m grateful for you too.
Stay well-
Christine