"Momma, Momma, wake up. I think it's time." It's our daughters quietly, almost reverently, letting me know that moment that I've dreaded, no, we've all dreaded most these past couple of days...is here. It was probably my husband, too...funny how our brains can only take in so much at one time, perhaps because our hearts are breaking and nothing, absolutely nothing actually happens quite the way you imagine it.
Lifting my eyes toward the bed, I see her. I have the only extra bed in the hospital room, so my eyes focus first on waking. But I see her, eyes half closed, mouth open, chest hardly disturbing the sheets. Her sunken features making her Mrs. Claus--like expression barely recognizable, her twinkling eyes dull and mostly closed. My feet carry me to her side. I really do not want to go. Everything seems surreal, like a dream; but this is no dream. I whisper "Momma I love you" and take her fragile hand and watch. The breaths are ever so slight. Was that another? But no, all the air is still. Only a slight stirring of air and then no more. Sort of like watching that ever so brief moment of pink sky before it's beauty fades away into gray. It only takes moments. I've heard the expression, "You are only one heart beat away from eternity." True, but as the heart gets weaker and the breaths more shallow, one cannot hardly distinguish between life and death. It can be so subtle. The faces of family all standing around the bed, staring, waiting for another breath, but another breath is not to be. Did I kiss her? Could she feel my touch? Could she hear the soft farewells from family? Oh, my God, I almost didn't wake up in time! Gentle sobs and still expressions of disbelief fill the room.
All the rest remains a blur. Her nurse was called in, vitals checked. The coroner was summoned and the official death watch was over, just like that. Time/date of death: 4:32 AM on September 16, 2017. The sun wasn't even up yet. Darkness outside the window. Darkness in our hearts. Emptiness.
Everyone had been together in that County hospital room earlier that night-- my husband, our three daughters and their families. All stayed, except our baby girl and her husband. Just a few hours before they went to our house trying to find relief from an ill-timed toothache of mammoth proportions and exhaustion from the almost 900 mile trip home less than 24 hours before.
We'd all gone over everything at least a thousand times. And still, we could not help but try again and again to put together the series of events that led us to this place...to make sense out of the unbelievable. You see while my Momma was indeed 90 years old, the events that led to her death were far from natural.
Monday
Was it only Monday that Tiffany visited her Granny and painted her fingernails?
"What color would you like me to paint your nails today?"
"Oh that's a pretty color, I like that one!" Pink it is.
How is one to know they are painting fingernails one day for a funeral just days away? That answer is pretty simple, how could you know?
Tuesday
The excitement to share some of the pictures from Ireland and Scotland, a recent bucket list retirement trip taken by my husband and myself, outweighed any need for a much needed nap. So, bright and early Tuesday with SD cards in hand, I walked into Wal-Mart with almost nothing and walked out that afternoon with a boatload of hard copy photos to share with my Mom at the nursing home. How did she get there? Everything began in 2003 with her first stroke. From there Mom lived with us until she recovered enough to purchase a house near us and sell the one in Louisiana...the one I spent the better part of my life growing up in. After that, dementia and heart disease took its toll. I kept her here at our home and cared for her everyday after work and on weekends, with help from our daughters and my husband, until she suffered her 2nd major stroke. After that and other health problems I made the decision to let others provide her much needed medical care in 2012. An adjustment for all, however I knew that I could no longer provide all she needed. You do know there are people out there who struggle with this, right? The fact is...people get sick....people judge...caregivers step in...people judge....caregivers run short on energy...people judge...caregivers feel guilty....people judge. But back to the pictures and that Tuesday...…. First order of business? A call to staff at Glen Oaks Nursing Center, the nursing home my mother called home for the last few years..
"Hi! This is Brenda. Would you have Mom dressed and ready for me to meet her in the front room? I have a LOT of pictures from our trip to share."
"Yes ma'am we will have her up and in the front room."
(I make the 20 minute drive)
"Well, Hi Momma! I see they have you dressed. Would you like to look at some pictures of Ireland with me in the front room? " (Nothing new...she's dressed, but still in her room. It's late evening)
"You have pictures of where?"
"Ireland, Mom. Skip and I went there and saw where your family used to live."
"You did?"
"We sure did and I have a bunch of pictures we can look at. Let's roll around to the front room and look at them."
(I push her to the large front room asking about her morning, what she ate today...It's all pureed and not too memorable...we laugh...we talk)
"These sure are pretty. Where'd you say you've been? "
"Ireland, Mom, we went to Ireland."
"That's where some of my family came from you know," Mom reminds me.
"I know Mom. Isn't this cool that we could see the country where your great-great grandparents lived?"
"It sure is green there. You went all the way to Ireland?"
One picture after another and each time I tell her where we were and what we were doing. The eyes began to get that sleepy look and she nodded a time or two until I asked if she wanted me to take her back to her room. I'm disappointed, but for her, it's getting late even though it's still daylight.
"No! Brenda Sue, I want to keep looking at these pictures, they're so pretty. But I am a little sleepy, can't keep my eyes open."
I tried to keep her alert and awake enough to see the church where her ancestors attended in Dublin and the REALLY cool monument they have on the wall to commemorate some of our family
{another story for another time, but just because it is pretty neat to be connected to history....
click here to check out the story. My mother's family, Seagraves/also spelled Sedgraves was traced back here.}
BUT, I gave up trying to keep her awake and resolved to come back the next time a little earlier so that we could enjoy the pictures without being sleepy. Mom's dementia sometimes seemed to get in the way and then sometimes it almost seemed like almost no problem at all, although the times of not remembering details was certainly becoming more frequent, so I knew the next time just might be another brand new visit. But that would be okay. And then again, she could surprise me sometimes by remembering the slightest details like:
"Brenda Sue, that blouse looks just like one I have." And I'm thinking now how in the world does she remember a blouse that she has not worn or seen in more than 5 years? Yep, it fit me fine and I had looked at it long enough in her closet at the house, surely she would not remember it. Wrong. A smile crossed my lips and I said, " You did? Well, how about that!" Moving along....
I wish I could remember more details about that Tuesday, but I can't. When Momma got so sleepy that she couldn't keep her eyes open, I rolled her in her Geri-chair back down the main hall, turned right at the nurses' desk and asked them if her aids could come and help her get into bed. Yes they would tell them. She had been designated as a "2-person assist" so, two CNA's would come in with a Hoyer lift and transfer her just like they've been doing for the past year or so. We rolled in the room and sure 'nuff the eyes popped open.
"We're not going to finish looking at those pictures?"
"Mom, I'll come back and we'll finish looking at them later this week, ok? Someone's going to come and put you in bed so you can go back to sleep. You must be tired this evening."
"Well, I'm ready to go to bed."
"OK. they'll be here in a few minutes." This is the time everyone's going to bed, so it could be a while. I turned the Geri-chair where she could see the door and see the ever running TV, if she wanted, made sure she was comfy, kissed her and waited for her to say her usual,
"You're going so soon?" (It never mattered if I was there for hours or a few minutes) Then, as always, "Mom I love you...see you later."
"I love you too!"
"I'll bring the pictures back and we'll have some coffee and look at them when I come back."
"Oh, ok, I'd like some coffee."
"I love you."
"I love you too"
"See you later"
"I love you." Why is it that this always becomes the hardest thing to do? It is the part that makes so many stop coming to visit their loved ones. And why so often did it feel better to wait until those snores came to walk out the door? But then there were days where all the I love you's were said and the see ya later's only to walk back into the room one minute later to hear, "Well, where have you been I haven't seen you in a while." Ya never know. I just know that it was such a big, big blessing to leave without seeing or hearing any tears from that chair or that bed, especially that evening. Yet, I'm pretty certain, especially in the beginning, there were tears. I know there was Kleenex for mine waiting for me in the car. Yet, back to this part of the story, my last step out the door was
"Good night, Momma" as she called out good night to me.... one last time.
Little did I know....
No comments:
Post a Comment