*This is an honest look at the process of losing a parent. Some things described might be hard to read.
Mom and her youngest granddaughter, Avery
I haven't blogged at all about my mom lately. Mostly because I didn't really want to give what was happening a voice. If I gave it a voice, then it was real. But, at some point, sadly, everyone had to give truth to the realities of their life and the reality of mine is ... my mom is dying. Those of you who know us well, know that my mom suffered a debilitating stroke 15 yrs ago next month. Three weeks after Pete and I got married AND the day we moved to New York to start our lives together, my mom's health journey began. I remember driving up to see my family that day. Pete and I were driving different cars, all packed to the rim, so we could start our married life in a brand new state. We were full of adventure and excitement when we walked into my parents' yellow house. When we got there, we were approached by dad telling us that mom wasn't ok. I walked inside to see my mom limping and her words were slurred. She had been diagnosed with MS a few months before and was convinced that this was her first major MS episode. We stuck around for about a half hour, gave our hugs and goodbye wishes, and as we walked out to the cars, I looked at my dad and said, "She needs to go the hospital." I knew something more was happening. Sure enough, when mom finally allowed my dad (yes, she was stubborn!) to take her, they immediately admitted her. She was having a stroke. The next time I talked to her, her voice was changed. She grumbled her words. She had lost all use of her right arm and she walked with a cane, because of the loss of mobility and feeling in her leg.
Fast forward 15 yrs later and we are watching my mom, who has declined over the years through a series of additional strokes and the onset of dementia, lose her life battle. We were called by the nursing home, that she has been a resident in for 3 yrs now, to tell us that they thought it was time to discuss hospice. Little did they know we had been discussing it ourselves. In fact, on Mother's Day just a few weeks ago, we all talked about taking her off her meds and letting nature take its course. Since March she had stopped eating and barely drank. She was unable to use a straw, so spoonfuls of water were fed to her to keep her hydrated, which wasn't working well. So, when they called, we knew what the decision would be. Yes. Put her in hospice and take her off all of her meds. It was time to say goodbye.
I went back and forth about my need to go visit her. I had made peace several years ago that she was ready to die. What did I need to go and see her for, when I was already ok with that choice? Well, I decided to go ahead and go. I mean, I'm her daughter. I need to do hard things sometimes, so I would do this. My son Noah decided to come with me. I was nervous, I'm not going to lie. I'm not an overly emotional person. My sister is a nurse and I've always said "Em's the one that will take care of you and I'll make you laugh while she does.". That's my job. To bring humor and lightness into the situation. So, I prepared myself to make some jokes, make her smile, but also give her hugs and remind her that I love her. What I walked in to today I was not prepared for. She was sick. Really sick. In that first moment of seeing her, I realized how selfish I had been in my thinking. Maybe I felt I didn't need to see her (which I absolutely did!), but SHE needed to see ME. Laying in front of me, was my mom, frail and hurting. In the 5 months since I last saw her, she's lost probably 60+ lbs. She was panicked and wide-eyes and choking. I don't share this to make it a voyeuristic display of her final days, but to share honestly what it's like for a daughter to witness the end stages of a dying parent. She's hungry and thirsty and can't physically eat or drink. I thought she was refusing because she wasn't interested. She's refusing, because she can't. Her body won't let her. She chokes and gasps and coughs when she's given something to swallow. Dad tried to give her small spoonfuls of "thick water". She very deliberately would take each and swallow to the best of her ability. She got two spoonfuls down and I celebrated that with her, but the third was coughed up. She looked at us with pain in her eyes. Dear God. My mom's body is failing her. It's falling apart right in front of my eyes and there is nothing I can do about it.
We left shortly after that, so they could come in and give her a bath. We talked to the hospice nurse, who had been in her room this entire time, comforting her, soothing her. Dad, Noah, and I went to the lobby. I had made Noah sit in the hallway while we were in there with mom. He wasn't as scared as he was sad, he said. But, how can you not be scared when you're 11 and see your nana hurting so much? While we were in the lobby, Em and her girls came. We spent some time letting them throw coins in the fountain, letting them enjoy some lightheartedness, while we sat there in pain. We decided after a little while to head back to check on mom. The door was still closed, but Em, the nurse, walked right in. She said she recognized the look of pain on mom's face as soon as she walked in. She was much calmer now though and we complimented her on her bright pink fingernails. Quite fabulous, mom! :-) We laughed together and smiled. We brought Noah and the girls in and she smiled with them. But, she kept looking at Em with those wide-eyes. She was trying to voice something that she couldn't speak. Em looked at her and said, "Mom, are you in pain" and mom, who has been unable to really speak for quite a long time now, just nodded her head. She ordered her pain meds and when she saw mom looking again at her, she saw what I saw, which was sadness. Em said to her, "You're going to go home soon" and mom understood that, I think. After we said goodbye again, we left and in my mind I just kept saying, "Please, Lord, let it be soon.". Witnessing the final days of a parent that has been there for you when you've hurt your knees when you've fallen off your bike. Who has made chocolate pudding and popcorn, so you could all watch "Wizard of Oz" on the tv during that once-a-year showing and make it super-special. That person who would sew you and your doll matching outfits and make sure you had a brand new Easter Dress with matching bonnet.... When you see them struggling in a broken body, there really are no words. You can't help them. There is nothing you can physically do to make her well. All you can do is call about your Savior and plead with them to take her HOME and restore her again. I hope my mom understood my sister when she said, "Soon."
My brother is driving out from New Hampshire tomorrow night, also realizing his need to see her and for her to see him. We hope that all she needs is one more moment with him, before she can lay back and say she's done. My brother and I cried on the phone as we discussed my experiences with her today. We know the end is coming and we both agree, heck, we ALL agree, that mom deserves to be released from this earthly prison. So, the next few days will be hard ones, but all of us, in unison are crying out to God.... soon.



