I woke up this morning thinking about my Mother. She had
Parkinson's disease and was in a nursing home in the same room as my Grandmother. (Mom arrived there a few years before Grandma.) Grandma always seemed to be watching over my Mother. When Grandma 1st came to the nursing home, they tried to put her in another room. Grandma kept going to Mom's room and didn't want to leave. Eventually, they gave in and put them in the same room together.
In October of 2005, my Mother seemingly had a stroke which left her unresponsive. She was in the last stages of her disease. Mom had a living will, which meant she did not want to be kept alive by any artificial means. I got a call from the nursing home when this change came about. The next 10-13 days were the worst in my life.
We were told they didn't really know how long she would last but the nurse that I spoke with said that she personally hadn't had any patients in that situation last more than 10 days. I stayed at Mom's side as much as I could during this time. They told me she could hear so I did talk to her. I held her hand and found myself wanting somehow to give her comfort. There was little I could do. A chart was placed by her bed to let the aids know when she was to be turned so that she wouldn't get bed sores. She got them anyway.
During my daytime hours there I took small breaks to sit on the bench which was provided at the front entrance of the nursing home. It was fall so the leaves were gently floating down off the trees. The season was ending.
It seemed like the days were all running together during this time. Day after day I came to sit with my Mother and watched as the pounds seemed to melt away to skin and bones. Due to the terms of the living will, she had not even an I.V.
My brothers were working during the day so I came for the
daytime hours and they stayed with Mom at night. We did not want her to die alone. (During all this, my Grandma watched from what seemed like the safety of the doorway from her wheelchair.)
After about 10 days, my oldest brother urged me to go back to work for bit. I think I went for a day. This was much harder than being with Mom because I felt the need to act like I was O.K. Part of me wanted to cry out to the rest of the world "How could the daily routines be going on as if this wasn't happening?" But, it does and it did.
I believe it was around 13 days total.
It's all run together so I cannot remember exactly. We were finally told by the nurse that Mom's time would be soon. All four of us siblings (me and my brothers) were all there. On October 17, 2005, my Mother drew her last breath. My brother gently reached over and closed her eyes. It was like closing a book at it's end. It was the end of her earthly story.
When there was nothing else required or needed from me there, I walked out of Mom's room, out to the car and drove home. (There must have been an angel in there with me because I arrived safely.)
It seemed to me that my reaction to Mom's death was all wrong somehow. Why wasn't I sobbing? Why didn't I feel it more? I was just going through motions I guess. I think my family was concerned because I came home and gave them the final news and proceeded to get Mom's things ready for the funeral. The next day, my brothers and I had to go pick out a
cemetery plot since Mom had none. The nursing home also wanted her things removed so we did that too. Somehow we got through those next few days and we are left with the memories.
I try to think of only the good memories of Mom but I seem to be haunted by the images of her last days. There have been days when I have awakened in tears with those images presenting themselves to me once again.
I went back after a couple of weeks and made sure I made regular visits to see Grandma but it was really hard to go into that room and see the bed my Mother had occupied for 6 years now occupied by someone
else's Mother.
Just a little over a year later, over Thanksgiving, my Grandma also passed away. Why am I telling this? Why now? I don't really know but perhaps God does.
