Mom is dying II

As I entered their apartment for my daily visit, Dad was sitting a the kitchen table, a half-eaten sandwich by his elbow. He was reading the paper waiting for our hospice nurse, Laurie, to arrive. He was in good spirits as always, but frank in his assessment at Mom's condition. She couldn't turn the light on last night to go to the bathroom, became disoriented, and sat on the floor not knowing where to go. He had helped her up (I didn't want to know how).

I went into their bedroom to see if she was awake. She was laying asleep on her side, her left hand cramped up like a claw. Her breath came in shallow, irregular gasps, and she had a pained look on her face and a light bruise on her upper arm.

Laurie arrived and we talked about the course of treatment so far, and then visited Mom. Laurie explained to Mom how they will keep her comfortable. She explained why the cancer was so evidently painful right now. Mom watched her intently, flat on her back, her eyes still alive with movement, the rest of her body lifeless. She has gone downhill very fast. She speaks only in whispers, and it comes out unintelligible at times. I followed Laurie out of the room when she went to make some calls to get more supplies. I asked her, what did she think. Laurie gives her less than month, especially since we will be using morphine for pain and respiratory help. That tends to put the patient on the quick road to the end.

During all this, I at times stroked the bottom of Mom's feet, and the top of her head, and she held my hand tightly when I stayed by her side. As usual, she worried about what food we will have this weekend (Grant, Louise, Corey, Justin, and us Wolftownees will be there) and that she was interrupting our schedules. She is Mom to the last. I told her that SHE was our schedule and to not be with her would interrupt it. Waves of weeping kept trying to break through the thin membrane of my eyeballs; with great difficulty I pushed them back.

I don't think she will last much longer than a week. I called Bro to let him know so that Hilary could get an earlier plane here to see her before the end. I think she plans to be here on Monday to  join Corey and Rachel visiting with her.

"Another A-Plus Day"

That is my dear, sweet father describing this day. The hospice people visited and officially brought Mom into their program. "Another" refers to yesterday when her oncologist assured us that Mom would feel no pain as she deteriorates, would have no putrid exterior tumors to befoul the air around her, and that hospice would indeed be available.

First, this shows my father in his true light. He sees nothing but the best in people, he feels nothing but the deepest love for his family, he generates happiness to everyone around him. He bounces with energy, even with his recent broken hip that had to be surgically reconstructed. Second, his true nature represents the very essence of the human spirit, if allowed to roam. We can find joy even in our darkest hours if we only allow ourselves to see it. Imagine for just one moment that you are ecstatic because you won't have "putrid exterior tumors befouling the air around you." WooooHOOOO! Does it get any better than that?

So, what were you just worried about?

As Mom dies, she and Dad teach me. Death itself, life's best teacher, is teaching all of us.

Mom is dying I

Last Friday, tests confirmed that Mom's earlier breast cancer has metastasized. It is now in her lungs, liver, bone, and lymph nodes. Already suffering from COPD and tired of living, Mom sees the diagnosis as a form of relief. Before, she could see no end in sight, other than one self-inflicted. COPD does not kill. It maims, slowly and relentlessly. Now, she is on a path with a more definite outcome, both in terms of cause and date. She has become more focused. She is not afraid of dying. She repeated that to me yesterday, but she about broke my heart with her next sentence. Speaking in a tiny voice, her lower lip trembling and eyes moistening, she said only, "But I'm sad." I stroked her head, pushing some strands of hair off her face, my own eyes tearing up. I could only respond, "I know." And I do. She is already missing her full life, her loved ones, the boys she loved and raised, the whirlwind world tours with Dad and the deep love they share. I know that the same kind of sadness will likely engulf me when my time comes. Her simple statement confirmed that. It resonated deeply.

I see as if yesterday her brilliant smile, the young, stylish, beautiful, vivacious mother, her reddish-blonde hair blowing in the breeze on the shore of the Long Island Sound. I see her profile in the driver's seat as she drove me down Route 11 deep into Virginia and Briar Hills, and feel the homesickness as she disappeared down the dirt road on the way back. I can chuckle at her contrariness that lurked barely beneath the surface of her suburban housewife facade. She is a brilliant woman who, had she lived in a later age, could have become a respected professional in any number of careers. She knows that, and it has rankled her for as long as I can remember. Sometimes the resentment would bubble up, but her love for Dad and his for her always won out. It was the salve that soothed the abundant inequities she endured as an accomplished woman in a man's world.