Dear readers,
This post is not going to be for everyone. This is an account of my memories of my Mother's passing. It is mostly for my own benefit, my own record, so that I can remember and have it available, but you are welcome to read. It's somewhat graphic at the end (not gory, just detailed) and may be upsetting or triggering. Don't feel like you -need- to read it, but you are welcome to do so. Thank you for your love and support in the past year. Peace be unto you and unto us all.
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One year ago was a busy day. We'd held Mother's Day a little on the fly just the Sunday before because we weren't sure she would make it the remaining three weeks. My sister and our second-oldest brother and his husband were able to join us, with our oldest brother calling in from back East. Mom was still fairly lucid so she could see and hear from all her kids, though she wasn't able to come upstairs and join us. I had bought a book just the day before, and read a little bit that night, hoping that I would have time to delve further into its insights and make this time easier for everyone.
My sister and her family had come again on Wednesday afternoon because we knew that time was shrinking rapidly. Mom's frailty seemed to advance at an increasing rate, with her able to move around the house with help one day to barely able to move to her own bathroom the next: from mostly lucid to barely communicating in just a few days. It was as though she saw the end in sight and was willing herself toward it. None of us could deny it of her; she had earned it.
Mom's Hospice nurse came in the mid-morning. I helped her to move Mom in the bed that was the only place she remained, helped her be in as comfortable a position as possible. She showed no signs of leaving us immediately and her nurse said it would probably be a few days. There were discussions of how often the bathing lady would need to come, who was coming for the very first time that day because it was the first time she would be needed since Mom could no longer get to the shower. My nephews and baby niece came to say good-bye about half past noon, since my brother-in-law had to take them home for one of the boys' practices that night. They planned to come back on Saturday. My sister stayed behind with us.
When the bath lady came about an hour later my sister and I helped her. We worked together, washing her body and her hair. Mom seemed mostly insensible to it, not really reacting much at all. We were nearly done, we just needed to turn her to wash her back. I lifted the towel we had placed under her to roll her toward me and her head and shoulders fell off the foam wedge where she lied. Her eyes popped wide open and she gasped! The sudden shift in her position and orientation had jarred her body into a panic of gasping, even when we rolled her back into place. We waited and watched for her breathing to calm, a process that took about forty minutes.
When her breathing relaxed, Dad took a minute to go return a call he'd gotten shortly before. My sister and the lady remained in the room with Mom as her breathing continued to slow. Her nurse had spoken before of a rattling sort of breath; sometimes it signified the end, sometimes it could last for days. When we heard it, I spun around and yelled "DAD! COME!" He hung up the phone and got back into the room just in time to sit beside her and hold her hand as her breathing slowed to its final. He checked her pulse and told us she was gone.
The peace that entered the room at that time was profound and unexpected in its depth. We gathered by her bedside to say good-bye, and I felt the presence of her spirit beside me, and I felt her take my hand, which closed on its own. The feel of her in the room lingered for a minute or two before fading away, leaving solace and sorrow in her wake.
