Mom

I was a family caregiver for ten years to the most wonderful mother ever.  She was beautiful, witty, and extremely articulate.  Sadly, Mom died in the summer of 2015.  It wasn’t sudden but rather expected.  Even though it was expected, it left a huge void in my life.  Initially, I found myself wandering our apartment wondering what to do now!

For ten years Mom would wake up and ask me, “is the coffee ready”?  She always loved her coffee and had a hard fast rule that no one was to talk to her until she had at least one cup.  I can remember as a child avoiding Mom until she had that first java.  Until the day she died, I let her drink her coffee in peace before letting her know our schedule for the day.

Typically, our day was filled with a lot of talking.  We would hang out discussing world events and politics trying to solve everyone else’s problems.  Somehow, we smugly agreed that everyone had problems except us!

Mom and I would joke a great deal and every morning I would ask her if she lost any more marbles.  Of course, she had some witty response such as “not today because I feel them rolling about” or “a few because my head feels lighter” or still “none left to lose”.  Mom and I indeed were funny together.  Mom would blow out the LED candles, and I would water the artificial plants!

Mom had severe short term memory issues.  However, she was able to reason and rationalize.  Her geriatrician had diagnosed her with Alzheimer’s, but I wasn’t sure I agreed with this diagnosis.  Nevertheless, Mom would ask me several times a day what the date was.  In fact, she could be downright unrelenting.  By the end of the day, I had a signal to give her when it was too much.  I would pull my hair straight on top.  “Oh…I guess I asked once too many times.” She would say in her sweet demure voice.  Now, how could I be upset with her?  Frustrated, yes; but never angry!

Mom was a champion debater in college and until her death could debate any topic; sometimes debating both sides just for the heck of it.  She could tell you dating back to Roosevelt the strengths and weaknesses of each of the presidents during her lifetime.  In fact, once she got on a roll, you did not want to challenge her.

She was also extremely bright.  One time she was in a skilled nursing facility and the social worker gave her a mental status exam.  Mom was asked her room number.  Now, this was a difficult question for a woman who within a matter of seconds could forget what you told her.  However, she was able to tell the social worker approximately what the number was.  She said, “Well, it is either 35 or 37 because the rooms across the hall are 36 and 38.  I could be more definite if I knew which way you walked down the corridor to my room.”  The social worker turned to me in utter amazement completely blind sighted by her answer.

One time in rehab, I asked mom what she wanted the nurse to do if she choked on a piece of candy.  Did she want DNR or the Heimlich maneuver?   Mom as her typical witty and spontaneous self said, “I would want her to take it out of my mouth and then give it back to me so that I could continue to enjoy my candy.”

The last year of mom’s life was hard on both of us.  She got cancer and required chemo and radiation.  She was a real hoot when she received her treatments.  When she got to chemo, she couldn’t understand why there wasn’t any food available.   As her dutiful daughter, I would rush to the cafeteria to get food.  She ate the food as the drugs entered her veins.  She never threw up during any of her chemo treatments.

The radiation treatments were a little harder to endure.  Mom was required to wear a specially made hat and lie on a metal slab that hurt her tiny frail body.  However, we had a pack and agreed that sometimes “we just have to do what we have to do,” and she would subsequently lie down on the table.  Her courageousness outshined my lack of courage as I held my tears back.  Once the treatment was over mom would tell all of us that “if I remembered what this was like I would never return each day.”  She had us all in stitches, making a lasting impression on everyone in the oncology radiology department.

Nevertheless, going to radiation every day wore both of us out.  I had much difficulty getting her to the radiation department on time for her appointments.  I used to say to mom, “it is easier to get a donkey backwards down the stairs than to get you to walk down the stairs forward.”  She would respond, “At my age I don’t understand why I have to be on time for any appointment.”  Finally, I would laugh with her and ask her if we were going to leave like lambs or lions.  Oh, I miss those days!

During that last year of her life, she also got the flu, bronchitis, pneumonia, and broke a hip.  In fact, we both had the flu and were in the E.R. together and subsequently hospitalized at the same time.  Mom eventually broke her hip when I was in the hospital with pneumonia.  However, she never complained.  Although, she didn’t understand why she was in pain and pinched a nurse who she felt was attacking her by making her unbearable pain worse.

Eventually, mom received hospice care in our home.  As she neared death, she was hallucinating most likely from the morphine she received and lack of proper nourishment.  She still was silly, and her wit never wavered right until the end.  She kept asking me “who’s your father?”  I would laugh and say, “Mom is there something you forgot to tell me?”

In the end, Mom could no longer walk; but remained feisty, trying to get out of bed.  “I have to go find Rita.”  Hearing her say that broke my heart.  She did, however, tell me that she loved me before lapsing into a coma. 

As she remained in her coma, she breathed heavily.  I wiped the bile from her mouth.  I bathed her carefully and made sure the blankets remained tucked in the bed.  I placed all her stuff animals in her bed that she loved.  I played classical music in her room.  I kept telling her it was okay to go and that the angels were circling, waiting to take her to heaven.  Finally, I placed my angel statues in her bed.

Mom died in my arms, and it was a beautiful death.  I had awakened from a sound sleep and felt an urging sensation to go into her room.  She never opened her eyes, but the heavy breathing stopped.  I hugged her tightly and she took her last three breaths.  She was gone. 

So… life continues for me, and the void has lessened.  It is not anymore “what to do now” but rather “what to accomplish in my mom’s honor”.