Losing Mom

I have not posted anything in nearly two months - since we lost Buster. One reason being I have just been so busy with work and getting settled in the new house, and the second being I was so involved in caring for my mother, who lived at the Lowman Home and has been a resident there since May, 2008. Mom passed away on December 26 - about 2 1/2 hours after Christmas Day ended. She had been suffering from dementia for quite a number of years, and as is typical with dementia, it slowly and surely robs the person of their personality, their ability to communicate, and what I like to refer to as taking their very soul. Mom had been on a slow decline for several months, but about 3 weeks ago, she began to be hoarse and her speech became very garbled; nothing she spoke made sense. She would repeat what you said to her, sometimes hanging onto one word and saying it repeatedly. I got a call that Monday morning (I was at work) from the Hospice nurse who had stopped in to see her and she bluntly told me mom was unresponsive and she believed she was dying. I dropped everything and hit the road - coming to be with her. Before I got on the interstate, this woman called BACK and proceeded to tell me that mom was diagnosed with the flu. THE FLU! Big difference in having the flu and dying. I think we all agree on that one. Paul and I both were there within minutes - he got there before I did as I called him as soon as I hung up with the nurse, and he was closer. He got her to answer but she was very lethargic and confused. I insisted she be taken to the hospital, which we did. We spent the rest of the afternoon there and the doctor confirmed the flu. On this day she was semi-alert (received fluids) and was chattering. That was four weeks ago today. In that four weeks' time, she spiraled downward so rapidly it was unbelievable. She was able to eat soft foods; we determined (had a dentist look at her) that she may have an abscessed tooth. Many of her teeth were decayed and already missing. Yet, she said they did not hurt. I still have a hard time with that one. Anway, she began to lean, was unable to form words that made sense - it was like her brain function that controlled speech and thought processes was damaged and deteriorating - and slowly lost the ability and desire to eat - and eventually to even open her eyes. We were there as often as were physically able to be. I would work sometimes half days, then feel this strong sense of 'got to get to her' and I'd leave and go be by her side. As the days progressed, so did the disease. My boys came down and visited and were able to talk with her and she was able to respond - barely. We brought her to the house for Thanksgiving and although she did not eat (she said she was full and had already eaten...we knew this was not the case) she did manage to take a few sips of egg nog. She said she liked our new house better than our old one 'it's bigger and you have more room'. I'm glad she came to see it. She was here most of the afternoon and we took her back to the nursing home where she immediately went to bed. The day came that she stopped eating - so she was given liquids, including this really THICK liquid they called MedPass. It was supposed to have the nutrition/calories of a full meal. I'll take their word on that one - it smelled nasty to me. Worse than Ensure, which she used to drink all the time. She went from being out of bed in her wheelchair, to being out of bed in a geri-chair, which reminds me of a recliner so they won't fall over/out and are seemingly more comfortable. I had asked that she be gotten out of bed and dressed as often as she was able. By last weekend (the weekend of Christmas) she virtually was taking in nothing but a few sips here and there. I spent more and more time with her - and little by little she retreated into a world of silence - speaking only rarely and softly - and muffled. Growing up, she was not a person who was warm and cuddly. I honestly don't recall her telling me 'I Love You' very much or maybe even at all. In the past months, I would sit with her and feed her at mealtimes, and I would talk. Sometimes she would talk, too. Remembering times, memories we had, and I began to tell her every time before I left "I Love You". She'd tell me, "I Love You, Too". There were times she thanked me for doing everything for her that I had done - and i would tell her, 'hey you took care of me when I was not able to - I'm just doing the same thing for you'.... She used to (when able) sit and call out for Mary, her sister; her parents; and her favorite phrase was "Come on, Let's Go" ..... you could hear her at the other end of the hallway. Of course, as her life's light dimmed, so did the ability to call out for Mary or anyone else. My sons came to see her - and like Paul and me, they would sit and just 'chat' with her and talk about anything and everything under the sun. Fortunately, I had weeks' of time to talk with her and tell her any and everything I possibly could. I told her how grateful I was to have her as my mother; thanked her for raising me to be strong and even told her how, as a young girl, I resented the fact that she wasn't the warm/cuddly mother some of my friends had, and that it took counseling to help me see that it's not that she did not love me, but simply that she did not have the capacity to be warm and cuddly as she never had it growing up either. It was foreign to her, and I could not expect something from her that she did not have, nor know how to give. Once I learned that aspect, I was okay with it. By now, she would tell me she loved me. It was wonderful. In her final days, she was bedridden and ultimately not awake; unresponsive except for breathing. She was in a deep, peaceful sleep from which she could not awaken. We knew she could hear, though - Paul told her he had to go home and get some sleep and wouuld see her later; she slightly nodded her head. This let us know she could hear AND understand. This was last Sunday, December 23. I stayed until late that evening, went back the next day (Christmas Eve) several times and spent most of Christmas Eve night and into early Christmas morning with her. She had her little Christmas tree with the colored lights she likes, and I had Christmas music (by now all the radio stations played was holiday music) playing on the radio non-stop. She never seemed in any pain, nor did she seem to struggle and appear uncomfortable. We went back up late Christmas morning; took her gifts and I opened them for her and told her what we gave her even if there was no response or indication she even knew we were there. I know she could hear, so I feel confident she did know. Keith, my youngest son was with us at this point. Jonathan had come on Saturday and stopped in to see her on his way down to our house to celebrate Christmas as he opted to stay home and have his mother-in-law over for the day. By now she was not even drinking liquids. She laid there with her eyes closed, and her mouth wide open; in a deep sleep or maybe even unconscious. By all means, the only indication we had that she was still alive was the fact that she WAS breathing. Did not move at all. We came home and made Christmas dinner late that afternoon and ate. I could barely make myself leave her long enough to come home to do anything. I could not just sit there constantly and WATCH her - it was maddening, and frightening; yet I could not stay away. We hurriedly ate Christmas dinner and went right back up there. By now it was about 8 pm on Christmas night. No change. Mom still the same as when we left. Paul came back home as he had to work the next morning and he gets up very early. Keith and I stayed. I sort of got on the bed beside her, put one hand on hers, and cradled her with my other; and I simply talked softly in her ear. I told her everything I could think of that I felt I needed to say - at this point every single time I was there I made sure I left nothing unsaid. I needed and wanted her to know these things.....things that were long unspoken, but finally at last we said them. I gave her a manicure; massaged her scalp, rubbed her skin with lotion, and put her new bedroom slippers on her - they looked like penguins. Keith came home and got us water to drink and came back. I had told her I did not want her to leave me at Christmas and asked her to please stay with me. And you know what? She did. The nurses said they did not anticipate any great change overnight and told me to go get a little sleep and they would call me if anything changed. I didn't want to leave, but from what they said to me before, if she began to 'fade' there would be signs and so far, all her vitals were strong and stable. I agreed to go, and told her that I was going home to get a little sleep and I would be back in the morning and if she needed me, they would call and I'd come right back. Keith and I both kissed her, and I told her I loved her; and we left. My phone rang at 3:15 a.m. (we had just left at 11:45 PM) and I jumped up to answer it, knowing it was most likely the phone call I had been dreading and anticipating at the same time. When I said 'hello' the nurse simply said, 'This is Mary Anne. Mom's left us'. I will never forget it. I was stunned. I asked her why nobody called me and she said that mom never displayed anything they were to look for when someone passes away. There was an aide sitting with her, and the aide looked away for a moment and when she looked back, realized mom was not breathing. It was as if she exhaled and that was THAT. No struggle, no movement, no 'rattle' we hear so much about....NOTHING. I hung up, grabbed Paul before he could get out the door to go to work (he was already up) and I woke Keith. We went back to visit her - one last time. She was still lying there just like she had been when we left - wearing her new Christmas pajamas (well, the top anyway) and her penguin slippers. Her feet were slightly crossed at the ankles and she was holding her Christmas bear in one hand (I had given it to her to hold for comfort before I left) and her rosary that I bought for her in the other. She looked just like she was asleep. I knew in that instant that her struggle was over and she was finally at peace. It was the most devastating moment of my entire life. We stayed with her until they came to take her...I held her, just like always; and I kept talking to her. Before we all left (including her) I kissed her again and told her, "I Love You"...and I will see you again one of these days. It was heart-wrenching. The past week has been such a blur. Mom was laid to rest on Friday, December 28. We all spoke about her at her service - we let everyone know about her - what kind of person she was, and how funny she was and how she had her own 'take' on life. We did not have a lot of people in attendance - she had outlived all her brothers and sisters - but my cousin (her brother's son) and his wife and daughter came from Savannah. I think she would have liked it. No, I'm sure she liked it. I do believe she can see us....only now she is with her beloved Mary and her 'mama and papa' and she is young and healthy again.... Since mom left us, I have been surrounded by love - and support - from my dear friends and family, whom I could not have made it thru this without. It's at times like these that you really see what a person is made of. I can't even begin to thank them - there are no words at this point that can truly convey my feelings. I hope I can find them soon - I need to let them know how very much they all mean to me...to us. Oddly, my husband's family were all absent during this time, with my sister in law finally calling me last evening. Mom looked beautiful - and happy. At last. I suppose I have to be happy too. I stayed here in South Carolina my whole life to 'take care of her when she is old'....I announced that to her when I was 17 years old. I believe her response was, 'nobody asked you to do that!'.....mom, mom, mom - you're something else.... I still did it. I stayed here with her whether she wanted me to or not. Maybe I was afraid to leave. I never really gave it much thought. She has been such an integral part of my entire life that I have this huge gaping 'hole' that I am sure will never be filled. My Sunday afternoons were spent at the Lowman Home with her. Yesterday was the first Sunday in nearly 5 years that I did not go. It's times like these that reach out and grab my heart. Literally. Now I have to redirect focus - as soon as I figure out HOW. My job here is done - I did what I told her I would do. I stayed here for her and I did and said everything I needed to. I have no regrets. I miss my mother - more than I can say, and I believe the best way I can honor her - and her life - is to live mine now in the very best way possible - in the way of my own choosing - for me - simply because I can. Life is short - we all need to make the most of it. Every single day. Don't let the sun set on anger and unspoken words because we may not always have tomorrow. Let people know how you feel about them - always. Never put off anything assuming you will get another chance. You may not. I am strong - mom raised me that way. My boys now how much I love them and I know how much they love me. I believe I will come out of this realizing more about myself than I did before - I will find the 'me' that I had put on the back burner so long ago. And I will rely on that strength she instilled in me - to keep going. I love you mom - so very much. I know you'll keep an eye on me ... you always did. I'll move forward with my life and take you with me every step of the way. I will make you proud. I'll make ME proud of me too. And knowing that the very last words you said to me were "I love you, too".....I will be okay. In time. I love you now and forever.... Your loving daughter, Jeannette