Mama's final moments
It was virtually impossible for me to concentrate at work on Friday. I guess some part of me knew that Super Mom's arrival that day could be what you so often hear about as the final "release" for a dying person. How many stories have you heard about someone hanging on until that one last relative arrives and then lets go?
I was worried about Super Mom seeing Mama when she got there. I called her while she was still driving up to tell her not to go into the room alone. She needed to have The Doctor with her the first time she saw Mama in her bed-ridden/almost non-responsive state.
I finally got to Mama's house at my normal time that evening. I went into the room and held her hand on one side while Super Mom held her hand on the other. Mama had a very firm grip on my hand. She made a few facial expressions which seemed to indicate that she was cognizant but couldn't communicate. Super Mom even thinks that at one point Mama tried to say my name. My sister and I just carried on a normal conversation so that Mama could listen in. We wanted her to feel like she was really benefiting from the visit.
At some point in the evening, both Super Mom and The Doctor thought that Mama was crying. Since she couldn't produce any tears, they could only go on tiny facial expressions and a little bit of shoulder shaking. The evening seemed to slip by pretty quickly. Before I knew it, it was 8:00. That's normally the time I go home.
I did take Super Mom's mother-in-law back to The Doctor's house to be with all the kids. I went inside briefly to see the kids, but then I got back to Mama's house. I could have easily missed my mother's dying moments.
My two sisters were on either side of my mother. My father was at her head. Daddy was speaking consoling words to her (which he'd done a few times that day), telling her that we were going to be alright, that she'd been a great mother and wife and that we all loved her very much. The Doctor got very upset but I could tell that it was more than just the emotional scene getting to her. I was sitting on Daddy's bed, so I got up to see for myself what had upset my sister so. My mother's hands were the color of a squid's ink - a bluish-black that I interpreted as a severe lack of oxygen. I realized that Mama was almost hyperventilating. I wanted to get her calmed down. I got up to her head, laid my head on hers so that my mouth was close to her ear and asked her to calm down. I tried to assure her that everything was OK, but that she needed to slow her breathing down. I even told her that she needed to go to sleep.
I know I'm not reconstructing the timeline correctly, because at some point, my father called my sister-in-law to tell her that it looked very serious. I didn't realize that he'd spoken with her, I thought he'd left a message. So I was a little surprised when she walked in. It had not taken her long to get there.
Mama seemed to calm down. Her breathing slowed. We thought it may be a little while yet. Daddy said that he was going to lay on the bed. He looked exhausted. He was filthy from working in the yard all day and my sisters had just put new sheets on his bed. We coaxed him into taking a shower, but asked him to make it a quick one.
Mama died while Daddy was in the shower - around 9:00. It felt like it took us an eternity to figure out if she had actually died. It's not like in the movies. Even when you know you're on a death-watch, you still don't think about something so simple as "How will I know when she's dead?" I certainly hope that none of you will ever have to find out.
We called hospice. The night nurse (who we had only met for the first time last Friday) came out to do the necessary things. She disconnected the few pieces of equipment that were attached to Mama. She disposed of the narcotics that were in our possession. She called the funeral home that we'd made arrangements with. She did a wonderful job and treated my mother with respect and dignity. I was the only one who stayed with Mama the whole time the nurse performed her duties. I filled out all the paperwork. I don't understand why (and I'm not sure if I ever will) but I needed to see the whole thing through.
I did not, however, watch the men from the funeral home take my mother out of the house. I knew that I did not want to have that image in my mind. I didn't want to see two complete strangers take her away. It was fine with me to simply know that it had happened and to go into her room to see her empty bed.
Daddy expected us to spend the night with him. I kinda wanted to come home, but I knew that was out of the question. The Doctor and I slept in Daddy's guest room on the second floor. Super Mom had to go home to see about her children. She had to take one of her daughters to see a doctor first thing the following morning (which it technically already was).
The following day would bring lots and lots of visitors.
I was worried about Super Mom seeing Mama when she got there. I called her while she was still driving up to tell her not to go into the room alone. She needed to have The Doctor with her the first time she saw Mama in her bed-ridden/almost non-responsive state.
I finally got to Mama's house at my normal time that evening. I went into the room and held her hand on one side while Super Mom held her hand on the other. Mama had a very firm grip on my hand. She made a few facial expressions which seemed to indicate that she was cognizant but couldn't communicate. Super Mom even thinks that at one point Mama tried to say my name. My sister and I just carried on a normal conversation so that Mama could listen in. We wanted her to feel like she was really benefiting from the visit.
At some point in the evening, both Super Mom and The Doctor thought that Mama was crying. Since she couldn't produce any tears, they could only go on tiny facial expressions and a little bit of shoulder shaking. The evening seemed to slip by pretty quickly. Before I knew it, it was 8:00. That's normally the time I go home.
I did take Super Mom's mother-in-law back to The Doctor's house to be with all the kids. I went inside briefly to see the kids, but then I got back to Mama's house. I could have easily missed my mother's dying moments.
My two sisters were on either side of my mother. My father was at her head. Daddy was speaking consoling words to her (which he'd done a few times that day), telling her that we were going to be alright, that she'd been a great mother and wife and that we all loved her very much. The Doctor got very upset but I could tell that it was more than just the emotional scene getting to her. I was sitting on Daddy's bed, so I got up to see for myself what had upset my sister so. My mother's hands were the color of a squid's ink - a bluish-black that I interpreted as a severe lack of oxygen. I realized that Mama was almost hyperventilating. I wanted to get her calmed down. I got up to her head, laid my head on hers so that my mouth was close to her ear and asked her to calm down. I tried to assure her that everything was OK, but that she needed to slow her breathing down. I even told her that she needed to go to sleep.
I know I'm not reconstructing the timeline correctly, because at some point, my father called my sister-in-law to tell her that it looked very serious. I didn't realize that he'd spoken with her, I thought he'd left a message. So I was a little surprised when she walked in. It had not taken her long to get there.
Mama seemed to calm down. Her breathing slowed. We thought it may be a little while yet. Daddy said that he was going to lay on the bed. He looked exhausted. He was filthy from working in the yard all day and my sisters had just put new sheets on his bed. We coaxed him into taking a shower, but asked him to make it a quick one.
Mama died while Daddy was in the shower - around 9:00. It felt like it took us an eternity to figure out if she had actually died. It's not like in the movies. Even when you know you're on a death-watch, you still don't think about something so simple as "How will I know when she's dead?" I certainly hope that none of you will ever have to find out.
We called hospice. The night nurse (who we had only met for the first time last Friday) came out to do the necessary things. She disconnected the few pieces of equipment that were attached to Mama. She disposed of the narcotics that were in our possession. She called the funeral home that we'd made arrangements with. She did a wonderful job and treated my mother with respect and dignity. I was the only one who stayed with Mama the whole time the nurse performed her duties. I filled out all the paperwork. I don't understand why (and I'm not sure if I ever will) but I needed to see the whole thing through.
I did not, however, watch the men from the funeral home take my mother out of the house. I knew that I did not want to have that image in my mind. I didn't want to see two complete strangers take her away. It was fine with me to simply know that it had happened and to go into her room to see her empty bed.
Daddy expected us to spend the night with him. I kinda wanted to come home, but I knew that was out of the question. The Doctor and I slept in Daddy's guest room on the second floor. Super Mom had to go home to see about her children. She had to take one of her daughters to see a doctor first thing the following morning (which it technically already was).
The following day would bring lots and lots of visitors.
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