The Last Chapter
Beginnings always have endings. This is not hidden from us. We understand that there is birth and there is death but the understanding does little to prepare us for the day our loved ones depart this place. The last chapter of my care-giving journey must now be written.
That is where my story began and now I will tell you how it all coalesced into its bittersweet end. Did we find peace? Did we accomplish what we set out to do?
The Day
It was the 4th of July and in this neighborhood that means very large explosions would be sending our nervous systems into high gear. The percussion of each boom certainly could not have helped my mother’s already agitated state of mind and manic restlessness. We had been struggling with these issues for a few weeks leading up to “the day”.
She was like a wind up clock wound too tightly. The springs locked in place generating tension that could find no release. She could not stay in one spot for very long. Her body simply could not find any comfort. At this point, she was often too weak to raise herself up so I had to physically assist her in order to lift her without causing harm. And so, each night she would call for me to either adjust her position or to get out of bed. I would force myself to rise and stumble down the hallway to her bedroom. We cycled through this ritual a few times a night – moving from bedroom to living room and back again.
The strain of those moments was at times unbearable. We both just wanted to close our eyes and rest but rest would not come for either of us. Over the course of those weeks I began to really fall apart. My body could not function day in and day out without a break and adequate rest.
Lurking in the back of our minds was the inevitable thought… is this it? Had the life force loosening process begun? I think we both knew that it had. With this unspoken knowledge pulsing between us my heart began to soften towards her plight despite my own physical and emotional raggedness. She needed me now more than ever. That last evening, when I had finally gotten her back to bed at around 3am, she whispered in a very serious tone “Thank you” and that I should go now and get some sleep. As I sat on the bed facing her, knees bent and head bowed down towards hers, I lightly chuckled and replied, “Yes, I’m sorry, you certainly don’t need to see me have another breakdown, eh?”. I touched her face and shuffled back to my room and slept. She did not wake me again that night.
We got up like any other morning although a bit later than usual. I made her some oatmeal and got busy cleaning the kitchen so that I could sit down for a little bit and catch up on some reading. No sooner did I sit down in the office she then called for me and asked if I could sit with her in the living room. That was not typical of our mornings but with the sense of our shortening time together drawing near I obliged easily and moved my laptop to the living room. I then sat with her and shared some video clips of my singing and other news. It was a pleasant morning. We talked for a little bit and I put away her breakfast tray at which point she decided to go lie down.
After such a long night we were both feeling quite spent. The lazy morning had inclined us both to stay in our pajamas with plans to dress after her nap was over. Normally, I would have followed her into her room and helped her get back into bed. Not this time though and I don’t know why I changed the routine. I sat in the living room for another 30 minutes and then felt an urge to go check on her.
Immediately, I knew something was wrong. She lay there in an awkward position. Scrambling onto the bed I grabbed her body and turned her gently to her side and began asking her if she could speak. “Mom! Mom, can you talk to me? Can you hear me?”. I repeat this several times as I visually review her body to see if there is anything else happening. Her eyes were open and afraid but she could not tell me anything. She mumbled a bit but it was unclear.
In a state of disbelief, I ran to get my brother and we both knew that the outcome we had all most dreaded for our mother had happened. Stroke. She would need to go to hospital.
I immediately called my sister and then called 911. I know that sounds backwards but when you are scared and upset it’s difficult to think. It all happened so very quickly. The ambulance arrived within 10 minutes. I could hardly comprehend their questions as the overwhelm of the situation had shrouded me in darkness. I knew she would suffer in the days to come and I couldn’t bare the thought of it.
My sister arrived just as the paramedics were putting mom in the ambulance. They directed her to the local hospital. I quickly got dressed and we left. Arriving in the emergency room we met up with our brother who had headed out for the hospital before us. We then asked for our mother’s status. They said they had no record of her arrival. Hmm… we anxiously waited for answers. The staff were confused and bandied inquiries back and forth to one another until finally they figured out that she had been redirected to another hospital in a nearby city. Lord, I thought, my poor mother. Alone with no one to advocate for her.
We drive 20 minutes to the other hospital and again approach the desk to ask about our mother. Unbelievably, there is no record of her arrival there either. We are then redirected back and forth from one building to another until finally they locate my mom. So much time had gone by that they had already completed “brain surgery” by way of sending a camera up through her artery to the brain via the groin. They were looking for any signs of a clot and found nothing. Standard procedure for stroke is to administer a “super clot buster” medication called TNKase (thrombolytic/fibrinolytic therapy). They had done this immediately upon arrival and surmised it must have cleared the blockage.
Finally, we were able to see her. She was severely traumatized and medicated. Her arms showing large blotches of dark purple where she had ripped out the IVs. She was groggy and in pain from the surgery. A large brace was wrapped around the leg that served as the entry point for the surgical procedure. The brace was very uncomfortable but it was there to keep her leg immobile to prevent the accessed artery from reopening through movement of the limb.
With that in mind, the following day a resident doctor came in on his practice rounds and began speaking to her in a very loud annoying voice. He grabbed her leg and jerked it sharply up telling her to hold it up. She groaned in pain and told him to stop as the brace dug into her. Do these doctors even read patient charts anymore? He was part of a cadre of doctors that came into the room every half hour or so asking the same questions over and over and over again. It was not comforting but rather caused a lot of fear and anxiety.
However, as the day progressed she seemed to be doing better. She was talking fairly well and showed no significant signs of paralysis. The doctors were quite impressed by this. The following morning there was talk of releasing her from ICU to a regular room to begin physical therapy. It seemed she would either be coming home or we would have to quickly figure out who would handle her care if I was unable to meet her needs.
These were the unknowns that plagued our thoughts, that is, until the sun went down. She suddenly took a turn for the worst. I wasn’t there that night but was told she repeated the words, “I want… I want to… peace… peace.”. It bothers me that I wasn’t there for her but I was so tired I could hardly stay on my feet. I told myself it was alright because other family members were there with her until visiting hours ended. It’s the worst feeling to be separated from a loved one in a hospital bed that needs you to comfort them and advocate for their proper care.
I slept lightly that night and readied myself early the next morning to return to the hospital. My phone rang – it’s my sister. Mom’s condition would not improve after all. The doctors were now making arrangements for hospice care and setting up a room in another wing of the hospital.
My brother Kevin and I hurriedly grabbed what we needed and headed out. I was incredibly anxious and pondered how this would now all play out. As my brother drove the car we sat in silence and seemed to be moving in slow motion. All I could think was “Lord have mercy” as I slowly rocked my body back and forth, as I have done since childhood, in an effort to calm myself.
As I entered the ICU I embraced my sister and our grief was now shared openly. We assured each other we did all we could. We often talked of this moment in acceptance of its inevitability but when the time was upon us the deep penetrating sorrow one feels will not be denied its place at the table. You must sit with it for some time until the pangs of your sorrow transition into warmth and love.
The ICU nurse that had so respectfully cared for my mother accompanied us to the room where mom would spend her last hours. I waited as the nurse skillfully set up the space and prepared to leave. I stopped her as she headed for the door and I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. My words had difficulty leaving my mouth as the anguish of impending loss wrapped itself around my neck. I managed to utter the words “I just want to thank you for showing my mother such… such love”. We embraced and she could no longer maintain her professional cover. She cried with me and said goodbye to my mother. I will never forget her. She was beautiful, strong of character, and very brave.
It was quiet now. No more beeping, buzzing, ringing. No more doctors talking. No more techs performing tests. They inserted the IV drip of morphine which would silence her from that point forward. I prayed they would administer a low dose as I believe pharmaceuticals interfere with the spiritual side of the dying process.
Several of my siblings and other family members sat vigil throughout that long and sleepless night. The hours passed slowly and just as the darkness began to lift I knew – she had just given up her Spirit. How fitting for her. How perfect. She would rise with the Sun!
The Funeral
In the days preceding her funeral there was, of course, many responsibilities that required our immediate attention. The grieving process would have to wait until all the preparations and payments were made. The modern death business has never appealed to my better sense. It seems a waste of money, material, and property to purchase overpriced coffins and grave sites. The burial practices that appeal to me most for their respect, honor, simplicity and beauty hail from the Viking culture.
“Viking funeral rituals were a big part of their culture. They held these ceremonies to honor and help the dead on their journey after death. These traditions were key in Norse life, showing their deep beliefs about life and death.
At a Viking funeral, many steps were taken to say goodbye properly. This included prayers and giving things to the person who had passed. Friends and family came together to show their love and respect.
A main feature was burning the body in a pyre. The Vikings believed the smoke and fire would lead the spirit to the next life, and this act was central to how they handled funerals.”
We had a Catholic Funeral Service for Mom in accordance with her wishes. Eulogies were held graveside which became a bit of a problem as the obnoxious noise of a nearby generator pummeled our ears causing great agitation in place of respectful reverence. It seemed to be mocking us as we struggled to maintain our composure. My sister’s eulogy was rudely muffled by this intrusion and I was feeling perturbed about the prospect of having to compete with it too. Fortunately, as she came to the end of her dedication the noise pollution stopped. I thought it was an angelic intervention but I found out later that my cousin’s husband took it upon himself to remedy the situation. Thank you, Matt, for being my angel that day.
I nervously stood up, took a deep breath, and began my eulogy.
Mom, it was a long road that we walked together these past two years. We shared all our thoughts, our struggles, and our memories; making new memories along the way that I will cherish always.
It wasn’t easy for either of us but always between us there was a knowing and a sweetness to our understanding as to the reasons why we were both here – together.
I miss your hands, your face, your voice, and those beautiful eyes that saw straight into my heart. I wish we could have taken one last walk together… You were my angel in this life. You never judged me. Never felt anger. Only love.
It was a privilege for me to care for your body, for your mind, and for your soul. I will miss you greatly as I continue my journey but I know I will see you again.
And when that day comes I expect to hear your voice calling for me – just like you used to. It doesn’t matter what time of day or night – call for me and I will come running back to you. My mother. My best friend.
My eldest brother followed with a performance of “Red Sun” by Neil Young. It was his heartfelt tribute to both of our parents and he did a great job of it. With that, we each dropped a rose onto her casket and said our final goodbyes. The burial ceremony came to a close and it was time to move on.
As I stood up, I brushed my hand up towards my face to push away my hair. As I did so my finger made contact with the silver rose pin I wore in honor of my mother. I had found this pin while searching through her wardrobe to find an outfit for her burial. The pin pricked my finger and I felt its sting as the blood began to flow. I grabbed a handkerchief from my purse and wrapped it around my finger observing the bright red blot grow on the white cloth. I had the thought – blood is life, blood is love – and I pondered on that as we followed orders to shift ourselves away from the grave site.
Standing in the mid-morning sun we watched the workmen say a prayer before they lowered her casket into the ground. As we looked on I mentioned to my brother-in-law what had just happened with my finger and he asked me if I had ever heard of the “Pelican Legend”? I hadn’t so he briefly explained the story and related to me why he connected the pin on my chest that drew the blood to this traditional story of great sacrifice. In hindsight, I think it was a message we both needed to hear. Thank you, Josh, for listening to the Holy Spirit and sharing this story with me.
“The symbolism of the mother pelican feeding her little baby pelicans is rooted in an ancient legend which preceded Christianity. The legend was that in time of famine, the mother pelican wounded herself, striking her breast with the beak to feed her young with her blood to prevent starvation. Another version of the legend was that the mother fed her dying young with her blood to revive them from death, but in turn lost her own life.”
Was this a message from my mother? If so, what was she trying to tell me? Possibly, that life requires great sacrifice, love, and forgiveness. That to give your love and life, especially when you feel you have nothing left to give, is the most honorable and greatest gift you could give to another human being.
The Farewell
The following day the family got together in our parents home for one last big breakfast bash “Dad style”. It would be the last time we would ever gather here as the house will soon be put on the market. We enjoyed the afternoon together and one by one we parted ways. All of us feeling a mixed bag of emotions about the past, the present, and the future.
The packing process has already begun and I feel both relief and grief as I pack my things and mourn the loss of my mother, father, and the home that was our constant in the life we lived together. Everything must change now. The act of tearing things down is so much harder than building things up. The invisible signature of memories dance about the place and feel as tangible as physical touch.
In the two years I spent with my mother we tried to focus on life instead of death. I came here and saw she and my brother were in a terrible state of overwhelm. The house was disorganized and dysfunctional. I went from room to room, with my brother’s help, clearing the spaces and setting them up to bring purpose and life once again. I would make it a home once more. Routines were established and we looked for ways to thrive instead of just survive. There were many ups and downs but we pushed through it all. It took all three of us to accomplish this and I am proud of us for that.
However, we did not ignore the fact that death would come. We spoke of it and tried to prepare for it as best we could. My mission had always been to care for her, love her, and be there for her when she crossed the threshold to the other side. We promised each other that she would come to me afterwards and I would stay open for that to happen. I am still waiting with some surprise that it hasn’t yet. It was very different when my father died. He came to me within days and shared parts of his journey with me until there came a time when he had to move on.
Now, it is only a matter of days until my husband arrives to take me back home. Unfortunately, he was unable to attend the funeral which was a hardship for us both. He loved my mother and she loved him like a son. She understood and never forgot the sacrifice he made in allowing me to live 800 miles away from him in order to provide the care she so desperately needed.
I do believe in the weeks before her death she had been slowly making peace with its coming. She decided it was time to go and it was also time to release me. This was the last sacrifice my mother made in her earthly life. I will struggle with her physical absence but I know she will always be with me because we share a connection of the heart. When the time is right she will visit me and I will welcome it.
Earlier, I asked if we had found peace and had we accomplished what we set out to do. I’m not sure how to answer that. I want to say we did the best we could. There is much I would have done differently but I think, all in all, we did accomplish what we set out to do and she did find peace. I am sure of it… and now I must find mine.
Before I go, I want to share this recording of my mother with you. We would often sit in the backyard on the glider bench my husband bought for her and read our daily devotions. On this day, I decided to record her reading without her knowing. I see this now as her parting words to her children. We will miss her wisdom, patience, and endurance. But, we will always have her everlasting love…
My mother’s obituary can be found at Rose Family Funeral Home. Rest in Peace, Mama… Pray for us as we pray for you. Indeed, Christ will see us through!
The care-giving saga has ended… and a new story begins. As always, thanks for making the time to share in my journey. 
If you are a care-giver, God bless you and may He provide continued strength in your journey!
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The Divine speaks to us in a whisper – most often when we are otherwise distracted. This whisper is rarely that of sound or voice; it is more commonly communicated through a gesture or circumstance: The prick of a pin that draws blood – the essence of life and death which bridges the chasm between the spiritual realm and the material. In these special times one on the other side may communicate with a loved one across the divide via just such a small event, giving thanks for the loved one’s sacrifice and providing the promise of sustained and eternal love.