Another Passage

I am now an orphaned adult. My mother passed away in June moving me into the oldest living generation on my family tree. I felt great relief for my mother as her life had lost much of it's dignity and happiness. Her world had shrunk to one floor of a high-rise retirement home. Her only friends the other patients in the assisted living area and the attendents. People she had no past, or future, with.

She had anticipated her death for at least a year but her nature was to fight. I visited her the first week in June and she was still adamant about talking to the 'doctor' about what she could do to feel better. She had fallen, confining her to a wheelchair, but she kept her walker in the corner of her room, and talked about getting back on her feet. She tried hard to eat at meals to keep her strength up, even when it was difficult to swallow.

During my week visit, I sat with her at meals and tried to make conversation with her table mates - one who spoke not at all, and one who literally passed out at the table while we were eating. Other family members often came to eat with their parents and we would glance knowingly at each other, feeling helpless and wishing our parents were back like they used to be.

Then, we would go back to her room and she would nap. We made one trip down to the main lobby. Several old friends came up to talk with Mom, compliment her on looking well, and saying they missed seeing her at dinner. At these times my real mother would come out, greeting them with her beautiful smile and ever gracious Southern manners. I think, though, it just made her sadder... to see what she had lost.

She hated medicines and hated feeling the loss of control her pain medication caused. There were unexplained fears and panic attacks - and she really believed she had to watch out because someone might hurt her. Her fears may have been due to the many years her brain was deprived of oxygen, due to her lung disease. Or, they may have been due to the deterioration of her memory and thinking abilities.

So, when my brother called to say mom was gone there was relief and sadness. Relief for her because she didn't have to deal with the pain and the loss of dignity, sadness because she wasn't happy. I flew home on Tuesday and she died on Friday. She didn't give up even in the end. When her nurse came in on Thursday, she opened her eyes and said "You know I am dying," a final request for help.

The memorial service was on a perfect, clear Colorado day. The view of the mountains was crystal clear through the windows of the chapel. It was a day she would have enjoyed living but not in the condition she had been. She had been in Hospice a year. Even though she made the decision at that point she wasn't really ready. Her will kept her body alive far longer than if she had been at peace with dying.