It feels like my mind is stuck. It's stuck on those last weeks, days, hours, breaths. I have so many happy memories of Mom and yet I've been stuck on thinking about the end. I think perhaps that since those moments were so precious, that I'm afraid that I'll forget them and so I continue to run them through my mind over and over and over. I promised to take you on a journey. I don't want to ever forget this path and I want my mind to be free to remember the better days and so I'm ready to take you on that journey.
Weekend #1 May 4th, 5th, and 6th.
hos·pice (h
s
p
s)
n.
1. A shelter or lodging for travelers, pilgrims, foundlings, or the destitute, especially one maintained by a monastic order.
2. A program that provides palliative care and attends to the emotional and spiritual needs of terminally ill patients at an inpatient facility or at the patient's home.
[French, from Old French, from Latin hospitium, hospitality, from hospes, hospit-, host; see ghos-ti- in Indo-European roots.]
(from www.thefreedictionary.com)
Chemo wasn't working anymore and Mom had been feeling pretty yucky for a few weeks. This was the first weekend that I headed up north to visit Mom after she chose to stop her chemo care and hospice was brought into the home. Nobody knew how long this would last, this...hospice. We didn't know how it all worked and nobody could tell us because as it turns out, there are no textbooks that the weak body has to follow as it nears it's departure from this physical Earth. This is similar to what I tell my patients in my line of work that every pregnancy is different and that the fetus doesn't have a set of rules that it follows. The human body has it's own individual way of entering and exiting...
Mom was sleepy, but just about the same as she had been. The weekend was kind of typical, kids running around 'n' all. Our conversations were different in topic where we talked about how we wanted to prepare for what was to come. There's a little book given to families when their loved one enters hospice and there are lists and suggestions of things to prepare so that we don't have to do it all last minute. But Mom was the same as the last time I saw her.....do we have to start this now??? We hadn't talked like this at all, remember, because it wasn't what Mom wished so it was kind of uncomfortable at first and I almost felt like I was a little kid doing something wrong. I remember that the countertop was full of new meds, quite a few of them. All of those orange bottles were kind of scary...yup, I was scared for her. I was scared for me, for Elisabeth, for Bernadette, for Dad, for Mom.
The whole weekend I was wondering when I was going to break the silence about "it" to Mom. It had been over a year and now and here I find myself preparing the strength and the bravery to go ahead and say so many things to her that I had been wanting to say since Bernadette called me that Spring day.
(I answered the phone and Bernadette asked me where Gwenyth was and if I could move to a room where she wasn't. I was hoping that it was about a fun secret, a surprise even, I was very curious and told Bernadette that it was fine, just tell me. Then what she said next is quite foggy in my mind...it wasn't much more than Mom, doctor, and medical imaging and I was screaming "No No No! Mommy!" as I fell to the floor in tears. I was mad, I was sad, I was scared all at once over and over again.)
Friday and Saturday had passed, it was Sunday and I still hadn't spoke a word of what was going on with Mom's body to Mom herself. I was so nervous at how she was going to respond. Would she be mad at me? Would she cry? I had to do it, though...what if this is my only chance? I packed up the car, the kids were fed and we were ready to hit the road. It was the first time, but wasn't going to be the last time that I was scared to leave and I dragged out my farewell for quite some time, stalling our departure. I waited until I was giving hugs and kisses 'bye for the weekend and for the first time since her diagnosis, I cried in front of Mom. "Oh sweetie," Mom said, I can still hear her voice in my head. Well, silly me for being so scared and unsure...she responded just as Mom always responded when I cried over anything and that's with a warm hug, love, and support. I sat with her in her bed and she hugged me as I cried on her shoulder. She said that she was a little scared too, but that everything would be okay. She gave me a good Mom-lesson talk. These are the talks that she gave to me as I was growing up and as an adult. Sometimes I welcomed them and sometimes I didn't want to hear it...this one I was very grateful for. She told me that I have a beautiful family and to live healthy, to teach good habits to the kids. Sheesh, I thought, this is a tough way to teach me and my family this lesson. I wished it wasn't so.
Tears fell for a bit and finally, I had the nerve to speak up myself and I told my Mom the most important message that I had for her; I told her that it doesn't matter to me what made her sick, I love her always, with all of my heart, no matter what, I love her always. I had quite a bit more to my message than just those words; that I was sorry about her diagnosis, that I didn't want her to feel guilty or embarrassed, that I respect her and that I wish that I could take care of her as she's taken care of me.......it didn't go as smoothly as I had envisioned in my head all weekend, but I got the most important part out. It was the best feeling in the world to let my Mom know how much I loved her and that although it had been an emotional rollercoaster, through it all and when it comes down to it, I did not judge her, I only loved her.
If it sounds like I'm bragging about how I handled that Sunday afternoon, I am. To let go of judgement and to just love feels absolutely amazing...I feel free, like a soaring bird. I'm also bragging that my Mom was awesome in that moment. She was scared, she was sad, and she still upheld her title as Mom.
So we took off that day. I did it and I loved her more.
