January 7th, 2019
I'm not sure where this one will take me nor do I know how long it will take to get there. There is so much to say but I'm having difficulty putting words to the emotions ravaging my mind and heart at this moment in time. I suppose a good place to start is at the beginning.
Nearly six years ago, I moved in with my parents to watch over them in their elder years. As of 2018, my father turned 91 and my mother, 85. They have both had various health issues that are typical of their age but nothing immediately life-threatening.
My father has age-related dementia that mostly affects his speech and memory. His ability to form words is a struggle and has had on-going speech therapy for a year. It really hasn't helped much, but he enjoys it; likely because the therapists are young, good-looking ladies. His most concerning health issue is a abdominal hernia that cannot be repaired due to his age and inability to tolerate anesthesia. He has a bit of hypertension and an indwelling urinary catheter.
My mother had a pace-maker placed in early 2018 and had issues with hypertension, hypothyroid, and COPD. She was on oxygen at night but still maintained the ability to cook and go on her weekly shopping trips to Walmart.
Both parents stopped driving soon after I moved in.
I had accepted the fact that dad would be the first of the two to reach the end of the line; kick the bucket; buy the farm; give up the ghost; die. If he didn't wake up and be out of his room by 8am, I was making entry, slowly and carefully in expectation of finding him deceased. There have been plenty of times I've walked passed him, as he slept in his recliner, when I have stopped to see if his chest was rising and falling. I had prepared myself. I wasn't ready for it, but expected it and was prepared.
On December 28th, mom fell. Actually, the chair she was getting on, moved out from under her and she fell onto her butt. I asked if she wanted to go to the hospital and she declined stating she would wait to see how she felt in the morning. The next morning, December 29th, she was in a great deal of pain, so I called the ambulance and off we went to the ER. There were no broken bones and her hip replacements looked fine on x-ray. She had a lot of pain and was given an injection of a mild pain reliever and a prescription of anti-inflammatory and mild narcotic.
Once home, she was barely able to walk and was in a lot of pain. I made her eat and I gave her one of the anti-inflammatory tablets. I helped her to and from the bathroom many times as the medication made her nauseated. Later that night she asked for one of the other medication they gave her. I had given her a bell to ring, which she did many times, and I was in and out of her room many times throughout the night until she fell asleep around 3am on December 30th. I fell asleep and woke at around 8:30. I got my coffee and went in to see how mom was doing and to see if she wanted coffee. And that is when my life shifted in such a way that words cannot fully describe what I felt.
She looked like she was sleeping; she wasn't. She was in the position she slept in every single night for the past hundreds of nights; curled up in the fetal position. As I moved closer and touched her body, I knew; I knew. I called out to her; then I screamed to her. I walked out of the room as my dad was coming down the hall. I guided him back to his chair and asked him to sit down. He said he knew what I was going to say. Everything after that is kind of a blur until EMS arrived and then the coroner.
I made those difficult calls nobody wants to make. I called my brothers, my children, my aunt in California. My father, always so stoic, sat calmly in his recliner as people came in and out doing official business; the kind of official business you don't want going on at your house. My children came to my rescue, although they were as grief-stricken as I was. My brothers were there. Friends and neighbors came by. The world was spinning a million miles a second and I could not catch my balance.
The next day, my daughter went with me to make the arrangements. My mother's wishes called for cremation and scattering of the ashes on the beaches of California, Florida, and Massachusetts. There would be an open casket service but it would have to wait until family from out of town could arrive. The service was scheduled for January 5th, 2019; a full six days after her passing and the longest six days of my entire life.
Everywhere I look in this house, I see my mom. She was a collector of many things and she didn't get rid of much. As I begin the daunting task of going through clothes, papers, and all sorts of personal items, I have run across many wonderful things. I've also come across things that caused me pause and a good chuckle. The book "Everything You Wanted To Know About Sex But Were Afraid To Ask" was hidden deep inside one of her drawers. I found a speeding ticket from 1992, which didn't surprise me a bit as mom always had a heavy foot, but made me see her as a real person and not just my mother. I also found a letter I wrote her 16 years ago that made me ugly-cry for a good 20 minutes. Below, find the last paragraph of that letter and I dare you not to cry yourself:
Here I am, tears rolling down my face, reading those precious words that I know had to have meant so much to my mother for her to keep them in her drawer for all these years.
Nothing will ever be normal again as in how things have been for all my life. I never imagined my life without my mother; I just refused to take myself there. I never imagined myself without my father, but the reality of that has been made ever-so-clear. I know I am on borrowed time with him and I intend to not squander it away.
I believe I served my mother well. I was her voice when she couldn't speak. I did my best to protect her and to make her life as fulfilling as it could be in her final years. I loved/love my mother deeply although we did butt heads often. We are much alike as my daughter reminded me the other day in Walmart as I snapped at her for some reason or another. (she will certainly remember why). I heard myself laugh yesterday and it jolted me because it sounded just like my mothers' laugh. Many people say I look just like my mother. In fact, (and I'm not sure if this is a compliment or not) at the visitation at the funeral home, as people came up to view my mom, many said, "you look just like your mother" and now I'm wondering exactly what they meant.
My mom will continue to impact my life until I take my last breath. I will continue her legacy of cooking holiday meals, using her recipes, and hopefully, keeping her memory alive for ever.
I will leave you with one of my most favorite stories about mom:
On one of her birthdays, quite a few years ago, dad forgot to get her something. She was visibly upset and yelled at him, "At least you could have gotten me a fucking cake". It was the first and only time I ever heard my mother use that word; my favorite go-to curse word when I am upset. The next year, he got her a cake and we wrote on it, "here's your fucking cake". She laughed until she cried.
Florence Helen Strange
5/2/33-12/30/18
