deal properly with my mom dying

Yesterday was a surreal day of sadness, love, details, and relief. I will miss my mother until the day I die and her voice will echo in my head and speak in my own words to my daughters and their children. And though I feel exhausted, steeped in grief and as though I were beaten with a club, I know I will get past this because I am surrounded and supported by those who love me as much as I have loved my mother.

I grew up poor and fatherless and yet I feel like a most fortunate woman.

Thank you all for your love and support throughout my completion of this goal. Though I will grieve for a while, I am marking this done as I have done everything for my Mom I set out to do and I believe she is at peace.

About 6:15 I went into Mom’s room. Her breathing was ragged but different. She no longer stopped breathing in intervals. I stayed, told her I loved her, told her to tell my best friend and my father that I miss them and I said thank you. I told her that her work was done and done well. Then she died.

My daughter is still in bed and I haven’t called in hospice yet. I will write her obit and then alert my family. Thank you all for all your support through this.

We talk every day about Mom. He told me she has a small insurance policy and a few bonds. He is the beneficiary. But he will cash them in and send me the money. When he told me that, I cried. Not just for the generosity he exhibits, but in pride that while other families may fight over assets, mine is so unselfish. We have our dysfunctions, for sure, but when the chips are down, we rally round.

Mom remains unresponsive, but continues to breathe. Thanks to hospice she is resting comfortably.

We are officially on death watch. Yesterday hospice gave her “hours to days” only. She is mostly unconsious, or in a haze. She was having hallucinations, but the atavan has mostly stopped that. She has had nothing to eat or drink in two days.

Both my daughters are with me. We had a good cry-in last night over pizza and wine sharing many memories of Mom. I stopped sitting with her every minute last night, recognizing that not only would she not want that, but that my girls needed me. Unbeliveably, my chow took up the vigil for me and has not left Mom’s bedside. Occasionally he comes to get me to bring me back.

I cleaned Mom’s bathroom this morning. She would be so embarassed to know someone had to clean up after her but watching her die like this has shown me that this – all of this – from the “lingering” to the soiled toilet seat is just part of the human condition.

Mom had a terrible night. She kept saying, “I want to go home” and “I want to go to bed.” My assurances that she was home and in bed did nothing to soothe her. She jabbered about nonsense for hours and called my name until about 2 p.m. when I finally gave her one of her sleeping pills. She no longer understood how to help me lift her out of the bed and onto the commode and without her assistance I physically was unable to lift her.

Right now her breathing is ragged and she hasn’t awakened. I don’t want to wake her until the nurse gets here so I have someone to help me lift her.

Mom thinks there were people in her room painting the ceiling in the dark. She thinks she’s getting better and has plans for tomorrow. She thinks she can walk.

I think she may finally be losing her mind.

Mom’s condition is the same. She sleeps most of the day. She can no longer walk at all – even with assistance. She does struggle to sit up a bit. Her mind is still ok once she is fully awake. I’m hanging in there.

This is what my mother has asked me each morning for the last week. The encroaching darkness has nothing to do with the weather, which is as dry as ever. The only storm, I fear, is the electrical one in her mind, slowly shutting down life’s functions.

She did not get up last night. I just checked on her, rubbed her gently and talked to her but I got no response. I did find a pulse, though.

What kind of day will I have today, I wonder?

Well, I got the commode but I haven’t been able to pry her out of bed since about mid-afternoon. I’ll have to get some adult diapers at this rate. She says she’s in no pain but she’s moaning.

Not that what I hope for counts for a hill of beans, but at this point I’m wondering should I hope for a quick death, a rally, what? I hate feeling so helpless.

If she’s now bedridden, I don’t know how I’ll manage.

Anyone who has ever tended someone who is dying knows what I mean by this, the dark, sunken eyes are as clear a portent of death as labor pains are of impending life.

I left the door open between our rooms last night and she talked in her sleep. It was heartbreaking. This morning she was too weak to get to the toilet. We tried and on the 7th or 8th try she made it. Repeated calls to home health and hospice resulted in everyone trying to contact her doctor and the equipment people refusing to bill Medicare because she “between” services. If no one arrives at my door by 4:30 with a commode and a walker, I’m going to go get them myself and damn the expense.

Mom is holding on to her sanity with everything she has left. She read the headlines in the morning paper. A small thing, certainly, but this illustrates the force of her will I have known all my life.

I hope she lasts long enough for my daughter to see her on Tuesday.