My Mother’s passing has been a unique experience for me. As difficult as it is knowing that I won’t see her again until I too leave this earth, when I reflect on how everything unfolded, it was a perfect scenario. The initial shock of seeing her in a hospital bed in ICU sank in quickly. On the day of my arrival the doctor was very precise in explaining to me what was happening. You may remember the original diagnosis was a nasty gall bladder that needed to be removed. Apparently that along with many other issues caused her to go into A-Fib more than the doctors were comfortable with. Not only was her heart a major problem, they also discovered a portion of her colon was not getting blood, they saw lesions in her gut and a shadow where she had once had ovarian cancer. So you see her insides were a mess.
My Mom was a 12 year ovarian cancer survivor. I was SO proud of her for that. She breezed through the treatments and always, and I mean always, with a smile on her face. In November of 2023 she had her wellness visit and the cancer remained in arrest. Nasty cancer, you did not need to creep back in. After blood work and cat scans the oncologist gave us the dire news that it was back and with a vengeance. I know in my heart that this news greatly distressed her. He also delivered the news that at her age and considering her faltering health she was not a candidate for chemo or surgery.
After we learned that news we knew she was facing death. Those words may sound a bit harsh but, reality. I was with her in the hospital for 2 1/2 weeks. At one point they determined she no longer needed the treatments that can only be provided in ICU and moved her to a regular room. She settled in and began to charm the nurses there as she had the ICU nurses.
It was apparent to me that she would not be with me forever. She didn’t eat or drink much throughout. Over 2 1/2 weeks she got down a cup of jello and a few sips of broth. I know our bodies are not able to survive like this. It was so cute how she played on her phone, laughed with all her visitors and chatted up the nurses and doctors with her cheerful attitude daily. She greeted me with a big smile each morning and as I left each night told me how happy she was to have me with her and of course, we constantly expressed our love for each other.
I understand not all families have relationships like I did with my parents. My Dad and Mom were both wonderful at expressing their love for me and each other. Growing up in that environment made it easy for me to be like that with my girls. We all seem to easily express our feelings for each other – good and not so good ones on occasion. One thing I would encourage everyone reading this is to do YOUR best at expressing your love for your family and your friends. I believe we all want love in our lives.
Now I want to share more about the experience and how we navigated it all. Once it had been determined that my Mom was not a prospect for surgery of any type or chemo, the next step was one of the most distressing for both of us. Hospice! The word hospice is unsettling without a doubt. On the day the doctors decided moving her to a facility for her hospice care was a strong possibility we felt let down. Both my Mother and I were, if you can imagine, comfortable in that hospital room with nurses and doctors we were familiar with. Moving to a new facility seemed crazy and I wondered how well she would survive that.
Throughout I prayed and prayed that if her time here was not complete that she be healed because the doctors made it clear they were incapable of healing her. I also prayed that if her time here was finished that she fall asleep and not wake up. To pass peacefully.
I expressed to one of the doctors that I wished we could avoid moving her. He told me he would do what ever he could to keep her at the hospital. It was somewhat clear that her time was quickly coming to an end. Meantime I had to visit a facility to access putting her there. One of my very best friends accompanied me and wow that was not fun. Being familiar these types of places and no matter how hard the director tried to assure me how lovely it all was, I didn’t like any of it. I wasn’t given a choice about paying a visit and signing the papers to start the hospice process. I felt shitty about that.
When I referred to it as a “perfect scenario” at the beginning of this post, what I am about to tell you, I think, will make it clear. The steps necessary to start the hospice process began on a Tuesday. That afternoon a nice young lady from hospice came to visit in the hospital and explained how it would all work. All the while I was praying and wishing that she would not be moved. The next day, Wednesday, the doctor had ordered that a tube going down her throat into her belly be removed. The original purpose of the tube was to try and deflate her ever growing extended belly. It was not successful.
She was so happy to have it out! However, that evening her breathing became labored and they started her on oxygen. On Thursday morning the doctors determined that she would not be moved as her passing was definitely getting closer. I was so grateful to hear they would not be putting her through that! Two of the doctors stood by her bedside took her hands and explained to her that they were moving into the process of keeping her comfortable. I had already been informed privately that we were close to the end. One doctor advised me to have my family come as soon as possible. It was a blessing that my daughter and son-in-law who live in Hawaii were already scheduled to arrive on Friday. My husband and daughter in North Carolina were able to get tickets to also arrive on Friday. It was all happening so fast my head was spinning yet I felt numb at the same time. Dizzy and numb and scared and grateful and sad. All those feelings bouncing around inside me like a pinball machine.
The doctors explained to her that to keep her comfy they would be administering morphine every four hours and would begin to turn down the flow of oxygen. They asked me when to start this. I knew my Mom at that point was still incredibly alert and I advised them to ask her. The docs knew her family would arrive the next day and they gave her the option to start on Thursday or wait until her family arrived. She, of course, responded with this. “You can start all that after I’ve spent the day with my family tomorrow (Friday)”.
The greatest blessing to me was having a few private minutes with her before everyone started arriving. This my friends is maybe the hardest part of all, but I will never have any regrets about not telling her how I felt about her. It was difficult and I fought back floods of tears yet it felt so perfect to be able to tell her my feelings and hear hers as well. Again, if I could give you guidance, don’t hesitate to tell your loved ones on their death bed how much you love them or how much they mean to you. It seemed as though I gave her permission to leave and she was ready! I admit it is an uncomfortable feeling and I thought long and hard about what to say. I am so glad I took the time and found the courage to do so.
Friday was the best, under our grim circumstances. She still had visitors throughout the day and best of all her family arrived. We spent all day Friday visiting, laughing and sharing memories. She gathered us all around her at one point and told us all how much she appreciated and loved each of us. Get the box of tissues! When we left that evening I felt it could be the last time I kissed her goodnight.
Saturday morning we were back at the hospital and it was a different scene. They had lowered her oxygen and began the morphine on a regular schedule. She was smiling and happy to see us but much quieter and sleepier. After dozing for a while she opened her eyes and announced, “Y’all go get some lunch and let me rest”. We left and upon going back a few hours later she was sleeping and resting so quietly. The nurse suggested I try and wake her. I gently shook her shoulder and said, ‘Mom, Mom”. After a few minutes she opened her eyes and squinted at me, “what?”. I knew. I asked, ” are you ok? You’re resting”. She smiled and said, “I’m ok”. She closed her eyes and drifted off. I kissed her forehead and told her I loved her one last time.
