Her last day
JULY 08, 2014
The day my mom passed was rainy and gray. I’d been on watch the night before, sleeping close to her in case she needed me. It was the first night she’d not stirred. I, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep. I kept waking to make sure she was still breathing. She didn’t fully awaken the next day. She would respond to me but she didn’t open her eyes for long. I knew this was the next step in losing her.
The nurse came at lunch time. She was the same nurse who had helped us when my grandmother was on hospice, so she felt more like family than not. She went over what we would experience over the next few days. My sister joined me as we tried to grasp all that she was saying. Switching gears from saving life to letting it go is hard. You have to let go of what you’ve known your entire life.
The nurse outlined medication routines and went over the signs of approaching death. She gave my mom a couple of days. I cried at the overwhelming nature of the task. I knew I would be there with her, helping her die. It is a sacred, enormous responsibility. I didn’t know how to do it. I didn’t know how to let her go.
Before leaving, the nurse and I changed the dressing on my mom’s feeding tube. We’d established a routine of caring for her, and this time was no different. My sister had gone upstairs, so it was just me, the nurse, and my mom. I was standing to her left side, close to her. I looked to her face as I did so often, and I could see that something had changed.
It happened so quickly. I have only been near death once before, with my grandma, but this time was different. It was so clear to me that she was gone or close to leaving. She took a few more, labored, slow breaths. I kept thinking it was more reflexive than not because her appearance had altered so completely. I don’t know how to explain it except that her soul was gone. I could see and feel the truth that her soul was no longer in her body. I’m not sure how life and death really works. I’m sure that we all bring our beliefs and our assumptions to the situation, but in those moments, all I could do was turn inward and listen to what I was feeling and then align it with what I was seeing. I held her hand, as I had for so many weeks. The nurse gathered my sister and then my father. She had told us earlier that when it happened we should take a moment and just be present. So, I sat with my mom as the boundary between here and there engulfed the room.
I have always believed in life after death, but in the weeks leading up to her passing I found myself needing it to be true more than ever. I needed to believe that this wouldn’t be the last time I would hear her, see her, or touch her. I can see why many people believe that religion is created to pacify loss or to fill in the gaps of what we don’t know. I’m not here to comment on anyone else’s beliefs or even their own experiences with death. I would never presume such liberties. But, I know what I experienced and felt that afternoon. It seems like this journey for me has been, in part, to remind myself to listen to my heart and to trust what I find there.
In the nearest hours to her passing, I turned to my heart. The beautiful gift I received was that my mom was now whole. After months of assault from her body, she was finally free. I don’t know how heaven works or what happens when we pass, but I know that I felt her close to me. I recognized her soul and her love. She quietly guided and comforted me my entire life, and I think she did in her passing as well. She knew I needed her just a little longer.
The next day, my siblings along with the grandkids went to the store and bought her favorite foods, especially those she had been hoping to enjoy again once her taste returned. We went home and celebrated her. We laughed and we wept. We held onto each other tightly in order to let her go.
I understand that everything and everyone has a season of life, and as the days stretched out from her passing, I knew I needed to rediscover the air and feel of my season. I needed time and space to help heal my soul and bask in the beauty that nourishes it. I believe that we must all slow down and find the tempo of our souls. We must take time to remember who we are, and we must partake often of the beauty that stirs us. I hope to be a better person, more compassionate and aware. I want to remember her often and to allow myself to feel the pain and the love. I want to stand at the edge of my own humanity and embrace the glories of what life has to offer. I hope that anyone who reads this or who has read my words will seek for joy and truth in life, whatever that is and wherever that takes you. Trust your heart. Let people in. Love deeply.