Blindsided By Death…

I’m saddened to say that we buried Mom less than a month ago. Even though she had several ailments, we weren’t suspecting a possible stroke. All of us knew it would be an uphill battle, but we had hoped with therapy, she could swallow and hopefully, speak by Thanksgiving. Complication after complication mounted. Her weakened body, struggled to stay alive for us. She tried to breathe without the ventilator for exactly 24 hours.

Hard To Watch…

All of our prayers, joined together with parishioners, neighbors and friends could not bring about a miracle. So, our prayers changed for a miracle of another kind, that she dies soon as to relieve her suffering. Mom had a living will, so no extreme measures were to be taken. Due to the stroke, early on she tried to speak and sometimes you could decipher a word. But, as the days went on, she became weaker. Her not being able to tell each one of us something private, personal, left us without closure. Seeing your mother cry out of frustration and fear, took resolve not to react.

Dying Is Not Peaceful – She Suffered

Mom had shallow, labored breathing exactly two hours after being removed from the ventilator. The moment she started coughing and gasping for air the team had warned us, she would be switching from medical care to comfort care. Once that moment came, I feverishly prayed aloud for her soul. Afterall, what was left? We were losing Mom. They gave her more oxygen, until the pain medicine, which was given every 15 minutes started to relax her. Most of us stayed with her for another 8 hours, not expecting her to survive long, according to the medical team.

Clinging To Life

At 3:00 A.M. I called the hospital. There was still no change in Mom. Of course, it was hard to sleep, but I needed to stay home with Dad. Three hours later, more family was at the hospital, by her side. Still, her rhythmic, gasping breathing happened. Mom eyes closed, mouth open, lie motionless as the medication eased her struggle. When I arrived at 8:30 A.M., to relieve some family and pray more for her soul, I noticed here and there her breathing would take a split second longer.

Hospice Paperwork

Since Mom was in ICU, and not expected to live much longer, the hospital needed to move her to their Hospice wing. Dad signed the paperwork in the ICU waiting room. Later, the Hospice Doctor came by to see Mom and speak a little about what would happen. He examined her hands and feet. Took her pulse. He told me by his guess a few hours. I had heard that the dying waits for their family to leave until they pass. I asked him about this, and he explained that in his experience it’s either that OR they are waiting on a loved one to come. Yes, one wasn’t present, but had spoken on the phone. He paused and said, “Are you religious?” I said we are crazy Catholics and have been praying for her soul. He said; “Great. She should be fine.” I didn’t ask him to elaborate. I needed to start praying at her bedside.

Waxy Color

About this time, alone with Mom I noticed how yellow she was. The term “waxy” I had heard many times describing the dead and dying. But now I understood that to mean like the look of wax beans. The pale yellow, semi-translucent skin. Mom had purple and red small bruise-like spots over her arms and on her fingertips. Her feet were cold and then sometimes hot. Her left arm and leg had swollen, due to the stroke and lack of movement.

Her Death

After praying for her soul, really begging that her suffering be reparation for her purgatory, I spoke to her. I have known for some time that the dying can hear you. So, I had told her anything noteworthy about what was happening to her as well as any family concerns. This time, regardless of any past issues, troubles, I let Mom know something she has probably never heard. It dawned on me that neither her parents (which were never involved with her) nor her sisters or family had ever told her what she needed to hear. So, I told her. I told my mother that she was a success. That she was successful, more so than anyone in her immediate family. I told her that it was okay to go. And to look for the light.

I Took A Break

I let one of my family members know that I was going to step out, but that I should be back in about one hour. I no sooner drove about 2 miles from the hospital when I received the call. Mom stopped breathing; a nurse called for a doctor. When I returned to the hospital, Mom had been pronounced about 10 minutes prior. The nurse and family confirmed that as soon as they had mentioned aloud in front of Mom that I had left, her breathing became few and far between.

We Stayed With Her Body

Dad and I stayed with Mom for 2 and a half hours after her death. Mostly silent. I touched her hands and her face, her feet and her arms. I stroked her hair – all things we were never permitted to do while she lived. When I started to cry, I realized that I cried for myself out of pity and fear. I still repeat that over and over. I had taken a moment to call the funeral home of choice, there with Mom. I didn’t realize that she would go to the hospital morgue. Once received there, later most likely late into the night the funeral workers would transport her to the funeral home. Thus began the process of preparing for the funeral…