Dear Friends,
As most of you know, my mom passed away in January at the age of 92. It had been a long couple of months as we bravely tried to manage her decline. It was hard, bittersweet, and amazing. I have never been through anything like it in my life.
I’ve just returned home from Siesta Key, Florida, a place where my sisters and I began, seven years ago, to bring mom. We would rent a beautiful condo together and visit with my mom’s brother, his wife, and numerous others that she grew up with in her hometown of Stockdale, PA. Initially we stayed for one week, but it soon became evident that staying two weeks was the only way to go.
It is simply paradise there. There are palm trees, magnificent sunrises and sunsets, white sand, emerald green water. There are glimpses of dolphin fins once in a while and the lifeguard stands are brightly colored. People are kind and nice. Strangers say hello, ask questions, or just say good morning. It is a place for rest and rejuvenation.
Such is necessary after the long, two year pandemic, the quarantine, the worry that my mother brought me on almost a daily basis, and the reckoning of her passing. Her health began to fail slowly about six months ago. She wasn’t recovering as fast from set backs and though my sisters and I managed her health issues as the able bodied taskmasters that we are, my mother’s body was not compliant, not having it, and at times, downright defiant.
My mother had a desire to live, claimed she was not afraid of death, but in the end she succumbed to the failings of her body. We do not get to decide when we want to live or die, and this lesson became very apparent to me. I desperately tried to live in reality as I was watching her body slowly wind down, searching for signs that it really wasn’t going to happen, that it would all reverse, and she would regain another second wind.
The year before my mother’s passing was an educational one. My sisters and I investigated every possible scenario that we could, the goal being to keep my mother in her home. Hospice was a blessing. My mother repeatedly told us that as long as she knew who she was and where she was, she wanted to be at home. Respecting these wishes became our mantra and we did everything we could to make this possible.
There was a series of events that led up to my mom finally being admitted to hospice, and by admitted I mean she was allowed to stay in her home. Many doors opened at this point. It was about a month before her passing and I painstakingly listened to what the aides and nurses were telling me.
Your mother could be bed bound in two weeks. Practice tough love and get her a hospital bed.
Make your mother comfortable and give her the medications that have been provided for her.
No one wants to admit they are losing a parent. Watching those frightening moments of struggle, pain, and suffering, are not for the faint hearted. At any time we could have taken my mother to a hospital or in patient hospice, but we knew that was not what she wanted. We toughed it out.
Friends and relatives came to visit. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for them to witness my mom in her delicate state. Some felt more comfortable than others and I understood that. My sisters and I welcomed everyone who came. A few days before mom passed, her hometown family drove the hour and a half to see her. My sisters and I set the dining room table with the best linen, china, glasses, and silverware, the way our mother would have done for them. We prepared a simple lunch but it felt like a feast. Mom slept through the whole thing, but rallied near the end of their visit and knew they were there. It was a spiritual experience to watch her.
In the last few days of her life, my sisters and I hunkered down at mom’s. It was very bonding- we ate together, slept in shifts, greeted the hospice workers, and managed mom’s care as best we could. We walked her final journey, her last time on earth, with her. My sisters and I are all educated, over achievers, yet this was an experience that challenged us.
All of my worries over the past decade vanished at her passing. I’ve come to realize how much I had already grieved her loss in the last two years. When I would leave her, I’d picture the worst case scenarios- her falling and hurting herself, breaking a hip, being on the floor, struggling to get herself up any way she could. In those moments, I’d flip the picture and pray to God that she would have the peaceful passing she deserved and I wanted for her.
It happened. The traumatic incident that I prayed would not happen, never came. Instead, a gradual transition, a straddling of both this and another world, came into focus. Then slowly, the quiet slipping away to her departed family, where I’m sure they were waiting for her.
I want to thank many of my friends and family who loved and cared about my mom. Her funeral was beautiful and I’m so glad that many cousins made the day a priority. Now comes the time when we rest, recover, and remember all of the wonderful memories, the wisdom, and the beauty that was Katherine.
Love, Joanne
