The Death Watch of My Mother: Part Five
November 27, 2006
This is part five of the series by Missy. Here are parts one, two, three, and four.
I was lying on the edge of the bed with my Mom for about 15 minutes when I heard a beeeeeeeeee sound. I looked at the monitor and her heart had stopped.
“Mom!” I called out sharp and staccato, the way you might yell a child’s name who was about to touch something he shouldn’t. The beeeeeeee sound did a bip beep and then another bip beep. She took a gasping breath.
A nurse came quickly padding in on her crepe soles. I climbed down from the bed while she took my Mom’s pulse and started checking all of the monitors.
“Is everything okay? What happened?” I asked.
“We just went away for a minute,” the nurse said. “Back again. Not quite ready yet, are you dear?” She touched my Mom’s cheek. She looked up at me. “I’m just a few feet away at the nurses station, if you need anything.” She turned and walked out again.
I guess I should pause in my story and interject here. It occurs to me in hindsight that I should have let her go at that moment. I’ve read that terminally ill patients need “permission” to die. Her body was wasted and gone. Whatever essence of my Mom that was left on the inside knew I was there, I’m sure of it. And maybe dying in my arms at that moment seemed like the right thing to her. Maybe if I’d had more than a few hours to prepare myself and accept her death, maybe if I’d been more mature or experienced I would have let her go. I would have just hugged her and said good-bye instead of calling her back to life by her own sheer will power. Instead I pulled up a chair and started talking.
Iva came back to the hospital shortly after that, around 9:30 PM, to sit with me. “How’s she doing?” asked Iva when she walked into the room. I told her about the heart stopping episode and how I had called out her name.
“She hears you, Missy. She knows you’re here.”
“I know. I just wish Todd were here. I want him to have a chance to say good-bye.” I leaned over to my Mom, “Todd’s coming, Mom. Hang in there, okay?”
And so the long, long night began. Iva and I would talk to each other, talk to my Mom. At least four times throughout the night her heart and breathing stopped. Each time I would whisper in her ear, “Todd’s coming, Mom. Todd’s on his way here,” and she would come back.
It was still dark out at 6:00 AM when my Dad came back to the hospital. Iva put her coat on and kissed us all good-bye. I didn’t tell my Dad how many times she had died that night. What I told him was, “Keep talking to her. Keep telling her Todd’s coming.”
I bundled up and went out to my car, which had been parked in the lot since the previous afternoon. I couldn’t believe how cold it was. At 6 degrees Farenheit, everything freezes. My car was frozen and it took 20 minutes to warm it up and scrape off enough snow and frost to be able to drive. I could have walked to my parents house faster. I went through the Burger King drive through and got a breakfast sandwich. When I reached my parents house and walked in the door at 6:30 AM my brother Bob was standing in the family room waiting for me.
“She’s gone,” he said.
“Oh no,” was all I could say. We cried and held each other for a while.
Finally Bob said, “They’re waiting for us at the hospital.”
“Well,” I said, “my car’s warmed up.”
When we got to the hospital, to her room, I was startled at how different she looked in death. Even though it was her body, her face, even though I had seen her alive less than an hour before, it looked nothing like her. I couldn’t bring myself to touch or hug her lifeless body. Without her warmth and animation, this shell was not my Mom. I asked the time of death.
“6:07 AM,” was the nurses reply. I thought about where I was at that moment. I hadn’t even made it to the parking lot. I turned to my Dad.
“I wasn’t even out of the building yet,” I said to him. “Did you talk to her when her heart stopped?” I asked. “Did you tell her Todd was still on his way?”
“I wasn’t there,” he said.
“What do you mean you weren’t there? I left you with her.”
“After you left I went to the bathroom and then I got a cup of coffee. When I came back there were all of these people in the room and she was gone.”
I felt a blind rage sweep over me. “You left her alone? Why would you do that? Why didn’t you tell me you had to go to the bathroom and get some coffee? I would have waited for you! I would have sat with her until you were ready! You let her die alone!” I knew my words hurt him. His jaw set. He didn’t respond. The doctor was trying to hold a meeting around us. Which funeral home? Did we want to donate her corneas? Bob, my Dad and I were all dazed.
I stood up. “Bailey Newhouse Funeral Home,” I said as I turned to leave. “I’ll see you guys back at the house.”
I had to be at the airport by 10:00 AM to pick up my brother Todd. I thought I would try to get some rest. When I got to the house I went up to my Mom and Dad’s bedroom. They slept in side by side twin beds. I got into my Mom’s bed and lay on my side for a moment. Suddenly I felt a weird pain in my right side, just under my rib cage. It felt like a hand had reached up into me and was pulling on something. I jumped up out of the bed and stood there for a moment. The pain went away. I sat on the edge of the bed and let the tears fall once again. I heard the front door and knew Dad and Bob were back. I decided to pass on the nap and start making plans.
~ Missy
Reprinted with Permission
November 27th, 2006 at 11:32 am
Missy, this brought tears to my eyes. You’ve written it all so beautifully, so raw. I’m sure your mother is looking down on you, with much pride.
Karen
xo
November 27th, 2006 at 11:52 am
Karen, thank you so much.
December 12th, 2006 at 1:24 am
I understand how you felt - all of it. The anger, frustration, bewilderment. Tell me - how is it that we as human beings seem to be able to control our deaths to some extent? My husband s uncle/father did that. We knew he had cancer - that the cancer was untreatable. John was not a good man. He was an alcoholic - abusing my husband as a child - beating him, treating him like dirt. All because my husband’s mother had orphaned him at age 6 forcing him to live with his aunt and uncle. That uncle saw it as an inconvenience - and whenever he drank he took out his own anger and frustration at being saddled with nine children on the one child that wasn t his my husband. Still when he lay dying my husband came. John said nothing until my husband left the room. The he motioned me over and proceeded to apologize for every beating. To me not to my husband. By the time my husband came back into the room his uncle was dead. He had done the thing his soul required then passed on. I ve never quite understood the whys and wherefore s of all that. Age does not seem to be lending wisdom on this particular subject.
Beautifully written, my dear - emotional and evocative. I hope the writing of it granted you some closure.
December 12th, 2006 at 2:48 pm
FLS: “he motioned me over and proceeded to apologize for every beating. To me not to my husband” that just blows me away. But then again, I’ve read it’s not unusual for abusers to apologize to the wrong person.
Thanks for the compliment. I did forgive my Dad and get past this–he was a great Dad and I loved him dearly, but it was difficult for both of us. I’ll always have some regrets.
December 20th, 2006 at 5:54 pm
[...] This is a series?about my Mother’s death. This is part six, the final chapter. If you haven’t read them yet, here are parts one, two, three, four, and five.??? [...]