I don’t know how she does it. How does she keep going?
Mom is so frail. She’s a bag of bones. There is no muscle left. She shakes. She never relaxes.
Her eyes are red and swollen. Everything takes effort. Even swallowing.
Every breath she takes looks like it will be her last. I’ve never so closely watched somebody breathe. Each inhalation was a big chest expansion. Even her neck swells when she breathes in.
Then the exhalation looks so strained. She clenches her mouth, butts up her chin, and every fiber in her body seems to stiffen.
I’m sad. This hurts. It’s gotta hurt Mom more, though.
I keep thinking this is the last time I’ll see her, even if it’s not her last day. It’s just really hard to keep going back. The coward in me just wants to curl up and hide. For a long time.
But she still has life in her. Not much, but it’s there. She opens her puffy eyes when I talk to her. Then she closes them. She may say something back to me. And when she does, she’s cogent. There just isn’t much dialog.
Often, she just closes her eyes and rests until I ask her another question. I really don’t know what else to do.
She says she’s not in pain. But that she doesn’t feel good. As in, she really doesn’t feel good. She can’t elaborate on what that means though.
Today was really hard. I told her it was okay to let go. Go see her mom and dad. I’m okay. She doesn’t have to be here for me. I don’t know if she got it.
But I can’t see her living like this much longer. I really can’t.
Mom is strong though. She always has been. I got my work ethic from her. I’m proud to say that. See that image up there? That’s my mom – she’s my anchor. Even though I never really felt super close to my mom, I always knew I could turn to her when I needed her.
Those days are over now. One day–soon–Mom won’t be here any more. That’s hard to say.
To top it off, I think I’m going to have to battle the hospital administrative staff. I have a meeting with them tomorrow that they called. I have a hunch that they want my mom sent somewhere else. There’s a lot behind why I say that. I hope I’m wrong. I really do.
But if I’m not wrong about this feeling I have deep in my gut, you may read about it here in a few days. When I get out of jail.
Ah, who the hell am I kidding? I’ll argue with them, they’ll acquiesce, and all will go swimmingly tomorrow. Been there done that. Didn’t get a t-shirt though.
Maybe tomorrow?
i am mourning with you. Fought the fight with my stepmother. Glad I did. You keep breathing in. Then out. And keep feeling. Then breathe.
Thanks, Anne. This is so unbelievably tough. It doesn’t help when other (entirely stupid) things steal away my time, too.
I feel your pain Bill. Went through it with my mom. The hospital may want to offer you different accommodations for this time which could be a good thing. They offered my mother larger room that would accommodate visitors at the end Your mother would be proud of you being such a good attentive son in her final days Hang in there you won’t be sorry
Bill-
I understand your conflicts of emotions. I wept for days, nights, weeks & months after my mom passed. She died the day she was suppose to come home. Never made it. I drove, ran and came into her as she passed. I felt the last breath and for that I am grateful. I know it’s hard when they get lean. My GF’s mom is lean and how she holds on I have no idea. The human spirit is strong especially in women. I am convinced this is what makes our country the best.
I feel for you. Embrace it and let it out. Most of all-never forget it. I think this is what makes us stronger in the end. To feel it and share it with others. Three years later and I still miss my mom and recall a lot of great memories.
Bill, I feel for you. I remember going through this with my grandmother. Lori Davidson, awhile back, posted an article from a hospice site about what to expect when a loved one is dying. Please contact her and read that. It REALLY helped me know what was going on.
Again, I feel for you, so much.
giving them permission is often key. Telling them they did well, and you can take over, also helps sometimes.
The fact you did that will be a comfort to you later; true story. You would always wonder if they would have tried to hang on even longer if you hadn’t.
There’s no good time to have this happen, ever. You ARE doing this with more grace than it seems like.
Bill, I believe you told her exactly what she needed to hear: that you will be okay and you give her permission to let go and leave. The survival instinct is never as visibly evident as it is in a dying person. I wonder if the administrator called the meeting to discuss Hospice upping her morphine dose and frequency, so she can die peacefully and in no pain. The loving concern you have shown her is exemplary, and I am sure she is very proud of you. Hang in there and take comfort from those little arms that hug their Daddy when he comes home.
Take care of yourself. Hugs
Bill, I am so sorry that you are going through this, right now. Both of my parents are still living and are healthy, though my mother is clearly getting older and is living with more pain, each day.
I pray that you are able to find peace and comfort, and I pray the same for your mom.
There may be part of your mom that’s holding on just for you. No good mother wants to leave her family or children behind in life. It’s amazing the power of a mother’s love.
I’m sending love your way, Bill. Thank you for this article.