February 11th, 2018: The day my mother passed away

February 11^th, 2018:  The day my mother passed away

I don’t think I got in bed until 11pm on the 10^th, but I know I didn’t sleep well at all.  My dad had a restless night and so did my grand mom, aunt and my two uncles.  I feel my mom knew it was time, knew none of us would sleep well and wanted us all to surround her.  I got the first call from my dad around midnight.  I maybe was asleep for a half hour, I really have no recollection.  But I woke up feeling all around shitty.  I felt shaky and completely exhausted.  Dad was home at this point and he told me the nurse just wanted to give him a heads up that mom’s breathing is more shallow and faint.  She told him it could be within hours.  I actually told my dad to call me back and I guess I went back to sleep.

 It sounds selfish and strange, but that’s what happened.  I took the first phone call as a warning.  I just knew I had to lie back down because I felt so depleted.  My dad called me again around 2:45am.  This time, he was at hospice. When he called the second time, I immediately thought she had passed. 

He obviously couldn’t go back to bed, unlike his crazy daughter. He then told me that my grand mom, aunt and two uncles just arrived and that I should come. I told my husband what was up and he wanted to come too.  He called his parents and my father in law was at our house within fifteen minutes to be there when Claire awoke. My mother in law wanted to be with all of us, so she came to hospice as well.  I arrived at hospice around 3:15am.  I left the house in my pjs and braless; which sucked for when it got a little warm in the room because I had a fleece jacket on with a see through top underneath.  Any woman reading this understands what I’m talking about.

4am-7:30am was complete torture. Hospice is literally an exhausting waiting game.  In those hours, I’d walk around, grab water, eventually ate a day old donut and even stretched out on the pull out chair here and there.  It was daunting and I had to close my eyes at times.  Everyone pretty much did the same thing.  I’ve never experienced something like this in my life.  I was literally waiting around for my mom to die. It was very surreal. Her breathing was shallow but she had what the nurse explained to be a “death rattle.”  I Googled that term and it means terminal respiratory secretions in the patient’s throat. It’s sort of like a loud sigh sound, and then it would be very faint and back to kind of loud again.  My mom was not in pain and toward the end; they eventually took her oxygen off because at that point, it wasn’t helping much anyway. I had asked the nurse if they could take the tube off her face and she kindly did. The only meds they gave was adavan to help her sleep more comfortably and a low dose of morphine every six hours.

I sat next to her and rested my head on her shoulder. My husband took a photo of this and I’m so glad he did.  I remember my Uncle Gary sitting across from me while holding mom’s hand crying and yelling, “just go!”  “Just go!” Everyone in that room had their own moment of tears.  It was incredibly heartbreaking but also beautiful at the same time.  When mom had passed, I hugged my grand mom as she cried and shouted, “My precious Karen.” “You should have taken me!” “You should have taken me!”  I told my grand mom to “let it all out.”  “That’s your child.”  “Let it out!”  She said to me how terrible she feels for me and I basically said those same words right back to her.  My dad lost his beloved wife, his life partner, my grand mom lost her child and only daughter and I lost my mother; my best friend.  We three experienced a tremendous loss, yet have three different perspectives.

I remember the nurse mentioning mom’s hands had a ‘’molding shape”; which was just another indicator of death approaching. I remember standing over mom with my aunt and we were feeling for her very faint pulse on her neck. This was maybe two minutes before she passed and I began crying loudly. I couldn’t feel her pulse anymore and my aunt noted, “hold on, hold on, it’s still there, just very faint.”  I still felt it for a moment and that was oddly reassuring when she told me that. It’s amazing what we remember when traumatic events occur in our lives.  I remember the specific smells I had whenever I was near my mom. Her hospital gown, her hair, the hospital room and hospice room are still very much alive memories in my brain.  I had also brought in a stuffed lamb doll of my daughter’s for comfort.  I’ll never wash that doll again.  

As my mom got more and more quiet, we all just knew it was happening.  The only person who did not want to be in the room when mom passed was one of her brother’s, my uncle. Hey, to each their own.  I completely respected that.  I never witnessed death before and obviously hope I never have to again, but it was an overwhelming and incredible experience. It was also humbling, yet very eerie and morbid.  It was beautiful and calming, while also very intense and torturing. It was basically the biggest oxymoron I’ve ever encountered.

My mom passed away at 7:30am on Sunday, February 11^th, 2018. She passed away the way she wanted to.  She was peaceful, relieved and surrounded by her family and loved ones. I feel there wasn’t a more perfect way to depart.