View from the Serenity Room at the Hospice House
Three weeks ago today, Mom was admitted to Sacred Heart Medical Center with a fever and very low white blood cell count. One week ago today, she seemed to be rebounding, and the doctor was talking about a possible release date. Today, she continues to be in the near-death coma that began last Monday.
At several points this week, death has seemed imminent. Yesterday evening, the suspense seemed to reach a climax. Her breathing began to change again. The hospice workers said that signs suggested it might be in the next few hours or perhaps even minutes, although they always remind us that each individual is different.
Peg, Bill and I, sharing our grief, all spent the night in her hospice room. None of us wanted to be at Peg's home in bed when our dear mother drew her last breath.
Today, she inhales and exhales, and her rapid pulse continues to flutter under the fragile skin of her neck. The body can be tenacious of life, even after the essence, the individuality has all but evaporated.
Only very gradually, and in waves, I realize that she and I won't be making new memories, teaching me the meaning of the word "heartsick." My mother's amazing friendship will continue to sustain me, I know, but only as I treasure the memories we've made. Maybe consolation will come in telling stories of her, as Peg, Bill and I have been doing, especially last night at her bedside.
Right now, even though we know she isn't suffering, we all are wishing she could let go. "Go to those Pearly Gates, Rita. Jim is already in the van with the motor running and is waiting for you to go fishing. Go on now. We'll miss you tremendously, but we will be OK. Go on now."
She is getting the death she wanted--a dignified one. She hasn't endured a long internment in a nursing home. She was active and engaged with life up to the previous few weeks.
But these three weeks have been an eternity. That slow ole' specter death, he is a long, long time a-comin'.
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