Inviolable Bond

While my mother and I have had many chapters in our lives together, as she has begun her final days on this earth, the parts of the story are even more loving and vulnerable than those before.

It was last Sunday April 7th, when I was getting mom settled into bed, I felt a change was happening. Saturday had been a tougher day and night for her to manage the pain she was experiencing. Monday April 8th, as soon as I got Neva, my kindergartener on the school bus that morning, I contacted the VNA and said we were ready to move to hospice.

By noon that day, we had transitioned over to the team that is seeing us through the time we have left with her on earth. By 7pm that evening I had the comfort kit, which is a bag full of drugs to help ease pain and discomfort.

Those of you who know my mom, know she is a fighter. She had been fighting through most of the pain leading up to that point because she didn’t want her abilty to feel ‘with’ us impaired by Oxycodone. I can’t say I blame her.

By Tuesday April 9th she was still up with us in the mornings, spending the day with us but I could see she was changing. We adjusted her steroid medication and helped her with Oxycodone and Ativan to keep her comfortable.

Wednesday April 10th, was a tremendous gift. Day 1 of her rally. In reading about those approaching end of life, they refer to a rally period. She was sitting up most of the day, talking in full sentences at times and was making sense. Her disposition has truly been sweet as always, but there seemed to be a greater level happening that day.

Conversely, it was a really tough day for me. I was tired from not sleeping much the night before, and it was a hectic day with my kids. Neva had a award ceremony at school and just the change in schedule, with my kids, lead to a longer, more stressful, close to the “second shift” of the day.

Once my kids were tucked in, it was time for mom and I to make the careful trek down the stairs to her “nana suite”. After I had her in PJs, teethbrushed and tucked in, I started to read on the couch nearby as she was watching TV before she would drift off to sleep. She kept looking over at me, and I back at her. So I got up and knelt by her side.

“Do you need anything?” I asked her.

“I don’t want to……..I don’t want to…..”. Mom, followed with a big mouth exhale. I know this exhale well. I do the same thing myself. She was frustrated. But, I could see in her eyes what she wanted to say. Her eyes filled with tears and a sad smile. I began to cry. I sobbed at her bedside while she stroked and patted the back of my head and neck.

“I hate that this is happening to you, but I promise I will take care of you and be by your side.” It was a relief for both of us. She, in her confusion, had finally figured out that she was dying, and that time was short. As I hugged and kissed her again, I said “I love you so much.” Through teary eyes she said “I love you too.” It was the first time she had been able to say it in weeks. As sad and exhausted as I was, I knew it didn’t matter anymore about what was coming, we were both going to be okay.

Thursday April 11th, we met our new hospice nurse Alicia and social worker Michelle. Mom had another good day, eating with us, laughing at jokes, and getting around with her walker great.

Friday April 12th, got off to a rough start. Our caregiver service was later than normal, and I had been up getting my three kids ready for school and over to my in-laws for the morning because I had a meeting at school. By 10am when I got back from my meeting, I knew things were not well with her. I could see she was in a different place, even with the increase in meds, she was in pain. I got her settled and comfortable by 11am to take Leni my three-year-old to preschool. At that time I asked, “Do you want me to call the priest to come today?”, she nodded yes.

I picked up a fish sandwich, onion rings and a chocolate shake for mom on my way back home. She napped until about 1:30pm. When she woke up we tried to take her to the bathroom before she sat down to eat. It took 30 minutes with myself and the caregiver to help her from my living room to the bathroom. The time had come for the wheelchair. It was her last time on her feet.

She ate half her sandwich and a few onion rings, enjoying them with myself. Leni, and Matty at the table with her. She began to drift off. All her energy was zapped from the struggle of the trip. Typically, she had always wanted to stay up stairs with us and rest on the couch, but that day I asked if she wanted to go down to bed, and she nodded yes. I navigated her out and back into the house through the ramps my father in-law had built the day before. While this was happening, I realized I was about to miss getting Neva off the bus. I phoned my amazing neighbor Jenee, who got her just in time. Moments later I had her safely in the nana suite, settled in the bed. This was the final time she could use words to say “I love you”.

She fell asleep and never really woke up again. By 4:30pm, Fr. Mateus Souza was at the house to give her the Sacrament of the Sick.

That night I had to phone hospice to come over to insert a catheter. Her body was surrendering, whether she wanted it to or not.

Saturday through today, Wednesday, has brought fast changes. She’s been unable to eat or take any regular medication since Sunday. Her abilty to drink fluids has ceased. Her medication dosages and timings are increasing to keep her comfortable. I’ve given her my baby blanket to comfort her, and in the presence of Alicia the hospice nurse, she immediately brought it to her face to smell and cuddle. Those closest to her have said their good byes, and wished for her to be at peace.

While I write this beside her, she is still with us. They say people die as they lived. She’s a fighter, and when she’s ready she will go.

This awful plot twist in my mother’s life that presented itself only in February, has been frought with challenges, and complexities. She was an English teacher after all, something dramatic is only fitting for her, even though it is incredibly tragic. Just like in movies, or literature, story arcs present themselves to the reader or audience typically in the middle and are carried through the plot line. In these final moments, of the final act of my mother’s life, just as in fiction, plot lines are playing out as expected.

And as the final moments of our final chapter are shortly before us, I’ve kept the inviolable promise that we’ve always had to take care of each other. Just as she has been there for me, and me there for her. Through some really tough times we both endured together, and others on our own, there has never been, nor will there ever be anything, or anyone, that could interfere with our love, our unbreakable bond, our commitment to be there for each other. Anyone who truly knows me, or my mother, has always known that.

The support of my husband has been incredible, not just to me, but my mother too. My strength has come from the love for my mother, and knowing Dan is by our side in all of this. As unprepared for this as anyone would be, I have no doubts that I’ve made all the right calls for her. It’s why she trusted me with this when the time came. She knew what she wanted, so, I knew what she wanted. Handling the emotional piece has been hard, but in a way easy, because her wishes, her care, her finding peace is what is at the center. When your bond with someone is that strong, it’s just easy, even when it’s hard. Love, inviolable love.