Holy Week

Wednesday, April 17th turned out to be a tough day. Not long after the morning nurses visit 9:30am, Mom’s body began it’s final betrayl. This started and continued until about 5pm on Thursday. It had by far been the hardest part of her journey.

She had stablized by about 6pm Thursday and stayed in a comfortable state through the night. While Dan made the kids dinner, I decided to file and paint mom’s fingernails one last time. She would want that.

Good Friday had arrived and from the struggle of the 18 hours, her blood pressure was unable to be read, and her oxygen levels depleted. We knew she was approaching her time to meet the Lord. We spent the day in prayer, and I held her hand, with the Rosary she had given me, keeping track of her body temperature.

We received a visit from the social worker Michelle, and had to opportunity to tell more stories with mom, and reassure her that we would all be okay when she was ready.

After the kids were fed, Naomi, her caregiver said good-bye one last time, and to all of us. After I gave mom her 7:30pm dosage of morphine and Ativan, I knelt beside her said, “I’m going to give you time to be alone if that is what you want, but just know I’m coming back. You’re in charge, I’m just here to make sure you are at peace.”

I went upstairs with my husband, had a glass of wine, and cried, knowing that time was very short. At 9:30pm, it was time for a dose of morphine, Haldol and for me to check on mom. I gave her the meds, and I got settled into my make-shift beanbag bed next to her hospital bed, and grabbed her hand. We had Catholic TV on to continue to watch the events for Holy week. The 11:30pm alarm goes off, next dosage for mom. Once I was sure both were safely administered, I settled back into the beanbags, and grasped a hold of mom’s hand again, Rosary clasped.

I was jolted awake, still holding mom’s hand, I looked up at her. She had passed. Her eyes, which had been closed since Thursday night, were ever so slightly open, looking down at me. She had a slight smile on her face. I looked at my phone in my hand, it was 12:03am. I yelled for my husband Dan to wake up. He got up, gently closed her eyes, and we cried. My in-laws arrived shortly to be sure our children did not awake for the next steps of this process.

Until the hospice nurse arrived to give the final pronouncement an hour later, I did not leave her side, or stop holding her hand. Soon there after, the funeral home arrived to prepare mom to leave. He let us have one last moment to say our good-byes. Dan and I gave her one last kiss on her forehead and I headed upstairs to take a shower. Dan went to the main floor to wait for them to leave so he could lock up and shut the lights out downstairs in what had become the nana suite. While I was still in the shower, he came in and said, “you won’t believe this. Right when they had moved her past the front door on the walkway, the front door swung right open, like a boss.”

We got little sleep. My daughter Neva came in to wake up in the morning we told her that nana had gone to heaven. After explaining we were happy she was at peace, and that she would live in our hearts, she headed downstairs to get breakfast with my mother- in-law. Almost immediately she came running back upstairs screaming, “Mom, the Angel tree is blooming!” I said, “I know sweetie, I knew it would.” The Angel tree is Cherry Blossom tree Dan and I planted after I had a miscarriage in September 2014. The baby would have been due April 2015, right when it blooms. It was a reminder of how losing that angel changed us forever, and always make us happy and renewed every year when it bloomed. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that today is when it began to bloom.

Losing my mother Deb today, who clearly was an angel on earth, and is one now in heaven, has and will continue to change Dan and myself in ways we never dreamed. I know that this experience will also have a lasting impression on our children as well, which will unfold in days, weeks, and years to come.

Tonight while I was making dinner, I just looked at the chair at the dinner table that my mother had been sitting at while she has been here with us. I grabbed a tea light sized candle off the counter that my daughters had dragged out of the front closet and put it where her plate would have been. I explained that I put it there for Nana because I missed her. Leni, my 3 year old says, “is it Nana’s birthday?” “Why yes, it is Nana’s first birthday in heaven sweetie!” Leni says with a big smile, “Happy Birthday Nana!” I turned the candle to see the scent, Frosted Cupcake, perfect.

I promised myself that when we found out about mom’s tumor, I was going to look for all the sunshine I could. We made the best of the time we had, loved as much as we could, and I fulfilled the promise to her that I would take care of her and not leave her side. As we begin the journey of lives without her, especially with Easter being tomorrow, I know she’s looking down on us, smiling, and holding us each by the hand.