My mother is 89 years old. She has been in terrible shape for years now – from arthritis, congestive heart failure, dwindling sight and hearing – from that host of miseries the crumbling body can inflict upon the weary soul resident within. With all her mental faculties intact, she has clung to whatever small pleasures remain to her (go Red Sox!), while longing for release from the prison of her physical husk.
Now the end is near. Now the wearying shuttle between assisted living, hospital, rehab, and on and on is almost over. It won’t be much longer now.
Mom is at peace with her impending death – may be days, may be weeks, we all hope not months given how she’s been suffering. Her mind is clear and unclouded by dementia or regrets. She knows this is the end and she’s grateful. She’s been suffering for a long time and just wants to let go. We, my siblings and I, don’t want to lose her but don’t want to keep her from the release she longs for.
Hospice is providing wonderful comfort care and mom has 24-hour nursing coverage now. She’s back from the hospital, in her suite at the Life Care assisted living where she’s lived for the last decade and where the staff love her. She won’t ever be going back to the hospital; she’s staying put, as she wishes. The Life Care people pop into her room to see her whether or not they need to, just because they want to. My older brother’s coming in from Illinois this weekend; my sister’s down each weekend from Vermont; my younger brother and I have been trading off be with mom days during the week.
Mom’s happily giving away her stuff to her kids. She gave my sister her engagement ring last weekend, after being reassured that I, the elder daughter, don’t mind. (“Of course not! Barbara has daughters to hand it on to; I don’t.”) She asked me yesterday what I want and was delighted when I told her – “Your big TV, Mom.” “Oh, good! But is that all? Isn’t there anything else you want? What about my fleece jacket?” So I tried it on and modeled it for her, and gladdened her heart by promising I’d take it.
We four siblings are in accord on what mom needs now, and how we’re handling the aftermath of mom’s death. My younger brother has been mom’s fiduciary for quite a while and is tending to all such details. My sister has taken on the post mortem phone call notifications and has informed me that I should do the obituary, since I’m the writer in the family – an agreeable division of labor. There won’t be any ugly heir-fights over mom’s money (whatever’s left from providing her needs; we don’t care whether there’s anything, so long as she gets what she requires) or her tangible stuff, we discussed all that back in August and we’re of one mind. As far as any death can be, this will be a good death, and for that we all, including my mother, are grateful.
I’m also grateful for morphine; Hospice has seen to it that mom’s getting enough so she’s no longer wracked by unremitting pain. There’s a calm about her now that is comforting to see. This is a curious time of grief and relief for all of us.
