Aftermath

Mama chose who would be with her when she took her last breath.

Ten years earlier, we had taken a "Death and Dying" class together at Cabrillo.  And I remembered two things from that class when she entered her coma.

I immediately went into middle child mode ~ trying to control the shock and confusion that her coma had created ~ especially the labored breaths in the beginning that were quite scary.  I shared with my family what we had learned in class so long ago:

1) Let the dying person know it's okay to let go and die.

2) But even if you tell her to let go, she will choose the exact time to take her last breath.  The dying person is either waiting for a loved one to arrive or simply waiting for a loved one to leave.

In our case, it was both.

Randy and I tried to stay awake in the wee hours of Christmas  ~ our tired heads slumped on the edge of Mama's bed ~ listening to the four Christmas tapes we had brought play over and over and over again.

One of the saddest things about this last night together was that Mama was still in such pain when they had to move her to change the sheets. I remember wanting to wait awhile to move her again, and I told Randy at this point the wet sheet was better than her feeling the pain of getting a dry one immediately.  The nurses finally came up with a regimen of adding extra Ativan just before they moved her which helped during the last 10 hours of Mom's life.

Three nights of the grave yard shift ~ plus running around town during the day finishing up all of Mom's year long Christmas preparations for the family ~ had finally taken its toll on me, and I could no longer stay.  I was emotionally and physically spent to the point of near collapse.  Randy and I had taken separate cars, and so I left just before dawn.  Randy joined me back home a few hours later.

In my old room above the garage, I tried to sleep ~ but the sleep was almost drugged-like ~ waiting for the phone to ring ~ knowing I had just left my mother ~ who was most likely going to die on Christmas and knowing that I had made the decision not to be there when she died.  I remember looking at my bedroom window during the few hours I tried to sleep ~ staring at the M & M candy character lights glowing all night long in the shape of a tree ~ the lights gave me comfort as Mom and I had got a kick out of collecting these cute little M & M faces often found as decorations atop a cane full of candy.  I left the radio on playing Christmas music as I did every Christmas and simply waited.

Rhonda had to drop off her young sons at our cousin's house ~ poor kids being whisked away from their beds instead of opening up presents at dawn ~ and then joined Dad back at the hospital.

The morning turned into afternoon.  And just as I was writing about my mother ~ physically half-way through writing the word "mother" ~ the phone rang.  Mama died just after 2 p.m. on Christmas Day.

I do not even remember if I even cried upon hearing the final news.  But my father was crying on the other end.  And then my sister came on the phone and told me not to come back to the hospital, "It's really scary," she warned, referring to the sight of Mom's dead body still in the room.

But whatever fear or exhaustion that had sent me back home to recuperate had given way to being back on automatic pilot again.  And so I had to knock on Randy's door to deliver the news, and together we headed back to the hospital.

What I remember most about seeing my mother laying there so peacefully in the room was how much she looked like herself again ~ all twelve months of pain had been drained from her delicate face ~ she was absolutely beautiful ~ with brilliant cheekbones and even a light glossing of hair that had started to regrow.  I looked at her as if she were alive and said, "We are packing up the Christmas decorations, Mom."

The packing took over an hour and soon it was time to leave.  My most vivid memory was the sun ~ shining so bright ~ that I truly believe the brilliant sun was Mom's spirit soaring and shining down on us.  

Dad suggested, "Let's open the curtains and leave the sun shining on her."

And then he gave us the chance to be a family together for one last time.  He told us, "Let's all pick a part of her face and kiss her goodbye all at the same time."  We spontaneously chose a part of her face ~ almost like the sign of the cross ~ and kissed her loving face all together.  I picked her forehead just like she used to kiss me on the forehead to see if I had a temperature when I was a little girl.

Our family went in different directions in the hospital parking lot.  Randy opted to go over to Barbi and Gregg's house to see the boys and have Christmas dinner.  But I did not want to leave my dear father alone, and so I accompanied him back home.

As we pulled up in the driveway, we saw our neighbors, Fran and Nancy, greeting their relatives.  Everyone seemed so happy.  Their lives seem so normal.  I certainly could not shout out that Mom had just died.  And then I remembered that they had lost their dear Louie, beloved husband and father, to cancer the year before.  And I wondered if we could ever be that happy again.

Looking back, I now know that Mama spared her youngest children from the fear and pain of seeing her die before their eyes.  She had so many opportunities to let go during all the grave yard shifts we shared with her.  Mama knew best.  She knew her precious husband and her beloved first born ~ the little family she created in their early years together ~ long before her little ones came along ~ needed to be there during her last moments here on Earth ~ She came full circle ~ back to the beginning of the life she created for all of us ~ the beautiful life we were so blessed to have shared with her ~