December Friends

~ Dedicated to the man who loved acting,

the woman who loved writing, and the man who loved music ~

Every Thanksgiving and every Christmas, I give thanks for three people who helped me during the last month of Mom's life.

We moved Mom to the restorative care hospital on December 1, 1994, but I stayed in touch with one caring nurse from Mom's first month at the primary hospital.

I was so grateful for his tender care of my mother that I felt compelled to send an early Christmas gift which was a special plaque I had found that said:

~ A Nurse is God's Angel of Mercy ~

The weeks went on in that month of December, and each day Mom's condition grew progressively worse to the point that she could no longer walk.  I knew the end was near as she was barely eating, and I remember getting so frustrated when she could never finish her Cream of Mushroom soup or the tiny nutrient drinks that the hospital provided.  She could barely swallow at this point, so her food consisted of finally chopped but mostly pure liquid foods.

God knew I needed to help to get through the last week of her life, and this kind nurse and his family took me under their wing during the rapidly approaching holiday season.

I remember being invited over to his house in Aptos near my old high school for tea and pumpkin pie in the afternoon of December 20th.  For a couple of hours, I could forget my sad little world back at the hospital and could feel like a regular person enjoying the holidays.  But most of all, I could come back to Mom's room and tell her all about my visit.  Mom could barely talk at this point, but she would smile and nod and manage to get out a few words to show how happy she was to see me happy.

The next day our world changed completely.  Rhonda brought her young sons over to the hospital, and I took them down to the T.V. room while Rhonda visited with Mom privately.  Mom chose her messenger ~ her beloved first born ~ to let us know what was about to happen.

Rhonda pulled me aside while the grandkids took their turn with "Ma" ~ and she whispered that Mom had said, "You need to prepare yourself. And tell the others."

For the next day, a Thursday, Mom entered into what was to be a 3 1/2 day coma ~ fading in and out of consciousness yet fully present as we held a vigil by her bedside ~ again spread out in shifts at times.

I remember calling my nurse friend during this time and spoke to his sister who expressed heartfelt concern for all of us.  To my surprise, I also received an invitation to stop by their house for dessert on Christmas Eve.  I told her I definitely wanted to come by and would keep them updated on Mom's condition.

Friday turned into Saturday, Christmas Eve.  During all this controlled chaos, I was even running up to Felton to pick up a delivery from out-of-state relatives that had been returned to the florist because we were not at home in Aptos.  I also drove out to Watsonville to pick up a sweet Gingerbread Cookie Jar flower bouquet from Mom's cousin Gary in Washington.  I then delivered the last of Mom's Christmas packages to the post office to be sent to her mom and sister's family up north.  I took care of it all ~ the wrapping, the packing ~ I was Mom's little elf who kept her promise of making Christmas special for Mom's family regardless of her impending death.

I questioned whether or not I should leave her bedside as night had fallen, and Christmas Eve was in full swing.

Randy and I had the evening shift, and I talked to Dad and Rhonda about my invitation as they were getting ready to leave.  Everyone agreed that Mom would want me to go out and experience a taste of the holidays and do something nice for myself as Mama loved Christmas.

So I drove 11 miles south back to Aptos to see my new friends.

Just as I was leaving for this much needed break, another nurse from the primary hospital spotted me and asked how my mother was doing.  I blurted out, "We are waiting for my mother to die."  And then I went on to say how excited I was to go over to my nurse friend's house for Christmas Eve.
  

My words shocked this other nurse who had not been working at the restorative care hospital that month and was unprepared to hear such news.  She also may have wondered how I could have answered her so matter-of-factly as if I were describing something less tangible than a mother actually dying.

Back in my hometown of Aptos ~ in a house full of Christmas Cheer ~ I could temporarily forget the horror of my real world and remember what it was like to be a normal person enjoying the holidays.  During the few hours I spent laughing and enjoying good food, waves of my real world crashed through my veins, and I hid the fact that I was wincing away this emotional pain from this trio of kind folks.

We laughed and laughed to the point my nurse friend said, "You're so funny. You should be a comedian!"

The clock was ticking as Christmas Eve was quickly coming to a close.

I dreaded going back as I instinctively knew that the end was near ~ that my little world would soon crumble ~ and that I would be motherless in less than 24 hours.

But my new friends had given me a gift that would help me stay strong.  They had filled up my soul with compassion and comfort ~ almost like being filled with nutrients and vitamins to boost my energy and give me strength to get through the rest of this "Silent Night" ~ soon to be spent holding vigil at my mother's bedside again ~ My dread soon turned to courage as I turned on the engine and waved goodbye ~

And as I drove back before midnight, the clock turned twelve.  And when I re-entered Mama's room, it was Christmas.  The Last Best Christmas had arrived.