This entire month, in truth the whole year, has been a constant 'this time last year' experience. My mother died last year in the early hours of October 21st. The last two years of her life had been a long, painful slide but I still wanted to believe she might pull it off one more time. A fall had broken her arm but not her spirit; she had an amazing will to live.
Her last few days were spent in and out of consciousness, and I came to understand that she was preparing to leave as I sat by her bed; I had been there almost constantly since the accident. I held her hand and, without ever opening her eyes she said in a quiet voice, "I saw Mom today. She was sitting on the back porch. She wanted me to go with her but I didn't." I could tell the effort it took for her to speak at all.
"Momma, if you want to go with her you go ahead. I'll be along in a little while, and we will all be alright. I love you mom," I said with all the control I could muster. Less than two days later she was gone.
At 89 Mom was frail. Two years before a broken hip had healed, but in the process it had sapped her strength, her health and eventually her mind. She was unable to drive, unable to live alone, she couldn't attend church any longer and slowly she retreated deep into a shell of illness and age.
I tried to keep her engaged, tried to get her to move. My efforts were met with "you don't understand" and eventually with the recitation of her long list of fears that held her captive in her small, handicap accessible apartment. She seemed absorbed with the twice a day pill schedule and the morning and evening eye drops that were now necessary. She both resented and appreciated "those girls" who came in every day to help with medicines and bathing. She had never required help and she certainly didn't believe she needed it now…It was frustrating for both of us. Try as I might I could not take care of her in a way that would comfort her now and later give me peace; I still wrestle with regrets and "what ifs" at times.
This last of many falls put her into a downward spiral nothing could stop; it was as if I was trying to hold the tide back with my bare hands. After Mom's death I put my sadness in a compartment in my head where it couldn't overwhelm me and, when I was ready, I could take it out and look at it. There was nothing more to be done.
Time marches on, and in the first part of this year my husband and I found a house we loved and we decided to make a move. The move added physical stress to both our bodies, and my hip and his back declared a mutiny. The day before the movers arrived his back attacked. To keep the move on track I doubled my efforts; the lifting and stairs took their toll and my already challenged hip gave out. We moved into our new house with the help of our children, some good movers, and dear family friends. Eventually we both ended up in surgery…a less than auspicious beginning in a new home, I might add.
In my effort to keep moving I had pulled out Mom's walker and cane to use until my scheduled surgery. A routine trip to the eye doctor established I needed to use prescribed eye drops, morning and evening. If I was able to go out to shop at all it was in a wheel chair or electric cart; I was unable to walk far or drive. I less than six months I was becoming my mother!
Finally at home recovering from the hip surgery, I relaxed in the family room in my recliner. The time had come to open that compartment; I sat thinking about how much I missed my mom. The past few months of my life had given me a much greater understanding about her last months. I now knew how it frustrating it can be to try to recover from surgery in unfamiliar surroundings; nothing you need is where it ought to be. I learned shopping in a wheel chair isn't really shopping…it's moving and stopping at someone elses pace. I remembered how difficult it was for me to take mom's car away, but now I understood how hard it was for her to be dependent on someone to not only drive, but get her in and out of the car and wheelchair. The drugs, the eye drops, the endless doctors appointments…all things that she had come to dread because of her physical and mental deterioration were now mine to cope with. The irony was just too big to step over.
As I replayed those last days in my head I remembered the tough times when either or both of us would lose what few patience we had left; but I also remembered the laughter. I recalled doing her hair, taking her things to try to tempt her to eat, laughing about things that were too difficult to be taken seriously. I realized we had both done our best under some very difficult circumstances.
My mom couldn't come back from all the medical challenges at her age, but I am on the mend and I am grateful for this last few difficult months. It's given me a better understanding of what mom went through, and it's given me some peace. I realize I did everything I could do to help make her last days comfortable, and I'm granting myself an amnesty for the things I didn't do. It's what she'd want me to do...because she was my mom.
Now the first tough year is over; there will be no more 'this time last year' to deal with. Our family laughs and jokes about the character who was my mother. We all miss her…we all love her…all we'll all be along soon.
Life is Good
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