Today, February 2nd, is my mother's birthday. She would have been 82 if she hadn't passed away on July 1st, 2006.
I took this photo shortly after she died. Ten minutes or so.
After a couple of massive strokes she spent over a week on her deathbed. Her expressed wish, which everyone in the family was aware of, was that in such a situation she didn't want to go to a home. She would rather let nature take its course. That was the decision we made at the hospital.
She was a strong, stubborn woman and appropriately she took her time making the move from this life to another. The whole family - we can easily field three football teams - were gathered in the city.
We got a call from the hospital in the middle of the night informing us that it wouldn't be long now.
We all made our way to the hospital but she wasn't ready yet. I ended up staying with her while the others went home to sleep. I ended up taking a nap on a cot next to her and was woken by a nurse saying, "It's over".
I was relieved after over a week. She just needed to let go. She was very religious and I am not at all but I wished for her to get going to wherever it is she believed she would be going.
There were tears. A phone call to the family who promptly headed to the hospital.
While I was alone with her I folded her fingers, as above, in respect to her religious beliefs. Her false teeth were another matter. They simply wouldn't stay in and I found myself laughing my head off as I tried to get them to stick. I knew she would appreciate looking respectable for people and she was very shy about her false teeth so I tried to accommodate her, to no avail.
The family arrived shortly after and we all paid our last respects.
In Denmark there is a old tradition when someone dies. Nurses open a window so that the soul can leave the building. I explained this to the nurses and they sweetly tried to accomodate this request. The windows on the floor couldn't be opened but one nurse figured out that there was an air vent that led to the roof so she hoped that mum's soul would find the way. I assured her that mum would figure that out.
My mother's last words, spoken to my oldest sister before slipping into a coma, were "I love you".
6 comments:
Very touching, you got me with the last line especially. My father died last year, it was mostly just me and him in the last moments. Among his last words to me, 'we are lucky'. Meaning he and I, to have had the relationship we had. He was an artist and photographer and gave me my start on that road. He had been stubborn and somewhat delusional about his condition for some time. When I informed him of his impending fate, in maybe a matter of days or weeks, he was surprised, then reflective, then resigned, all in a matter of moments. He asked, barely able to speak, 'should I let go?'. I of course told him he could if he wanted. The next morning he was gone, unfortunately before I could get back to the hospital.
Bill Crandall
www.billcrandall.com
You and your family did the right thing I think. I did the right thing. So why does it never feel like enough? I suspect that my mother and my father felt the same toward their parents and then toward their children. I am carrying on in that tradition. I now am in the position of believing that I did not do enough for my parents and have not done enough for my child. Both would deny that but some of us are blessed with that curse.
Thanks for those two comments.
Bill: I like that he asked if he could let go... and then did. Beautiful.
Just before I had a nap I told my mum to let go. She had always believed that her angels would come and get here and I just told her that they were here and that she should go with them.
She was near death and quite unable to comprehend, nevertheless, I am sure I saw her eyes twitch imperceptably. She let go shortly after.
Old Fool: Oh, I know, I know. It never feels like enough. A constant, nagging sense of inadequacy. But while it is necessary to doubt, it is more necessary to accept that doubt and channel it back into living positively. I suppose. In theory.
No matter what your religious beliefs, or lack thereof - if your last words are "I love you," I think, probably, your life was well-lived. I hope that I can say the same (or someone else, about me).
Good point. Thanks for that.
My condolence for your mother. We love your mom, for raising the one who share something valuable to the world. I bet she did the same as you are
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