A good, long life.

A little time has gone by now, and I feel I can write this about my mother.

She hadn't been feeling well on and off.

Here's what the scenario seemed to be. She was ill with the nasty stomach virus (nausea and diarrhea) that had swept through the nursing home on the Saturday before Easter. She was fine on Good Friday night, and when my sister and brother arrived Saturday morning for a visit, we found her sick in bed. She was rather unresponsive that day, because they had given her phenergran to combat the nausea, which made her sleepy. So my brother didn't really get to talk to her. He turned around and went back to Texas after we all went to lunch. My sister and family stayed until Monday, and we all went to see her that morning. She was up and sitting out in the lobby in her usual spot, but I could tell something was off.

My sister and her family visited for a while, then left, and I went home, too. The next day, I had an infusion treatment in Memphis, and was so tired when I got back, I didn't go by to see her.

Wednesday around 11am, the nursing home called me to say she had a change in her condition; she seemed confused about why they were giving her the insulin shot, and that she hadn't eaten breakfast nor drunk her usual morning coffee. I told them I would be there as soon as I showered. When I got out of the shower and was brushing my teeth, the phone rang again. She was on her way to the ER. I got there-- almost still dripping--the same time they brought her in. She couldn't talk, and her eyes were a bit odd. I called Dan, he rushed right over. He and I took turns sitting with her, talking to her, holding her hand, all day in the ER until they got her a room around 9pm Wednesday.

I knew what she wanted, and didn't want. I was firm with the docs about no invasive procedures. For everyone's peace of mind, I did let them run tests that told us she had a massive stroke AND a heart attack afterward. All that entailed was a CT scan and a blood enzyme test. I knew what was going on. I'd seen it before. And the CT scan confirmed it to me. I decided right there for pallitive care only. The ER doctors told me that they would give her patches on her skin for sedation/pain, and to help dry up the secretions to keep her from getting aspiration pneumonia. I slept off and on at her bedside all that night, and Dan stayed up with me.

During the day Thursday, the doctor came in to examine my mother, and told me that he didn't think she would make it through the weekend. He explained to me, outside in the hall, that her cerebral hemorrhage was in both sides of her brain, and that she had indeed also had a heart attack. He said that many times, an illness of the type she had earlier in the week would elevate blood pressure and bring on a stroke in someone of her advanced age. He said that he would have hospice care contact me, and that we should move her back to the nursing home that evening. I called my brother and had the doctor explain all this to him so there would be no miscommunication this time. He said he would probably not leave until Saturday morning to come up here.

My sister had left early Thursday morning, arriving around 9 pm at the hospital. We all sat up until around 2 am, when Dan went out to sleep in his truck, and my sister and her daughter slept in their car. I slept fitfully in the recliner in my mother's room.

During the day Friday, the ambulance crew came to transport my mother back to her room at the nursing home. I had called ahead to tell the staff what was going on, and they said they would try to move her roommate out so we could have privacy. That was a good thing, as her roommate has Alzheimer's, and doesn't remember short term things very well.

I met Friday afternoon with the hospice team, and they gave me some great information about the dying process. They explained some of the signs, and what to expect.

My brother didn't arrive until late Friday night. He was going to wait until Saturday to come, and I had told him point blank that he should be there sooner. It was probably not my insistence that changed his mind. When he and his wife arrived, they were shocked to see our mother's state. They stayed a little while, then went off to find a motel room.

Dan stayed there all night with her while I went home to sleep a little. He called me around 8 am and said... I leaned over and told her I loved her, and she SAID "I love you too."

I almost fainted. My mother had not been able to speak since Wednesday. Saturday, she seemed to recognize me and the staff who came in to check on her, and she was smiling. My sister came in, and she recognized her, too. Later, around 9am, my brother came in and she lit up again. I recognized this as probably the last rally, but could tell that the rest of the family was getting their hopes up. My sister-in-law went out and bought some birthday balloons., because Sunday was her birthday. My niece was with my sister. She's really only about a 6-7 year old mentally, and so she rattled on and on, and my mom seemed to enjoy it for a time. After about an hour or so, I gently told R that Grandma needed to rest a bit. I could see her ebbing away again.

Around 2 pm, Mama fell asleep, and would rouse only when the CNAs would come in to turn her. She seemed to be distraught every time they would handle her, so I asked for them to give her some medication. Dan stayed the night with her over to Sunday, when he called me around 8am and told me to hurry over, things were not looking good. We went through this with his dad, and were with him when he died. So we knew what the labored breathing was. But since she had rallied on Saturday, the head nurse had told my brother that they would call in the speech pathologist to determine if she could swallow enough to try to eat. When I arrived, they were attempting to get her to take a bit of thick liquid, but she was unresponsive. We spent the day there with her, singing "Happy Birthday" to her (in the key of R flat, according to my brother), reminiscing about stuff that happened to us as kids, and I worked on an altered book to put some of these silly things down on the page. We all decided that we would try to go home and get some sleep that night, as Dan had to get back to work.

On Monday, my brother and sister still had that hope that there was a turn, but by noon, it was getting obvious (to me) that it wasn't. They decided to go back to TX to get the kid back in school, and so my brother could go back to work. I had been with her that morning, telling her that I loved her, and softly humming a few of her favorite hymns to her. I know I can't carry a tune very well, but I know all about that "joyful noise", and by now she had a very weak pulse and labored breathing.

My brother came in and we held hands while he whispered his goodbyes to her and told her it was ok to let go. My sister came in for some time by herself, and then I suggested that we all go out to have lunch before they got on the road. We did, and my brother dropped me back off at the nursing home.

When I stepped into her room, I knew she was gone. She waited until we were all gone.

Honestly, I had said my goodbyes a long time ago. I have no regrets.

I immediately called the nurse, and she and the administrator came to check. I was right. I called my brother, who hadn't even gotten out of the city limits, and my sister was maybe 10 minutes ahead of him. They came back, and I handled all the duties of calling the funeral home and such, arranging the burial. I even wrote the obit, faxing it before a 4pm deadline to my hometown newspaper. I asked that memorials be made to the local animal shelter. My mama did love her kitties.

Tuesday, my brother stopped on the way up to the funeral home to visit the old home place in Missouri, and he happened to catch the postmistress on the way out the door of the post office. He asked her if she had lived there long, and she said no, only about twenty years. That was long enough that she did know my mom. So the town did find out shortly.

The local paper comes out in the afternoon, and didn't make print until after the service and wouldn't have been delivered until the next day to her hometown anyway.

I also went into The Flower Barn in West Plains where my sister and I picked out the casket piece. The flower shop people were so nice to just let me step in and make a little nosegay for inside the casket right then and there. It was sweet: alstromeria, baby's breath, some daisy poms and some purple stuff I forget the name of. They did an extra nice job with their piece picking up the same flowers and ribbon, adding in some beautiful pink roses, which I have a few in some borax and cornmeal and will preserve in small bottles for my sister and brother and me.

I had to talk to the sexton of the cemetery Tuesday night before the visitation, and had to wait for him to come home from taking a horse to the vet. He had his cell phone out walking the plots trying to find where to show the gravediggers where to dig the next day. Half the people out there were related to my mother, so he had to go get the old plat mat to find the site. He was reading off names on headstones to me. Sort of funny in a way. Nope...a cousin...nope, an uncle...just a bit surreal. He wanted to make certain they didn't dig up the wrong plot, because he said that happened once when they misread the plat map.

Anyway, we had a beautiful day for the service, sunny, warm, and the cows were quiet for the graveside service in a rural cemetery...waaaaaaaaaay out in the boonies. A good four miles of dusty gravel roads. You know when you live in the Southern half of this country, when EVERY vehicle that meets the funeral procession pulls off to the shoulder of the road and stops out of respect. That happened all the way to that little country cemetery, some fifteen miles from the funeral chapel.

I know that my mother would expect me to get on with things and go have a little fun. After the responsible stuff is done, you get to play, was her credo. She was one tough cookie when she needed to be, and had a heart of gold. I should hope to be half the woman she was.

My mother was aged eighty-seven years, and one day. A good, long life. I will still miss her.