She passed away this morning. First I got a call that they gave her Tylenol, since she was getting warm. Then not long after, they called to tell me she had passed. It was completely peaceful, since she’d remained asleep the last few days. Thank you, God, for taking her so gently. Love you, Mom, miss you and someday (long in the future, I’m sure) we’ll be together again.
Archive for March, 2010
Now Mom is asleep, and she can’t be woken up. Her meds are now administered sub-lingually (meaning they use liquid, spread it on her gums and it’s absorbed into her system). She can’t eat or drink anything now, so obviously she’ll be gone soon.
But she’s not uncomfortable anymore, and that’s a blessing. She very much wanted not to have her life prolonged if her quality of life wasn’t good, and she’s been feeling worse and worse, even with the meds, for days and days. I believe this is God’s way of gently guiding her into heaven.
I will miss her and miss her, but she’s not suffering, and that’s what’s best for her, and everything’s going with her wishes and beliefs. I’m spending as much time down there as I can, ’cause I should be there when that time comes.
So yesterday was tough.
I came down with the flu Sunday night, so I couldn’t see Mom on Monday or Tuesday. I finally felt well enough, though, to go to hospice. They had told me that over the weekend she had begun to noticeably decline. Agitated restlessness and less lucidity when she was awake. So I wasn’t expecting the best.
They had her in the bed in her room, and they said she’ll probably have to stay there. That’s major, as she’s lived in her lift chair for the last five years, and doesn’t feel nearly as comfortable anywhere else. But to keep her from getting up on her own while she’s wobbly, and possibly fall, there’s no alternative. They’ve increased all her palliative meds, so hopefully that’ll help. She also had hardly eaten since Sunday, which made me feel bad. But I couldn’t visit her while I was sick and possibly infectious, so not much of a choice there.
I tried to gently wake her when I got there. She held my hand and struggle up as if she was going to get out of bed. Then she looked at me bleary-eyed, and in the smallest voice I’ve ever heard from her, she said, “Can I go home now?” Oh, Mom.
The nurse asked me when they should call me, as her breathing was getting worse, too. I said they should do so when they thought best. They’re better at knowing when that time is near than I would be. It’s going to be soon.
As someone I talked to said, it’s like I’ve already lost her, since she’s nowhere like her normal self. She’s almost an animated shell now. I hope it’s soon, for her sake, b/c no matter how many meds they give her, I don’t think she’ll be completely comfortable anymore. Let her be with Dad and Aunt Kathryn and all her family and friends. They’re’ll be a lot more love in heaven when she gets there.
So I’m going down every day to the hospice house near Lady Lake where Mom is. When I leave from work, I’ve been going the slightly longer, but more soul-soothing, roads. And I’ve stumble on one of the prettiest I’ve seen anywhere. You can be the judge. It’s on the county’s scenic roads list.