Presence

Today Could Be the Day

November 17, 2017

It is hard watching the Thanksgiving commercials on television when one of the people you love most in the world is dying. So many of the ads portray happy families around tables laden with delicious food. I know that the commercials are staged, that there are many people responsible for those photo shoots, that the family members at the table are paid actors who probably don’t know each other at all.  Still. It would be nice to step into one of those commercials, or into someone else’s family for a few hours, some family where nobody is dying.

I’m also realizing that it is not good to watch the Food Network or HGTV now. Note to my friends who read this blog regularly: we have abandoned the Hallmark Channel and its relentless Christmas cheer. I’m not sure, though, that HGTV and the Food Network are much better. Food Network has Pioneer Woman fixing her marvelous Thanksgiving feasts. She is so happy, her family is so happy, her food is so lovely, and there are no dirty dishes anywhere. All that perfection makes me crabby, even if I know that it’s not real either.  On HGTV, the clients of the Property Brothers seem spoiled, shallow and demanding. They are wealthy enough to afford beautiful houses, but the houses aren’t good enough for them. They routinely decide that they need $100,000 renovations.

I realize that my crabbiness is a little displaced. I know there is nothing intrinsically wrong with fixing a lovely Thanksgiving meal or having a house remodeled.  But when you are holding the hand of someone you love who probably won’t live another week to see the holiday, it gives you perspective.  It is really necessary to have five side dishes? Or a beautifully decorated dinner table?  Or to stress about any of this if you are lucky enough to have food and a table and people you love to share your meal with?

The hospice nurse put my Mom on oxygen yesterday. It will help keep her comfortable as she moves through the dying process. Who knew that there was a dying process? Evidently, there are steps that people go through, those who pass away from diseases, anyway. You miss out on the dying process if a mass shooter gets you from his hotel room window when you are at a concert. Or another shooter gets you at church. Or if still another mows you down because you are unfortunate enough to be his neighbor.  No dying process for these souls. Just sudden darkness and unutterable loss for the people who loved them.

But for many, the lucky ones (I guess), there are stages of dying. The good people at hospice gave us a booklet that tells all about this.  For months after her initial diagnosis, my Mom moved slowly through the stages. Her nurse told her that she was the healthiest hospice patient she had.   She was alert and happy and thankful that her family was with her. Last weekend, though, she started to slide. We went from symptoms on the “Two to Three Months Before Death” page to those on the “One to Two Weeks Before Death” section. Our nurse is saying that we have even progressed beyond that. The nurse went from twice weekly visits to three times a week visits to daily visits, just in a week. It might be just days for my Mom now. Maybe hours.

When I was pregnant with my children, I had What to Expect When You are Expecting on my bedside table. I loved that book. It made me feel like I was part of something bigger.  The hospice booklet is like a What to Expect for the end of life. I have not loved it. I have kept my distance from it, have been a little afraid of it.  I did not want anything to do with this process. I did not want my Mama to die.

These last days, though, the booklet has moved from under a pile of papers in the corner to the middle of the kitchen table.  Suddenly, it is a comfort.  It reminds me that there is a rhythm not only in our births, but apparently, also in our deaths.  Dying is not a surprise, a mistake, or a failure; it is just a doorway to greater love and resurrection.

My Mama has been blessed with 87 years of full life, living on her own, driving herself to church up until the Sunday before her tumor was discovered.  Today could be the day she leaves us.  I’m glad it is not up to me to decide the exact time; I would never be able to let her go. But I believe in the giver of life who loves my Mom. He will bring her home at exactly the right time.  Love surrounds her now, and love will meet her on the other side.

Power

Normal Can’t Be Fixed

November 9, 2017

Today, I rolled the trash out to the end of my Mom’s driveway. It was a good excuse to step outside on this beautiful November day. The Liquid Amber tree in the front yard is so lovely, its leaves red and yellow and gold.

The Hallmark Channel has switched to 24/7 Christmas movies. It did this right before Halloween, actually. I am missing the detective shows. I didn’t know how much I appreciated Monk and Diagnosis Murder until they disappeared, replaced by an endless stream of beautiful, sad heroines in cozy sweaters and tall boots who somehow find romance and an end to all their problems just in time for Christmas Day.

My Mom recently had her three month hospice re-evaluation. She will continue to receive services; that means she is still dying, I guess. Her condition has worsened this last week. We now need two people to be with her around the clock, to help her to the chair next to her bed, to the bedside commode, back into bed again. Who know that we were doing well when she could walk by herself with her walker to the bathroom? That was ten days ago. Hospice sent over a hospital bed with a special air mattress that helps prevent bed sores. She is sleeping more now and seems so sad. She cries and calls out for her sister, who passed away several years ago.

“Margie?” she cries. “Margie?”

This is breaking my heart.

There is nothing to be done for that. It’s normal, and normal can’t  be fixed.

So how do I walk through these beautiful Autumn days, days that drag on with the constant drone of the television, but that I will surely long for after this season has passed?   I am just doing the best I can. I know that these hours aren’t wasted, even though I am outwardly not accomplishing much. I am scribbling a few words here, but I am not building a platform or crafting a stronger social media presence or adding likes to my Facebook page or reaching my true blogging potential. I am just sitting. I am sitting in the room with my Mom, who is dying and sleeping and sad.

Here is what I need to remember: the voices that tell me I’m not doing enough are from my false self, the one that seeks its value in power and being admired by strangers.  This extended time with my Mom is showing me how cruel those voices are. She is mostly powerless now: powerless to move her body, to speak her mind.  That doesn’t diminish her worth. She is loved and loved and loved and always has been, from her first breath to her last, regardless of anything she has accomplished or failed to do.

Today, I will make a salad for myself and tempt my Mom with sweets, because she will sometimes eat those, even though she’s not wanting to eat much else now. I will pet my dog and be grateful that my husband takes the time to drop him off here in the morning on his way to work. I will hug my son when I see him for a moment, and FaceTime my daughter tonight and try to catch up with her. I haven’t seen her since Saturday.   I miss her.  I will continue to watch the Hallmark Channel, and the news, and sit with my Mom. I will breathe in and breathe out. That will be enough.