The Beginning of the End

At around 8:30 AM today, I received a phone call from my father. The hospital suggested that my mother be placed in hospice and my father agreed. He knew this was going to be a hard thing for me to hear, but nevertheless, it was the last option for my mother. She simply wasn't healing and her platelets, which had been dangerously low, had yet to increase.

I am going to use this space to chronicle my thoughts and emotions during the next week, perhaps weeks. I truly don't know how much time my mother has left, but I do know that I wish we had more of it. After the phone call, I broke down. I cried, then talked to my husband, who held me - then cried some more. I thought of the things I still had hoped I could do with my mother. Memories from my childhood sprang upon me out of nowhere, only adding to my grief.

I told my husband that I knew this was the way it would be. The grief would hit me in waves and I had to simply go with the flow. I know that I am only beginning with the grieving process and more tough times will come. I will deal with the emotions as they come, and pray for strength.

My father is doing remarkably well, for being her caretaker, but I know he's prepared himself for this inevitable situation for many months, if not years. I knew my mother was in poor health and I would watch as she'd enter into the hospital yet again, the admissions becoming more frequent and the stays more fruitless. My mother has been on strong medications for many years. I know her body was able to take only so much.

I love her so much. The sorrow and pain I feel is so overwhelming. The impending sense of loss is coming at my like a freight train. I know the finality of death is not too far away and I would wish for anything I could derail it - but I can't. I know it and that knowledge is almost too heavy to bear.

I am so thankful for my loving husband. He has already provided strength to me as he held me today as I wailed into his arms. He cried with me, stroking my hair until I felt empty inside, finally falling asleep on the bed.

We went over to my in-laws to celebrate St. Patrick's Day with his parents, brother, and his son's girlfriend. We ate corned beef and swiss cheese sandwiches, cole slaw, baked beans, potato salad, and for dessert an apple crumble with vanilla ice cream. Mickey and Bob sang Irish tunes and even Sarah sang a few solo Irish ballads. I almost didn't want to go tonight, feeling that I should perhaps stay home since I was a tearful mess. But I went and I was glad I went.

The singing reminded me that life will go on. I will continue to have moments of laughter and contentment. Song lifts my spirits and I definitely needed to be lifted today. I know people are praying for me and my family to get through this difficult situation.

I found the hospice information online and started to read some articles about grief. I'll end by quoting one of them:

Inside, however, grief works on us, and we suffer it, endure it. sometimes grief drags us down with invisible, clutching fingers of energy-sucking weight. Other times it backs off, gives us temporary reprieve, only to spring, howling at us when we come around a corner. It wells up from nowhere at a stoplight and streams silent tears down our cheek. Grief breaks like a sudden storm, victimizes us. Violently, grief shakes us, squeezes the breath from us, casts us aside, empty and exhausted.

Here’s where our real work starts. First, we face it—all of it, as it happens. Then we open ourselves to it. We let ourselves know how big it is, how deep, how hard. We come to see that “fierce grief” is not a sign we’re “defective,” but rather a natural response to suffering. We mourn for one who shared our life and with whom we found meaning and purpose and joy. It’s work to stand up to grief and say, “No wonder you’re here. No wonder you’re so big. You’re a reflecting testament to whom I loved, to who loved me. I will live through you. I will not run or hide from you. I will not be afraid of you. I’ll engage with you. I will work with you until your absorbed energy transforms and renews my life.”

- By Maureen Kramlinger
Orlando, FL

Comments

[zalaine]

I am so sorry about your mother and will pray for you and your dad.

I have worked as a volunteer for Hospice twice the last few years. They are a tremoundous resource for grief and it has been my experience that they will help you and your dad any way they can. Grief is a lonely road that we must all travel and we will all use different ways to get there. As you walk thru these days with your mom still here - enjoy every moment instead of trying to make more. Let her know you are there - hold her hand and when it is time, let her go. Your dad will need you then. Blessings, my friend...zalaine