Louie had not been doing well for several weeks. He wouldn't eat, very unlike Lou. I knew he had a heart condition and was over 13 years old. But I never expected to hear from the vet that he was on his way out.
"Prepare yourself," she advised.
We tried pills to stimulate his appetite, and they worked for a few days, then he was back to picking. I gave him whatever he wanted, like he was on Hospice care. He kept losing weight as the weeks went by. I couldn't accept the fact that Louie was nearing the end of his life.
I kept his prognosis a secret from Mom. She didn't need to worry. She knew he wasn't well from her visits. She wanted to see him, maybe for one last time, and we agreed on the upcoming weekend. Mark had plans on Sunday, her usual day to visit, so Saturday it was.
We had a nice visit and Lou even ate a little with Mom feeding him by hand. It wasn't as emotional as I imagined. We both believed that he would start eating again and return to his old self. I envisioned him crunched old plastic water bottles again and Mom looked forward to more naps with Lou down the road.
Even though he was slow, Lou came out with me to the driveway to say so long to Mom, which was our usual custom at the end of her visits.
"See you on Monday," I said as she threw us a kiss out the open passenger window of Mark's car.
" See you Monday. Take care," she replied, and I watched them drive away down the street, as I wheeled to the top of the ramp, following Lou into the house.
It was a typical warm summer night in August. A quiet Sunday had passed and I was reading the Sunday paper when my bedroom land line rang around 6:00 p.m. No one ever called that late, especially on a Sunday.
It was a nurse from the Geriatric Center, and after confirming it was me. started by saying they had found Mom unresponsive in the dining room. Her table-mates must've called for help as they saw Mom slumped over.
They got her into bed, took her vital signs and called 911. They wouldn't speculate what had happened, only that they were sending her to the Emergency Room.
I called one of my siblings- I honestly forget who I called ( probably Mark)- and told them the news. Like usual, I thought she would be OK. Maybe she just had an episode and would be fine after some oxygen before they sent her back to the nursing home. My brother said he would run right over and keep in touch how she was doing and if they were going to admit her.
I waited and waited,. I know my family and I were'nt best buddies at that time but surely they would call me with an update. I waited some more.
About twenty minutes went by before I heard the front screen door open. "Greg?" I recognized my middle brother Tommy.
"Hey, Tom! I'm back here? How's Mom doing?" I shouted back.
He came to the doorway, his eyes red and his voice breaking. "You better come over and say goodbye to Mom. She had a stroke."
I was stunned. A stroke? But she was just here yesterday. No, it couldn't be that bad. Say goodbye? .Mom was going to live to be 100. She always bounced back. She came to see Louie..."
I got into my wheelchair and we walked the block to the hospital. The only words he said were "Don't be scared when you see her."
We found the other family members sitting in the E.R. lounge area. A nurse was there, kneeling down and softly talking to the three.
I was introduced as "brother and Power of Attorney" and the nurse turned her attention to me.
"Your mother has a Living Will. It was faxed over with her records. I looked it over. She is a Do Not Resuscitate. No machines, no feeding tube..."
"That's right," I confirmed. "Those were her wishes. "
Someone started to protest and I spoke up for Mom.
"She was alert and competent when she made her wishes known," I said,
I couldn't believe how many time I had said that as a Social Worker. Now It was a son talking. And I wasn't sure I really felt that way now. I felt conflicted. Do whatever it takes to save her life? Or respect her wishes?
"We have to respect her wishes," the nurse stated.
"Why don't you just ask her," I suggested. That's when the nurse told me she was unconscious. "Can I see her?"
I wheeled alongside the stretcher in one of the cubicles and couldn't believe it. Mom was laying there, eyes closed, hooked up to all kinds of machines and tubes. She looked similar to when I saw her after her heart surgery.
I was almost afraid to touch her. I didn't say anything. I just sat there, staring at Mom laying there. I didn't cry. I couldn't cry. 'She was just home yesterday.'kept going through my mind.
The doctor explained that she had a massive CVA.. They gave her meds to try and reverse the effects. It would take a while to see if she would respond. The first 24 hours would be crucial. If she was going to wake up it would be within the next few hours. As time passed her prognosis would grow graver.
They took her upstairs to the Critical Care unit. I should have insisted on staying all night . I wanted to be there when she woke up.
Instead I went home. Mark pushed me home this time. We both held out hopes she would come out of it.
I didn't get much sleep and prayed a lot that night. Why was it that I seemed to pray more in troubled times? I needed to pray more often. I asked God to help Mom. If anyone deserved to wake up and get well it was Mom. She is the one who prayed everyday and had faith for all of us. Please help her now. Give her the miracle she always prayed would happen to me.
I didn't go to work the next day. Mark called me in the morning and we went over to visit. I was hoping to find Mom in a regular room, sitting up in bed and eating breakfast.
Instead they sent Mom to their Hospice unit. They asked me if I wanted to keep her there at the hospital or send her back to the Center. The floor was small, maybe able to handle four patients at a time, with nurses close by 24/7. Let's keep her here.
But wait..isn't she going to wake up and get better?
The Neurologist came into Mom's room after lunch. We were all there but my oldest brother Jim, who was on his way from Maryland. He explained how devastating the stroke was. The left side of her brain was gone.No impulses, no reaction. It was unlikely she would ever wake up. She could live on like this for a week, maybe more, without a feeding tube. They were giving her IVs. He doubted she was n any pain. Occasionally there would be a twitch, maybe some involuntary noise. She would just waste away and die. She would get great care from the Hospice nurses. Everything was comfort measures only./ They would keep her clean and dry. We would visit and are welcome to stay as long as we like. No restrictions. There was coffee in the lounge just down the hall form her room. Feel free to ask the nurse for anything...
Blah, blah, blah.
All I really cared to hear was the part about " unlikely she would ever wake up." That was so final.
So for three days the family waited by her bedside. We all felt so helpless. I decided to go to work on Wednesday, as the family took shifts of someone always being there with Mom. I know Mom would feel guilty about having everyone there and would have wanted me to go to work. I went reluctantly, my thoughts with her.
When the Para Transit van picked me up that morning, I looked across the road to the hospital, now regretting my decision, staring at the top floor where Mom was resting, even after we had turned the corner.
It was stupid to be at work. My mind was with Mom, and when I had a break and at lunch I called the nurses station on the hospice unit to find out how was doing. No change.
I didn't even change clothes after work. Mark was at the house at four o'clock and we went over to the hospital.
Jim had been there from Maryland . He was my oldest brother and only sibling who agrred with mom coming home. We made eye contact when I arrived, cooler heads prevailing. The family, most of whom had shared shifts since the early morning, decided to go home , take showers, grab a bite to eat and come back in a few hours.
Soon I was alone with Mom for the first time since the stroke.
I was still at a distance near the door, my spot since a few days earlier when she was admitted to the hospice floor. A nurse stopped in to check Mom, and asked if I needed anything."You can sit alongside her," she encouraged..
Alone again, I wheeled closer to the bed. She was still hooked up to machines, machines blinking and beeping and flashing numbers , constantly taking her vital signs, her heartbeat, brain waves, blood pressure.
I looked at Mom, serenely laying there amidst all of this sight and sound, in a peaceful coma. I reached up and held her left hand between the bed rails. Her hand was black and blue from the IV near her wrist. Her hand was warm and soft.
I brought a small bottle of Lourdes water and put a little on her hand since I couldn't reach her forehead. I said a silent Hail Mary and returned the bottle to my pocket.
I thought about all the Sunday spaghetti dinners, the times she sat with me, by my bedside when I was a kid, the fun we had at Christmas, the vacations and holidays, the special times like birthdays and anniversaries, our trip to Lourdes, the everyday stuff, how funny she was, how kind she was to everyone. her compassion and good heart.
To think it all ends here.
That little voice inside said to start talking. We always believed at the nursing home that people in comas could hear you. Never assume they can't. So I just talking to her, like one of my visits during lunch at the Center.
"It's hot outside, " I began, not knowing how to start. "It's Greg. I'm here. I came after work.'
"Mom, in case no one explained it to you, you had a stroke. That's why you can't open your eyes or talk. I know you can hear me. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."
No response.
"I know you can hear me, "I repeated, wanting to believe it was true. "I know it must be frustrating not to able to open your eyes. You are in there, I know it. Your brain won't let you open your eyes but I know you can hear.
"Mom, I'm fine. Louie is fine I think he is a little better since you saw him on Saturday. We are OK. We will be all right.No need to worry. If you are hanging on because of me, it's OK to let go."
Those words were so hard to say because I wanted her to open her eyes and be the old Mom I loved for 94 years.
"If anyone is going to Heaven, it's you. You will see Dad again, Aunt Sue and Uncle Henry,, Jesus and Mary, everyone. I don't want you to suffer.
"Thank you for everything.Thank you for taking care of me all those years. I love you for that. I'll never forget you. I will miss you. If you need to let go, please let go..."
In that instant she let out three quick gasps, the first noise she had made while I was there the last three days. I was startled but didn't think anything of it. Just another involuntary noise they said would happen from time to time. I kept talking in whispers, holding her hand,telling her about the weather. the current news, things we would chat about everyday before I headed home.
Just then the nurse came back, glancing in on her way back to her station. She stopped and entered the room, mumbling to herself, "Let me check her. Her color looks different..."
She listened to her heart, touch Mom's pulse and softly said, 'She has passed."
"She's gone?" I asked, continuing to hold her hand.She looked so peaceful, like she was sleeping. Like she was now in Heaven.
The nurse said to take my time with Mom. She was going to alert the doctor, the coroner and whatever she needed to do before they washed her. She began taking away all the machines. Mom looked even more peaceful without the sights and sound around her.
I borrowed the cordless phone at the nurses' desk and called my sister. I told her that Mom just died and she replied, "What? I'm glad you were there with her. It was what she would've wanted."
For the next several minutes I looked at Mom and thought, it was the way it was supposed to be. She could've died anytime, immediately atfer the stroke on Sunday, Monday or Tuesday or earlier today. She could've died next week. Instead she died while I was there, alone with her.
The special bond between a mother and a special needs child.
She did hear me. I didn't think it was a coincidence that she drew her last breath after I reassured her that I would be all right." It's OK to let go..."
All this time. She did hear everyone. It was true. That was her final gift to me. She let me know that she could hear me. She heard when I said that I loved her. Her final gift to me was her everlasting love. It was a moment I would never forget for the rest of my life.
The funeral director, a young guy named Charles, who knew Mom well from her attendance at so many town funerals, pointed out where Mom always sat- last row, first chair- during wakes. Everyone in Phoenixville will be at her funeral on Monday," he predicted. 'She was a nice lady."
Mom looked nice in her powder blue outfit which she picked out for her funeral. We met again the morning of her wake, and I touched her hand again and silently said so long, see you again someday. You'll always be in my heart.
I waited in the doorway for Mark, as he stood near the casket while they closed the lid. My last glimpse of Mom. The Beatles' song "In my Life" was softly playing overhead. "There are places I remember.."
Even than I couldn't really cry. I did in church as we were leaving, following the casket down the center aisle as the solo male vocalist sang, "And I shall raise him up on the last day..."
I cried like a baby.
The reception was what Mom wanted- a small affair ( "Make sure everyone has enough to eat" were her instructions) at the local Polish club. Family, friends and co-workers came up to me patting me on the shoulder, whispering, "If there's anything I can ever do..." I nodded and thanked everyone for coming.
As the funeral director predicted, , Mom really did have the biggest funeral in town. All of her friends showed up, especially her Bingo buddies. She would've been pleased.
The following day I returned to work. The staff, especially the nurses and aides, really loved Mom and would miss her too. She was everywhere I looked: I thought I saw her in the line waiting for the Clinics; at church services in the Chapel, where they prayed for her soul; in the dining room where she spent her last waking moments; and in the Craft Room where she had spent so many hours making her bracelets.
They gave me her possessions fro m her room- a prayer book, more bracelets, her walker-bag, stuffed with get well cards, stamps, tissues and an old newspaper. I would cherish everything and give away the remaining bracelets to neighbors and aides as she had done.
Residents stopped me in the halls or in our office, expressing their condolences and remarking how much they would miss her. It would be a while until I got used to Mom not being there.
Home from work I called Lou but he didn't greet me at the door. I found him laying on the floor in Mom's room. He couldn't get up.
I telephoned my nephew and said we needed to take him to the vet. Not to be saved but to be put down. I couldn't stand to see him suffer.
I made an appointment for an hour from then at the vet. Returning from the living room Lou had somehow crossed the hall and was now laying in my room near the doorway. I reached down and pet his back. whispering to him that it was going to be OK.
He died before my nephew arrived. He died at home, on his own terms.
We wrapped him in a blanket, and put his favorite stuffed toy with him- Lammie- a small white Lamb Chop he would always carry around and take outside when he had to pee. We buried him in the yard he so notably called his own for over 13 years.
In bed at night,the windows open in my bedroom, a soft August evening, listening to the chirping crickets out back, I thought of Louie , spending his first night in the yard. I thought of Mom, her second night next to Dad. They were never coming back. I never imagined that Mom would die and in the same week Louie would also die. They were together now. I felt so alone as I drifted off to sleep.
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