By Every Family’s Got One Guest Writer — Emily Gaffney
Mom is presently serving 10 to 20 at the local nursing home. A simple procedure to remove a kidney stone, resulted in sepsis and a CDC dictate for two weeks of IV antibiotics, plus twice daily PT (apparently, 4 hospital stays in 5 months has left her “unconditioned”… go figure).
Since my skill set does not include IV’s or PT, Mom’s full sentence must be served at The Home.
During her last rehab stint…
she bunked with an old family friend and her days were filled with rehashing, recapping and recollecting. Her appetite was strong, her hair was coiffed, and her overall demeanor was that of an elderly woman on the mend.
She read her beloved Boston Globe daily, perused her mound of mail in bed, and made new friends of every attending staff member. All of this, plus 24-hour room service made for a pretty good gig.
But this time is different.
Mom is pale, bloated and barely cognizant of where she is, or who I am. Although not in pain, she’s weak, tired, despondent, and physically uncomfortable with chest pressure and difficulty breathing (never good symptoms in a 92-year-old woman).
She is also confoundingly confused and unable to answer the simple questions I proffer to test her cognition.
With teary eyes…
Mom makes a definitive statement – I just want to die. I tell her to tap the breaks on that kind of talk, but she’s deaf to my humor. Despite attempts to adjust her attitude, I can totally understand why she wants to pack it in…
That’s how bad things look.
The next day…
the scene is ever so slightly improved. Mom is sitting up and wearing clothes. She’s eaten several bites of what looks like scrambled eggs and says she feels a little better.
More importantly, she seems to have regained her brain, rapidly responding to my political test question. She’s in sufficient condition for me to take her to two off-site doctor appointments.
we have an hour and a half in between the two appointments. Concerned for Mom’s unintended 3-day hunger strike, I entice her with the offer of a “McDouble” at McDonald’s.
Void of her usual McDouble-McHappiness she requests a regular hamburg (thereby confirming my suspicion that things are still not as they should be… A healthy Sally Sunshine would never miss a McDouble…)
We drive-thru and park…
Nibbling on our paltry patties in the pouring rain, I open the conversation:
I’m glad to see you’re eating, Mom. You really need those calories… Seems like you’re feeling a little better. Did they do your IV last night?
Yes. No problem…
Do you still feel like you want to die?
No… I’ll be alright.
Good. Wanna hear the most recent 50 Shades post?
I pull out my phone and read a piece that ends with me describing the depth of my intimate knowledge of my mother, and she is visibly moved.
You really scared me yesterday Mom… It was like you were comatose… It was the first time I really thought you might die.
We twist in our seats to face each other.
I thought I might too.
(Cue the tears…)
I’m not ready for that Mom. I thought I was ready for that, but I’m just not. I don’t think about losing you in terms of losing-a-92-year-old-mother-who-had-a-good-run. I feel like I’d be losing my best friend. We spend so much time together… I think about you in the morning, and at night before I go to bed. You’re a big part of every day. I don’t know what to do with that if you’re gone…
I know honey. But I’ll always be with you.
Sure Mom, but we need to come up with a way that you can show me you’re here from the other side…
You’ll feel it Emily… you’ll know I’m with you… I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter. You’ve become everything I could ever hope for and more, and I’m so proud of you.
While I bawl…
like a bereaved baby, Mom calmly reassures me that I’ll be ok – like a mother. Still connected at the eyes, I reach for her hand.
In the midst of our love fest, I field a Facetime call from my youngest daughter (… a surprise in itself given her propensity for audio over visual connection…).
wraps her head around the spectacle of TV on a telephone, she settles into a newsy conversation with her grandchild.
Not being a hyper-connected family, our serendipitous assembly is even more auspicious than it might have been for those whose family members are regular interact-ors. Our cups flowethed over.
After we hang up…
Mom and I rehash the call with talk of raising daughters, making choices, and letting go.
She takes this opportunity to offer me the best kind of advice possible; mother and daughter, speaking about mothers and daughters.
In this moment, she is incredibly present and clear… more thought-full than I’ve seen her in years. The depth of this conversation is matched only by the sadness I feel at the thought of losing it.
Something has shifted in me…
and I’m different as a result of our day together. After re-depositing Mom at The Home, my tears swell again.
Although caught off guard, I understand that Mom’s latest bout of aging has left me with unanticipated, pre-death grieving over the future loss of my mother.
I realize that we have, in fact, just said our good-byes.
This story was previously published on Emily’s blog 50 Shades of Aging.
Emily Gaffney is a baby-booming, empty nester who’s living life-on-hold while caring for her 92-year-old mother (Right.Next.Door.) She writes, with humor, about the emotional baggage that often accompanies caretaking an aging parent. Her writing has been featured on Menopausal Mother, Blunt Moms, Better After 50 and Medium. Find Emily (and Mom) at her website 50 Shades of Aging and on Facebook.