When I arrived to spend the night with Mom she was very agitated. There was a different feeling in the room of unease. She turned to me with that look of disgust I knew so well from my childhood. “Finally, there you are.” Pointing at the far corner of her room and shaking her finger, she said “You tell him I am not ready. I am not going anywhere, yet. And he can‘t make me” I looked from her to the corner and back to her. I shrugged my shoulders and told her “Okay, then don’t go.” Looking at the corner, she said “That’s right.”
There was nothing to calm her that night. We did our normal routine of putting on music, washing and putting lotion on her, reading to her. I snuggled her in reminiscent of so many times with my own babies. She continued to refuse to drink or take her medications for relief. Rather, than our usual talking, she just watched me with her intent green eyes. Every so often — she would look into the corner — then back at me.
I don’t believe things went as my Mom had planned. When it came to the point that she would need dialysis, Mom decided enough was enough. She made the choice, knowing the end result, to put a stop to all the medical procedures that were keeping her alive. Somehow, the movie version of death was her reality. You know, everything orderly, a few struggled breaths and the bright light appears to take you to heaven. Sadly, there is nothing “nice” about death. The sights, smells and process are daunting and ugly.
When the night nurse came in, Mom went into this rage. I have seen my Mom angry, this woman I did not recognize. Over and over she told the nurse “Get out, now!” “Laurie, she’s here to drug me.” I whispered to the nurse, “Please, double her dose tonight.” It took several of the aids to hold her down and give her medications to calm her. I couldn’t watch, I couldn’t participate, I was a coward. I grabbed my backpack and walked from the room.
I forced myself to keep walking down that dim hall. I kept my eyes focused on the red exit sign. I could still hear her yelling to me. “Laurie, Laurie! You get back here, right now! Do you hear me, Laurie? Wait till I tell your sister, you’ll get it then.” Stopping, I turned and began walking back to her room. One of the nurses that had been in the room, approached me and told me “You just keep on walking, sweetheart, we’ll take real good care of her.” I prayed to the man in the corner “Dear God, please send your angels soon.” ©llpeltier2014
Today I am thankful for ..
- The gift of having and being a mother. It is a blessing and a privilege.
Call your mom. Tell her you love her. The time will come when you won’t be able to.
affectionately yours, Laura