Mom’s Last Day
I woke this morning thinking of my mother. I do most mornings. Sitting in that hospital room, alone.
She’s scared and alone. I get that. If I had cancer on a breathing machine, I’d want someone there too. Today they would not let me in. My brother did not get to see her, either. I guess it is only COMFORT CARE patients that are allowed visitors, and since my mother’s expiration is not imminent, they will no longer allow us in.
I am so grateful I could sit with her this past weekend. Many times she doesn’t talk. It is okay. Many times she’s sleeping, that’s okay too. There are other times she quick with me–frustrated and a little mean. That is okay too. She has been through a lot.
I think of the events of this weekend–the last weeks. I think of the emotional rollercoaster we’ve all been on. I think about the times we’ve pulled together and supported each other. I think about the love we have shared in our family and the support over Facebook.
I also think about how I and others have been hurt. How, at a moment of deep pain, wounds that go very deep were once again peeled open anew. There is a list of pain I could focus on, but instead, I ask God to fill each of us with love, mercy, and kindness so we might reflect for each other the best parts of what my mother revealed to us.
My heart aches right now—my mother alone in a room. We can’t even call her because of the damn breathing machine that gives her life.
Pray for her and pray for us. This is so hard.
**I still regret this day so much–that I did not just connect with her video camera and sit with her. The doctors talked to her about the end of life care with no one there for her. They spoke to me about it too. There was no ore hope that she would make it. We were down to just hours now. I wish I could go back to those hours and sit with her on video as I did later in the day.