My Mom is Dying
All of my expertise as a nurse, as an end of life doula, as a senior advocate are now being called into play as I put my own mother on hospice and sit vigil at her bedside. While she is not yet actively dying, she is transitioning. She has stopped eating for the most part. She’s too weak to ambulate with her walker. She spends close to 23 hours a day sleeping, withdrawing from her world. While she is not suffering physically with any major disease or pain, her 99 year old body is failing. Not only failing to thrive, but failing to live.
Through it all, she just wants to know that her cell phone is nearby. That her pull ups are clean. That her granddaughter who travels 2 1/2 hours to see her gets home safely. That her great grandchild who will be born in just a few weeks will have a special gift from her – her name. ( In Judaism, we name our babies after the dead to memorialize and honor loved ones who predecease us in eternal life.)
Last night mom asked for her purse to make sure she had her Medicare card, supplement card, and handicapped parking permit nearby. She asked my older sister (whom she lives with) to take her to see her primary care physician… “who always makes me better”.
She’s questioning “What’s happening to me? Why am I so weak?” We’re trying to be honest with her. I’ve told her that her body is failing. I’ve asked her if she feels like she’s dying. She says “yes”. I’ve told her that she’s 99 years old and it’s time to let nature take its course. I’ve told her that’s it’s okay to go. The family will have her love to sustain them in their grief. I’ve told her that dad is waiting for her on the other side. I’ve told her that all her loved ones whom she’s lost over the decades are waiting to greet her on the other side.
I don’t think she’s scared of dying and I believe she wants to live. But I think she’s ready to go. Some people are tired and need to sleep. Some people are tired and need to rest… eternal rest.
Mom and I have had a complicated relationship for as long as I can remember. I was the middle child. I always felt like the middle child. It took me nearly six decades to forgive my mom for not being the mother I needed. The mother I wanted. I hope now that I’m here with her during her last weeks of life, she can forgive me for perhaps not being the daughter that she needed or expected me to be. Forgiveness is the greatest gift you can give to someone at the end of their life. It’s a gift for yourself as well. “Mom, I forgive you for all the pain. I hope you forgive me. “
It’s magnificent to see all the grandchildren and age-appropriate great grandchildren rally around mom, sharing memories, showering her with love amidst the sadness. Each one of them has their own individual story with mom. She had the ability to make each one of them feel special and loved. For that alone, I am truly grateful. It is a beautiful legacy gift. It is a beautiful thing to observe. Each one loves her in their own unique way. They crawl into bed with her. They rub her back. They hold her hand. They tell her how much they love her and how much she’s added to their life. They tell her how much they’ll miss her and that they’ll never forget her. They’re lucky. She’s lucky. She’s been a great force in their lives. When her 12 year old great granddaughter asks “Will Bubbie get better?”, I tell her “No, sweetheart, she’s not going to get better.” The tears flow.
The end of life care I ‘m giving my mother is filled with deep mercy and compassion. Mom, I want you to know that I am sharing this journey with you. I will take your hand, I will listen to you, I will hear you, and I will honor your wishes. I will comfort and support you on your journey. I've got you...
After 99 years, the only things Mom asks for is to be able to pee on the toilet and for sips of water. Think about that. Think about how profound that is. After 99 years of living, life boils down to peeing and drinking.
Addendum: Mom passed away quietly on Halloween. May her memory be a blessing.
