Never too late to fall inlove again...

I fell inlove with my Mother again during her last days on the planet. Was it too late for that kind of realization? No... on the contrary, it was very, very healing. For both of us.

How did this come about? After all of my adult years, to finally circle around? To let my stories about her go? What flipped the switch for me?

Well... a bit of background first.

My Mom has always been on the eccentric side, and also incredibly large-hearted. She always worried about what others thought of her, certainly bold enough to take center stage, yet always in the background, felt under-appreciated, unloved, unvalidated and she would find ways to seek that recognition...some of which would come from her in a twisted fashion, or a slammed door (or many slammed doors...in a row), a hand-written toilet paper note that was half a roll long...all of which would make a person want to throw their hands up and say 'i just don't get it... what do you need/want from me??' My Dad certainly had his share of heart-ache, trying to figure out what Mom desired.

She wanted love, more than anything... yet nobody could give it to her. She felt she wasn't worthy, love from others would not enter her easily, except from babies and small children. So, she turned to 'things'. I had an ongoing story for many years that Mom didn't just buy one thing, she bought 10 of them. She bought, and she bought and she bought. Our house where my older brother and I grew up for the first decade of our lives began to fill. Our house in Ferintosh, where we moved to afterwards began to fill and fill and fill. When Mom and Dad separated when I was in my 20's, Mom bought a house in New Norway (down the highway from Dad's) and she filled that place to the brim and had to get an apartment, which she filled and when there wasn't enough room for that place, she got some storage lockers. There are 4 storage lockers that we are left with now... filled with her stuff. We cleared her apartment and all that stuff went into my youngest brother and his wife's garage. The house in New Norway sits... filled to the brim.

On her death bed, my Mom told me that she was not a 'hoarder'... she was a 'collector'. I have been guilty of telling people over the years that my Mom is a hoarder. After sorting through her apartment for 5 hours a day for 4 days straight, I saw for myself that she spoke the truth of herself. She was indeed a collector. And a collector of truly beautiful things... things of value.... high value in some cases. It was eye-opening for me, and so very humbling.

Mom had an OCD quality about her that was never officially diagnosed, and yet the symptoms were crystal clear and quite LOUD in certain cases... especially if anyone was to ever move or get into her things. This condition was greatly accentuated near the end of her life, especially the last week she spent in her apartment, with us kids taking care of her. We didn't dare move anything without her permission, or put our things with her things. I had a red backpack that she absolutely despised for it's colour, because she didn't like red... at all. She told me that she has nothing that is red and that it's her very least favourite colour. So, I would hide my backpack out of her sight upon my visits so as not to rub her the wrong way. When she returned to the hospital for her final week of life, her food tray became some kind of strange obsession: I would offer to lift the lid from her plate and she would go into a panic 'No!' she would start to flap her hands, and I would cover the plate. 'What's on the plate?' she would ask, and I would lift the lid..."No!' she would cry. We would do this for a few rounds until I would give up ... saying I just wanted to help her, and I need her to use her words so I can understand what she needs. The doctors eventually gave her some kind of medication that is also helpful for OCD, and all of this compulsive behavior came to an end and we were all able to take a few deep breaths, and have small, sweet conversations with her.

This is where the love started to waft in for me. I could be with her... just BE, and she surrendered to me just being with her. I could put a cloth on her heated forehead, trim her nails, sit quietly and crochet beside her as she slept. She would do little puppet shows for my older brother and I... feeling a giddy urge to entertain us as we sat with her... raising her hands from the bed and turning them side to side with a grin. Yes, the very low dosage of morphine was most likely creating a loopy existence for her, and it was heartwarming to see her having some fun with it, despite the pain she was in and in being so close to her mortality.

On the last morning we had with her, the nurses came in for a routine insertion of extra pic-lines in her right arm. I wanted to send them away because I could tell how close to death Mom was. They assured me it wouldn't hurt, and I asked them to 'please be gentle with her'. When they were finished, however, Mom looked a bit ruffled. I smoothed her forehead and told her I was there with her now, no more poking and prodding, and asked if she would like to listen to the special music my friends sent, which I had on my phone. She made the sound of yes, and I placed my phone on her pillow and played the song 3 times through. The song is only a 30 second round, sang in harmony by my two beautiful friends (husband and wife) and singing mentors. The lyrics are "I am sending you light, to heal you, to hold you, I am sending you light, to hold you in love". The song was such a gift for myself, my brothers, and especially my Mom...who when she first heard it, asked that I play it to everyone who visited her that day. She was so touched by the beauty. Playing it on this particular morning had profound effects on her... she calmed instantly, and about 15 minutes later, her breath started to get shallow, I called my brothers to the hospital, and she gently died with us all around her...holding her in love.

The healing that happened for me ran very deep as I held her into her death. It was like I saw through every single one of my stories I held about her... they all vanished as I looked upon her... leaving her body behind.

Though I wish I could have had this kind of healing with her in her living life, we did have our moments, despite it all. She was not an easy person to be around, and yet, I see now where she was coming from and I forgive her for everything, and I certainly forgive our relationship. She only wanted love... more than anything. And we tried very hard to give her that, each of us in our own way... and yes, at times we would have to conserve our own energy and walk away from her for a time...and I forgive myself for that too. I needed time to recharge. I also apologized to her for the times that I blew up over the phone... and she received my apology with gratefulness. Ah... the Mother-Daughter relationship! And I was her only one.

The experience of our slow unwinding together, over the last month of her life, and my daily visits with her during that time, was a very large part of our healing and forgiveness. I'm not sure that I would be in the place I am now without that time together, and so I am grateful. Even though it was rough seeing her suffer at times, and go through her mental loops...she did share some very tender stories and say some sweet words that will stay with me... like a healing balm forever imprinted upon my own Soul. I will miss you, Mama, and I love you.

Sending tender-heartedness out to all the dear Mothers and to all those Sons and Daughters who have loved them and were patient and faithful witnesses during their death...

~Mamaleah

Don't give me false hope...

It mattered to me... the flow of my parents' transitioning into death, and that everyone in the picture was on the same page as to 'what' exactly was happening. The 'what', in our death phobic culture, being DYING. Dying was happening. It is happening for all of us, and yet for many, it is actively happening, and quickly.

There was a bit of a hiccup in this flow when my Mom was approaching the end of her life. It rubbed me, and gave me a prickly sensation. I listen to those direct body sensations. The rub came when the doctor suggested that Mom be on the list for a long-term care facility, when to us and from what we were seeing, Mom was clearly showing signs that she would never make it as long as the waiting lists were... 3-6 weeks. Mom's doctor was so confused as to why Mom wasn't on a list and made a big deal about it and even came down on the home-care people, who obviously saw what we saw and didn't encourage us to put Mom on a list. It was confusing and created some self-doubt for us during a time when that's the last thing we needed.

Mom declined very quickly after that interaction and it wasn't an issue anymore, and her Doctor slipped off the scene, and we didn't see her visit Mom again during the last week of her life. I guess she finally recognized that long-term care was scratched off the list.

I knew deep in my heart it was never on the list, and I have a bit of resentment around the doctor's push to instill false hope. That's what it felt like to me. Like Mom's decline was not being honoured and recognized by her own doctor, who she became quite attached to because it is so hard to get in as a new patient with a young doctor in Camrose. And then when it's clear that there is no life-saving happening, the doctor disappears. There is a gap in this scenario.

It is interesting, because after having such an up-close and personal time with Dad during his dying, the signs became very clear to us as Mom progressed. I understand that it is within the Hippocratic Oath for doctors to save lives, and if they were not so attached to that commitment, and used their gut instincts, they may consider a more graceful approach with their dying patients, and certainly a more graceful exit from the scene. My Dad's doctor was intuitive enough to call me directly on my cell phone the day before he died, to wish me her condolences. I only met her once the whole time I was at the Cross Cancer Institute, and spent more time with her fill-in, who was there until the last day and was very sincere about what was happening with Dad. So, there are some who use their gut, and I do appreciate their work within the medical system. The gap might also be filled with more spiritual / grief counselors... who could be there when family couldn't, and who may have some guidance about moving through pain, letting go of attachments, reaching a place of forgiveness and coming more into a space of love as death approaches. They could sit with family members and caretakers as well, for support and guidance.

So, in a culture that is NOT so rooted in hope and life-supporting methods and care, what would it look like when someone you love is dying? I believe you could BE anywhere... home, hospital, outdoors... and as long as everyone was on the same page with their gut instincts and the dying process was accepted and understood as the current path to travel, then do everything possible to facilitate that process as a dying process. Not as a life-saving process, or a 'no, don't leave me' process. Be there...surrender, witness, share stories, share love, cry tears of grief, sing a song or call in some bedside singers, play beautiful music on the CD player, laugh, hold hands, rub shoulders and foreheads, and listen, listen, listen.

With love to you, I leave you with a song, for soul food and tears...

~Mamaleah