Posted on by lgandre

Remembering Mom

As my plane descended into Manchester, a sick feeling settled into my stomach.  So many times I had arrived at this airport to be greeted by my smiling Mom and Dad.  Not today.

In fact, I felt a heaviness knowing that she would never be there to greet me again.  

Mom was diagnosed with congestive heart failure several years before this.  She did everything she could to take care of herself—eating, drinking, and exercising just like they told her.  But most of all, she just kept going.  She kept doing.  

While there were some medications, procedures, and just overall bumps along the road; for the most part, she did much better than expected.  And even though her heart function has been hovering at 12-15% for some time, she lived a surprisingly normal life.  Loving, serving, and giving of herself.  What her heart lacked in health and strength in made up for in grit and bravery.  Less than a year before this arrival in Manchester, she had kayaked 17 miles down the Delaware River.  She was nearly 72. 

As painful as those final days with Mom were, I choose to write about them now because I want to remember. Even in the hardness, there was a sweetness that popped up along the way like the heads of bright wildflowers beside a lonely dirt road that leads to a place you don’t want to go. 

It’s hard to say exactly when the “final days” began.  She was hospitalized Thanksgiving of the prior year (2022) and again shortly after Christmas.  But for me, it was a little harder to know for sure what was really going on since I usually get cheery, upbeat telephone reports insisting she was fine.

I purchased a plane ticket for her to come and visit us in South Carolina for Mother’s Day (2023).  Unfortunately, she would not be able to make that trip.  She was in the hospital—one of a series of long hospital stays.  A quick google search of her symptoms and reports told me what I hoped was not true—she was in stage four heart failure.

When I came up with the girls to visit Mom and Dad at the end of May, she was back in the hospital. There were still a scattering of Christmas decorations around the house. It was plain she hadn’t been feeling well for some time.  

The girls and I got to see her a few times in the hospital during that week.  Dad was holding on to hope that she would bounce back and be able to enjoy plans that they had made for the summer.  In fact, they were so determined,  that after she was released in early June, Mom and Dad drove down to South Carolina for a wedding.

Shortly upon arrival, she was having trouble with nausea and ended up getting admitted to the hospital June 13 for her final hospital stay.  Since she was in Greenville, South Carolina, I was able to see her for eight of the ten days that she was there.  My siblings made long trips to see her and, of course, Dad stayed with her for the long, long days. Paul stayed all night with her.  Erin’s daughter played harp for her in the hospital.  Allyson brought her “Gladly” the cross-eyed bear.  Still, we were never able to all get together as a family—something that grieved Dad and I deeply.  

After the initial admission, the hospital doctors seemed to be giving good news.  Her organs were stable.  They expected her to get better.  One of the nurses even told me that she thought Mom’s main problem was anxiety and perhaps that why she wasn’t able to eat without vomiting.

I appreciated the good news, but I knew Mom’s problem was not anxiety.  Mom knew her problem was not anxiety.  She had fought all she could fight and her body was shutting down.  Understandably, Dad wasn’t ready to give up and when they moved her from ICU to the cardio wing, it seemed like perhaps there was progress.  Mom and Dad were anxious to get back to New Hampshire and we talked about ways she could make the trip.

Still, Mom was not able to eat without nausea.  The numerous meds they tried seemed to make no difference.  Her system just would not process food of any kind; sometimes she could not keep a drink down; no matter how small the sip.  They gave her an IV—messing with the delicate balance between her fluids and her heart.  Finally, the labs began to tell the story that my mom had been telling through her weakness: her system was shutting down.  She was not going to get better.

I’m thankful my brother was there when they delivered the news.  Erin and I weren’t far away.  Mom was weak and by this time; unable to stand.  They were ready to discharge her from the hospital and home was a thousand miles away.

There are moments from that day that were horrible.  A few that were strangely sweet. Lots of “I love yous.”  Lots of tears. A few goodbyes that Mom wanted to say over FaceTime and phone.

Mom seemed somehow relieved that someone had given her permission to stop fighting—even if it was an arrogant doctor with the heart of a grinch and the soul of a Scrooge.  She was ready to pull all the plugs, cords, and wires, and go home.  Home to New Hampshire.  Home to heaven.

The five of us tried to work on a plan of what to do next.  There were so many details —big and small—to work out over the next 24 hours.  Curtis helped us find an airplane, a pilot, and a plan.  We spoke with palliative care, hospice South Carolina, case management, and hospice New Hampshire.  We worked to find rides for Mom to and from the airport.  She was now not able to even sit in a wheelchair or do any functions herself.  

As I watched the team arrive with a gurney and wheel her out, all I could think of to say was, “we’re blowing this joint!”  Looking back, it seems I was so heartless, but I was just numb.  

Mom lived one more week at home, if you could call the last week “living.”  She slowly slipped away from us and to Jesus.  

To my mom, the last six days were too long. The last six weeks, longer still.  The last six months, an eternity.  She didn’t like being waited on.  She didn’t enjoy feeling her body giving up—function by function.  She didn’t want to feel like she was unable to be useful to anyone—that all should could do was require energy from other people.

But God knew we needed every day He gave her.  He knew we needed some time to show her we love her; to listen to her last words of wisdom; and to process the inevitable. 

She told me she loved me. She told me she felt no pain. She believed I would get married and my girls would have a wonderful dad.  I’ll treasure those words forever. 

But, even as I reflect on the sweet memories of that last stay with Mom, the weak woman in the bed is not the one I remember. There was so much more. 

So, even as I want to remember those days, there is a long list of things she taught me that I want to remember more:

  • Read the Bible
  • Work hard
  • Give till it hurts
  • You have two good legs
  • How not to make money
  • Life’s not fair
  • Invest in your kids
  • The bacon is done when the smoke alarm goes off
  • Speak to authority with respect
  • Finish your food and carry your plate
  • You don’t need a TV

So much I could say about these things and the love and the spankings that made them stick.   But alas, life hasn’t given me time to do them justice.  Yet. 

Dad is engaged now to be married to my aunt Penny in a few months.   I’m very happy for him.  He needs a wife and Penny will be amazing.  I’m sure there’s plenty I can learn from her as well. Loving my mom doesn’t mean he can’t love someone else.  

But it also doesn’t mean we can’t look back with full hearts on Mother’s Day and be thankful for the beautiful woman I got to call “Mom.”  And for the wildflowers peeking their vibrant heads along the edges of a road that led somewhere I didn’t want to go. 

Posted on by lgandre · 2 Comments

Life’s Not Fair (Part II)

(If you missed the first part of this story, you’ll want to go back and read Part I)

Much to my disgust, the boys were completely over their concern for Blackie by the time I crawled out.

“That’s okay.” They said. “She’ll come back. She always does.”

Always does?

Why was this information not shared with me before I slid through slime?

But, as my mother taught me, Life is not fair.

That was the first cat incident.

The second cat incident happened the last day.

I was exhausted. I’m not gonna lie.

Nevertheless, I got up while the house was still quiet. I was determined that I was going to get showered, dressed, and have my devotions before anything else broke loose. That’s what real moms do, right?

I didn’t have my contacts in (a phrase which herein means, I was blind). This fact does great things for my ability to ignore the world. It is much easier to avoid distractions when you have only the faintest sense of sight.

And I wasn’t going to let anything distract me.

Nothing.

Not even that strange smell wafting into my bedroom.

Not even the fact that the strange smell was the dirty diaper kind of odor.

Not even the fact that the smell seemed to intensify as I headed toward the bathroom.

Whatever it was, I could deal with it after I was clean, my hair was dry, and I had read my Bible.

I brushed back the shower curtain and there, right there, on the white shower floor, was a large, brown pile.

Whitey. Apparently.

It took me a while (in my blind state and in unfamiliar territory) to rummage up proper cleaning materials. I was on my hands and needs scrubbing the tub when I heard a voice behind me.

“What are you doing?” Reformed 3-year old asked. He really was cute.

“Cleaning the tub.”

“Why?”

“Because your cat used it as a potty.”

“Why?”

“That is a very good question.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I understand. Give me a couple of minutes and then…”

“I’m dirty.”

That was the start of another day.

And the end of my plans.

It was that afternoon that the boys’ dad arrived back from his business trip. It had been three days full of competitions and heart breaks, but we had a lot of good times too. I had prepared food, done laundry, cleaned the kitchen, played games, chased a cat, slithered through slime, and now…scrubbed the tub. Needless to say, I had worked very hard not only to keep them changed and fed but also to let them have some fun.

But as their dad unloaded from his car, the five boys went running outside like so many starving sailors who had just spent decades marooned on a dessert island eating roots, slugs, and tree bark.

I was glad they were happy to see their dad, but I felt a bit betrayed as they inundated him with every detail of the days gone wrong and all the reasons why mom should be MAD!

I don’t think they mentioned one good thing from the three days.  Not one.

Tell Miss Danielle, “thank you.”  The dad ordered as I gathered my things.

The boys tilted their heads in my direction.  “Thank you,” they mumbled.

Then I drove off into the sunset.

Mom was right, life isn’t fair.

It was a few days later that the phone call came that put the icing on the cake.

It was the boys’ mom. The summary of what she had to say was this, “For some odd reason, my husband thinks it would be appropriate to pay you A LOT of money. I don’t think that’s necessary, do you?”

I didn’t really know what to say. I didn’t need A LOT of money, but I also didn’t know what A LOT of money was.  I think I said something like, “whatever you think, I was happy to do it.”

They did write me a check, I was well paid, and I was grateful to get it.  I didn’t remember thinking it was A LOT of money…And I was a broke law student making $7.25/hr. Anything should have seemed like A LOT of money.

But it hindsight, it was a good thing. It helped me get a better glimpse both of that mother and of life as a mother in general.

She didn’t think much of what I had done, but then, why should she? This was her life. She did it every day without a check. Probably without much thanks at all. And, had she just been through what I had been through, the last three days wouldn’t have stood out to her in the least. It was just life.

And it sometimes it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that some of the toughest jobs earn the smallest paychecks. And that kids who should drop to their knees in eternal gratitude will instead blow off someone’s hard work.  It isn’t fair that cats will use the bathtub when they have a perfectly good litter box just inches away.

But life isn’t fair.

Thanks, Mom, for teaching me that.  Bet you thought it would never sink in.

And thanks, moms, for working a job that stinks sometime. And is never quite fair.

EPILOGUE

Blackie did come back (that same day, in fact!) no worse for wear.  The family are still friends although I should probably be wondering why I was never asked to babysit again.  All the boys grew up to be responsible members of society to my knowledge.  And no, this episode is not the reason that I am still single and childless…although it just might have something to do with the fact that I do not have a cat.