three…

three years have passed since mom left me.  left us.  1,576,800 Minutes.

over a MILLION minutes…

tonight i can say that i know that i can not hold my breath for 90 seconds.  i can say that with absolute certainty because i gave it a valiant effort during the transition from 10:03 pm to 10:05 pm.  i’m always watching as the clock ticks to 10:05 pm on november 2.  always.

three years ago, right now,  i was sitting in bed with mom, holding her hand, begging her to go, listening to her gasp for air and then those last blocked breaths… and then silence.

time of death: 10:05 pm – read that entry here

“they” say that time heals all wounds… but honestly…  my truth is – time only makes the wound deeper.  and the scar bigger.  who the heck is “they” anyway?  “they” lies.  i honestly feel like the more time that passes – the more my heart aches for my mama.  the longer it is between our last days together – the more i miss her.  the more time between us – the more my soul cries out for her.  i wish it weren’t so… but it is.

i tried to fall back on my fail safe’s tonight.  i popped open that bag of mom’s clothes that i locked up in a ziplock bag that night and alas… they small like plastic.  such a sad, sad revelation.

there are really no words that adequately describe how much every fiber of me misses her.  this year is the first year for nora that she’s officially been gone longer than she was here.  i asked nora what she remembered about mom on mom’s birthday while we ate our cake that we got for her.   she said she remembers that mama bear was really kind.  and super funny.  both of those statements are true – but i can see that she’s forgetting all those tender moments and the UNBREAKABLE bond the two of them shared.  that fact slays me.   like – my soul literally cries out in anguish when i think about it.

i thought that i left NOTHING unsaid.  i tried really hard to make sure we talked about everything before she left.  i wanted zero regrets.  i honestly remember feeling ok with what we talked about immediately following her passing… but the truth is – there was no possible way for me to be able to foresee all the things i’d need to talk to her about.  each and every passing day brings new challenges and rewards.  every.  single.  day.  i wish i could pick up the phone and call heaven.  there are days where i’d literally give ANYTHING to be able to ask her advice and get her opinion.

andplusalso… mama bear completely neglected to tell me how hard parenting is.  it turns out i didn’t give her even HALF the credit she deserved.  she was a really amazing mom… i think that daughters don’t – or rather CAN’T – really appreciate their mamas and how amazing they are until they become mamas themselves.  and unfortunately for us, my sweet mama bear left me soon after i became one.

if i’m honest… you have to know my heart STILL refuses to accept that she’s are really gone.  it’s just so much easier for my head to believe we haven’t spoken in awhile.  awhile: almost THREE EFFING YEARS.  where does the time go… most days i am able to be grateful for the time we did have…   i can focus on all the good things and remember how incredibly lucky i was to have her for 29 years.  because seriously – there were some really REALLY good times.  and lots of pee my pants funny memories.  we sure had fun… <3

buuuut then this week rolls around… every stinking year.  the week between october 27th and november 2nd knocks me flat out every year.  i find myself in an unbelievable funk.  even when i’m not even actually actively spending time thinking about what happened during this week three years ago – it’s like my heart still knows.  and it fights me.  it digs in it’s heels and refuses to even pretend to be ok.  this week is just… SOOOO hard.  it’s hard to explain… it’s like the deepest parts of my soul just sink into this dark place where i just can’t even function or think straight during this time every year.  no matter where i am or who i’m with – my soul grieves mom’s loss SO very hard in this week.  i lose myself.  and i just don’t know how to be ok.  this week, every year, i feel as though i just can’t do… anything.  i mean – i miss her daily – but this week – it just almost kills me every year.

i want to be strong.  for my mama.  for my littles.  for kev.  so i’ll try.  because really – what other choice do i have?  the sun still sets and rises regardless if i’m ready or not.

i’m so incredibly grateful for that night in september 2012 where mom and i stumbled through a prayer where she cried out to her god.   it was hands down the best most incredible gift she ever gave me.  because now i know – without a doubt – that i’ll see her again.  i know – WITHOUT A DOUBT – where she is and who she’e with.  and most importantly of all – i know that someday – she’ll be waiting for me.   and for that – my heart is SOOO very grateful and filled.  but still… i miss her.  and i wish she were here.  for me.  and for the kids.

the beginning of the end – read that entry here

at this point i’ve had quite a big of time to process and this day always proves to be a real… bugger.  part of me wants to get silly string and cone shaped hats and throw confetti around because my mama and i have a birthday.  i feel like today we should celebrate her birth into heaven and my birth onto earth.  we really ARE connected in this deep and impactful way that is just… incredible.  but…  then…  reality sets in.  and i just… can’t do it.  it feels weird.  it’s SO conflicting.  it’s like the most amazing miracle and the biggest tragedy all in one day.  at the exact same moment.  and honestly – i just don’t know how to handle myself.  i honest to god don’t know how to even “just be” on this day.  today i decided not to even acknowledge the fact that it’s my birthday.  my kids didn’t even know.  it’s weird because i feel this responsibility to keep birthdays this treasured amazing fun thing.  and i feel like i’d have this obligation to participate in the shenanigans that i know they’d want to make happen and i literally just could NOT get it together and do it today.  i wanted to – for mom.  and for myself.  and i just… couldn’t.

there’s always next year…  right?  unless there isn’t…  because life is so effing short.  BLAH.

once again – i want to thank those of you who still visit their grave.  i know you go up there.  and it means more than you’ll ever know.  she didn’t want to die – and she REALLY didn’t want to be forgotten.  so thank you.  from the very bottom of my heart.  <3

here’s to you mama bear.  i love you forever and miss you for always.  <3

take care of one another friends.  be well.  until next time.

mama bear wrote a letter to you.  i thought it’s time to share it:

Hi everyone.  Thanks for coming.

Months ago Kenzie and I talked about what I wanted my last days to look like and whether or not I had anything to say to anyone.  It seemed so final and I had a very hard time deciding what I’d leave you all.  What do you say on your way out?

I’m not ready to go.  I’m going to fight even though I know only the big man upstairs can help me now.  I’m praying for a miracle every night.

But – if he decides it’s my time and I just can’t stay – I’m going to be with my husband.  My big bubba and we will be ridin’ Harley’s with Son in a sidecar beside us.

Please know that these are my wishes for you:

I wish to have my family and friends know that I love them very VERY much.

I wish that everyone in this room will help keep me alive in memories to my grandbabies.  They are so precious and they are my heart.   I would have loved to be here to watch them grow up.

I wish to be forgiven for the times I have hurt you.

I wish to have my family, friends and others know that I forgive them for when they have hurt me in my life.

I wish for my family and friends to know that, while I don’t want to die, I do not fear death itself.  I truly believe it’s not the end, but a new beginning for me.  I’m looking forward to seeing Daniel.  I really miss him.

I wish that you all forget what I looked like without teeth.

I wish for all my family members to make peace with each other before my death, if they can.

I wish for my family and friends to think about what I was like before I became seriously ill.  I want them to remember me that way after I’m gone.

I wish for my family and friends and those around me to respect my wishes even if they don’t agree with them.

I wish for my family and friends to look at my dying as a time of personal growth for everyone – including me.  Daniel used to tell me not to take life too seriously – none of us get out alive.  Guess he was right.

I wish for my family and friends to get counseling if they have trouble with my death.  I want my life to give them joy and not sorrow.

I wish to be buried next to daniel.  I’d like you to cut a hole in his casket and then in mine and stick our arms through it so we can hold hands forever.  I realize this would cost a lot of money so I’ll forgive you if you don’t do it.

When you think of me, remember me as a truck drivin’, harley ridin’ mama.

Keep on truckin.

All my love,

Sandi

my sweet, sweet mama went to heaven tonight at 10:05pm.

i am devastated.  numb.  cold.  exhausted.

it’s been an incredibly long and hard ten months and an even harder 8 days and 9 nights as i sat vigil at her bedside.

it’s very surreal.  i can’t believe she’s really gone.  the last 215 hours of my life are a complete blur.

when i arrived at her apartment at highgate last week i sat vigil expecting her to go at any second.  i exhausted myself watching the sheets rise and fall with her breaths, rise and fall for over a week.  it took longer and longer and longer and LONGER and – if i’m honest – i had become very comfortable with the idea that she would be here forever.  sure – in a sad state – but here forever nonetheless.  i could come up to highgate and talk to her, sit with her, read to her, do “insert whatever i could think of here” with her.

and now… as i sit here tapping out the details of our last moments together in her sweet precious life as i sit next to her cold, lifeless body – i realize that just isn’t the case.  she really is gone from this world.  she is here no more.

my heart is broken.  my mama bear is gone.  i am an orphan.  my dad went to heaven october 3, 2008.  my cup runneth over at the thought of them riding harleys together on streets paved with gold.  dad sitting with his back against the sissy bar, of course.  gooo bad mamajama mamabear!  potato, potato, potato.  bwaaahahahahaha.  🙂

after the meds in her care pack were given to her this evening – her anxiety calmed down a little bit but she still was struggling to breathe and was working VERY hard to get the air she needed to continue to breathe.  this continued for hours.  puff, puff, exhale moan, puff, puff, exhale moan.  repeat, repeat, REPEAT.   at about 9:30pm i received a text from my aunt steph, the lone member of our family that had yet to say goodbye.

it said:  “r u alone with her?  if so i want to call her if u can hold the phone and u think she might hear.”

i’ve had my phone close by since the beginning of this journey as it filled a lot of the days and nights when i just needed a little break.

i’m 100% sure my mom was aware.  SO very aware of everything going on.  she heard – she listened – she ran the show.

i immediately called my aunt, put the phone to mama bear’s ear and my aunt talked to her for a good 30 minutes – telling her that it was time to go.  past time to go.  she told her we’d all miss her but that we’d all be ok.  she told her she needed to give up.  quit breathing right now.  she told mama bear all the things that i had already said – except she was straight.  me – well – i danced around a little bit.  because i know that’s what mom was comfortable with.  “go mama – i’m ok.  it’s time.”  my aunt took the direct approach, “sandra – you quit breathing right this instant.  you have to go – right now.  your body is tired – and the second you quit breathing you will go to heaven and see daniel, dad, grandpa, grandma.”  i have a suspicion that my mom was waiting to hear from my aunt steph.  because immediately after their conversation ended – she started to really go.  fast.  and she was gone 34 minutes after they talked.  i will say though, that she was waiting for THIS day to go.  i know that.  i am certain.  my gut has told me she’d go today for weeks.  i knew it.

what’s crazy though, is looking back at tonight (and the last 4 years) – i never was able to communicate with mama bear effectively.  i spent the last 4 years talking to her the way i would have wanted to be talked to.  ironically – i’ve spent the last 4 years being dead honest with her.  telling it like it is.  and since she started to die – i’ve tried to protect her.  be gentle about things.  there has been lots of doctors appointments where i’ve stepped outside to get the real truth and talked in code inside the office with my mamas.  who would have thought that what put so much controversy into our relationship in the last 4 years is what she needed to finally let go?

aunt steph – i am so incredibly grateful for what you did.  i know it was so hard to talk to mom tonight – but it made so much difference.  thank you for doing what i’ve been TRYING to do for days and days and days.  you can lead a sandra to water – but you can’t make her drink.  tonight, sweet auntie, you dunked her head it and it was exactly what she needed.  <3

when the conversation ended – her puff, puff, exhale began to get quieter and slower.  this continued until she’d breath and pause, breath and pause.  i kept right at her – telling her the things my auntie had just told her – begging her to let go.  “please mama – you have to go.  right now.  just give up.  you have to.  you are fighting a losing battle and it’s killing me mama.  to see you in this pain and this panic your running is killing me.  i’m gonna be ok.  please mama.  i’m begging you.  let gooooo.”

i held her hand tightly to my chest and she began to relax.  earlier – those tightly coiled fingers had to be pryed open.  towards the end – she began to get limp.  her fever dropped off.  that spot in her neck that was jumping like crazy completely stopped.  she REALLY started mottling.  her eyes were rolling around in her head.  up – then down – then up – then at me – then down.  i’d like to think that the “ups” is when she saw my dad.  my old toby dog… but honestly – i’m not sure.  i thought i’d feel him there and i didn’t.  maybe he was just blocked by the HUGE emotions in that room.

with my mama’s third and second to last breaths she fixed her eyes on mine.  after her second to last breath – she did something i will never EVER forget.  this woman, who hasn’t had a drink of water since sunday morning (it’s now friday night) looked directly at me and said, “i love you.”  you guys – clear as day.  well – not really clear as day – but clear as someone who hadn’t spoken and who’s mouth was dry and hard and tight from being open for days could.  she hasn’t spoken a word in 5 days.  nothing.  her tongue was hard as a rock – her mouth has been open for breathing for days.  it was like she came alive again – in that instant RIGHT before her last breath.  it was like she was headed out – but turned around, came back into her old dying body – told me she loved me using said broken vessel – and was gone.  just like that.  she took one last taxed puff, puff, exhale and that was it.

i BURST into tears.  “ohhh mama – i love you too.  do you hear me?!  i love you too – more than you’ll EVER know.  i love you mama.  i love you SO much.”

there were about 5 more completely blocked 100% fish out of water breaths where she tried to get air and there was none and then she was gone.  mouth and eyes open – looking right me.  she took that last breath and her body was instantly empty and it was silent.  i glanced at the clock, 10:05 pm.  i cried harder than i’ve ever cried.  louder than i’ve ever cried.  i couldn’t control it.  my sweet mama was gone.

then i prayed.  “father god – thank you!  thank you for taking my mama home and giving her the much needed peace and rest she needed.  father god – i thank you so much for putting her on loan to me.  i thank you for such an amazing woman – my very best friend – through good and bad.  lord god – i thank you for these last hours – even though they were incredibly hard – i thank you for lending my mama your supernatural power to tell me one last time, “i love you.”

it was worth it.  i’d do it again an in instant.  even though it was SO much harder than i ever imagined – the end was worth it.  i knew she’d do something.  i certainly didn’t ever dream she’d tell me – in her physical body – she loved me the instant before she went – but i knew she’d do something.  kevin (who has been amazingly supportive through this) asked me several times, “why do you feel you need to be there to watch it all play out?  you’ve been there – you are there in the living room too.  she knows it.”  hospice too – they’ve said, “and you don’t feel comfortable in the living room?  you can still hear her – she’s breathing pretty loud.”  no.  and no.  i wanted to be right there.  i wanted to be RIGHT by her side to usher her into the kingdom of heaven.  i wanted to be there as she took that last breath.  i needed to.  she was my mama.

as soon as she passed and i realized there was no more breaths – for sure.  i just let it go.  i cried for 20 minutes.  then i laid next to her and cuddled up to her.  her body was still warm.  i grabbed her far arm and pulled her onto her side so i could wrap myself in those arms one last time.  i laid there, in her arms, for another 10 minutes just crying.  telling her thank you and telling her how proud i was of her.  how much i’d miss her.

then i carefully grabbed my phone, so not to disturb my mamas arms wrapped around me and called kevin.  “hello?”  he said.  “i neeeedddd you here.  pleaaaseee.  can you cooome?  righhht now?”  i wailed.  “i’m on my way.”  he instantly knew.

i hung up and just soaked in those last precious moments of alone time with her.  i smelled her hair and snuggled my face into hers.  i just soaked in every ounce of my mama that i could – because she was gone and these were what will be the last of our time like this for a hopefully long while.

i was silent.  just taking it all in and next thing i know – kev walked in the door.  (sidenote: in the past – dead bodies have been weird.  even my dad’s.  but this was different.  she was my mama.  and i saw this through from the very beginning.  start to finish.  and for whatever reason – it totally wasn’t weird.  at. all.)  he slowly inched toward my mom’s room and realized i had wrapped myself up in her.  it might have weirded him out.  i got up from the bed and ran to him.  he stroked my hair and rubbed my back while i wailed into his chest.  i just let it go.  i couldn’t stop it.  my heart was IS broken.

i couldn’t stay there forever.  i couldn’t lay in that bed all night.  although – i wanted to.  for a moment i wished i wouldn’t have called anyone so soon.  but – i pulled it together and called hospice.  marcia lives about 30 minutes from highgate so i was alloted some more time.  i started to walk out of the bedroom and i couldn’t.  something compelled me to stay in there.  i couldn’t leave her.  so i got back into bed and held her hand.

i called my aunt steph first – told her to go to my grandma’s because i was calling her next and she’d need her.  then i called my aunt sherrill and told her to buy my aunt steph a little more time to get to my grandma’s house.  i was really tearful with my aunts – but i needed to pull it together for my grandma.  i took a couple deep breaths and dialed the number.  if i remember correctly – i was able to get through the conversation without crying.  i almost did – but i pulled it together.  miracle.

hospice got there in the meantime and called the funeral home.  they’d be there in about an hour.

hospice took mom’s pump needle out of her belly and helped me change her into clean jammies.  then marcia went into the livingroom to do paperwork.  my last few minutes of alone time with my mama.

gah.  my heart is aching.  i can’t tell you how much i ALREADY miss her.  i told her that the funeral people were coming to get her.  and i told her i know she’s gone and just her body was left.  the silence in that room was SO loud.  after listening to her breathing and gasping for air for 9 days – her being silent was so wrong.

then – a knock.  it was a very kind man from the funeral home.  he said, “i’m very pleased you did so much pre-planning.  the next few days will be much easier on you.  you can work with stephanie (the girl i pre-planned with) and she’ll call you tomorrow.  have you had enough time?”  i started to cry as i clung to my mama.  “yes.”

so he went into the hall and wheeled his gurney into her bedroom.  do you want to step out for a moment?  i didn’t… but i did.  it was best for my heart.  he closed the door behind me.

then – after a few minutes had passed – the door opened and he came outside.  “i’m ready to take your mom into my care now.  is that ok?”  i started to cry again.  “yes.”  he said, “i’m going to bring her downstairs to my vehicle ann..”  “can i come?”  i interrupted.  “absolutely.  you understand her face is covered, right?  that’s just for the other residents.  just in case we run into one.”  i said i understood and that was ok.

then he wheeled her out.  i thought i was ready… i wasn’t.  he had placed her in a ruby red bag.  it was zipped.  i cried and went to open the door for him.  i immediately placed my hand on the gurney and we silently walked down the hall and got into the elevator.  i pushed the main floor button and we started to move.  all the while – my hand on my sweet mama.  the elevator door opened and kev and i got out first – then my mama and the director.  we walked down the hall and out into the cold clear night.  he loaded her into his vehicle and said, “i’ll talk good care of her – i promise.”  then he shut the door, shook my hand and drove away with my mama into the night.

devastation.  i started wailing again.  my mama bear was gone.  gone from this world – gone from my sight – gone from highgate.  after i stood in the night – breathing in the cold brisk air and crying more tears for my mama – kevin hugged me, let me cry and held my hand as we walked back in to the building.  it was empty.  it was instantly an entirely new place.  completely different than the place i’ve known as mama bears’ home since july.  my heart ACHES.

we got into the elevator – i pushed three.  it went up.  the door opened and i froze.  i couldn’t get out.  i just cried.  and cried.  then the door dinged and opened and the hospice nurse was on her way down.  she hugged me and we parted ways.  (i really REALLY missed you edye.  marcia was great – but i missed you like crazy sweet lady).

kev and i walked down the empty dark hall to mom’s room.  i put my hand on the door handle – hesitated – and walked in.  it was a sad place.  so empty without her.  i walked back into her room and threw myself down on the bed.  i still felt her warmth in the spot where she died.  i relaxed my head and my neck shifted into the place holder my mama bear’s head was in when she died.  tilted left – looking at me.  there i was – in her bed – in her still warm place – where she had just died.  there really are no words.  my heart is absolutely broken.

and so… following suit – i started wailing again.  it was just so surreal.  kev and i packed my things and started to turn out the lights.  i left her lamp on.  the same way i have done for the last 9 nights.  we slowly walked out the door and it slammed behind us.  “goodbye sweet mama.  i love you so much.”

and here i am.  sitting in my bedroom closet at home with the door closed – typing away – as the rest of the house is sound asleep.  this, being up, was my new normal.  i have no one’s chest to watch.  no one to make sure is still breathing.  no one to snuggle up to and tell every little thing so i have no regrets when they are gone.  no one’s mouth to swab.  no clock to watch to make sure the med techs are bringing the meds on time.  no pain pump morphine button to push.  no mama bear.  she is gone.  i am lost.  and devastated.

today is my birthday.  my mama left on the day i was born – 29 years earlier.  her – 59.  me – 29.  the days leading up to this day were sad.  i knew she was waiting for november 2.  i just knew.  and i was anxious.  i didn’t want this terrible event to happen on my birthday.  i didn’t want it to “ruin” it every year.  i vowed to celebrate half birthdays instead.  i didn’t want my mama to go today.

but she did.  and i’ve had a short time to process it.  and i realized it’s an incredible gift.  when my dad was on his deathbed 4 years ago i foolishly promised him i’d make sure my mom went to heaven.  bad move.  but i’ve been thinking about it ever since.  praying that somehow god would open her heart and mind and that she would call out to him.  and she did – in septemeber.  in the hospital.  and what better gift?  what else could she give?  what an incredible thing to be able to celebrate the day your mom went to heaven than on your birthday?  we are forever connected in an entirely new way.  god answered my prayer in a way i never could have imagined.  i did fulfill my promise dad.  thank you jesus.  absolutely incredible.

here’s to you mama bear.  i love you more than you’ll ever know.  you are the only one who’s been there since the beginning.  not only did i love you unconditionally – you loved me that way too.  i’m so grateful to have such an amazing woman as my mother.  i miss you so much and can’t WAIT to see you again someday.

and so… it’s over.  it. is. finished.  and god looked into my mama’s beautiful eyes and said, “well done good and faithful servant.  welcome to paradise” tonight.  absolutely incredible.

i’m so sleep deprived.  and heartbroken.  i’m headed to bed for tonight.

thanks for taking this journey with me.  i’m glad you’re here.

until soon,

*m

yesterday i told you about how mom’s fever was 104, her limbs were grey and mottled and her heart was racing at 133 beats a minute.  all tell tale signs of impending death.  so i braided her hair, told her everything i could think that i wanted her to know before she’s gone and we settled in for the night.

when the med techs came to give her the haldol last night (for anxiety) she asphyxiated and darn near choked to death so i opted to stop giving it to her.  she had been laying in bed 100% unresponsive for DAYS.  i figured we were way past the period of time she needed to be calm.  she was almost gone.

last night her feet turned cold as ice and were stiff.  her fever remained the same and she turned even more shades of grey.  but – her breathing was somewhat regulated.  it was a little taxed, sure, but overall – it was consistent and somewhat normal.

she slept relatively easily until about 2 am.  that’s when i noticed a change in her breathing, a spike in her already high fever and that spot on her neck i’ve been watching bounce up and down going like CRAZY.

this morning though – edye measured her pulse.  it was 166.   guessing it was about there based on what i was looking at on her neck last night – it’s been about that since about 2 am.  that’s over 16 hours.  that’s like running a marathon full speed for over 16 hours.  healthy people can’t do that – and my mom?   she’s not healthy.   all of her limbs are ice cold.  i mean ICE cold.  and stiff.  oh, hai rigor.   but her trunk, neck and head were (and are) sitting at 105.4 degrees all day long.

then today at 1:20pm she started breathing like a fish out of water.  taking puffs that aren’t there.  “deep puff, deep puff, exhale, deep puff, deep puff, exhale.”  it’s fast too  -puff, puff, breathe, puff, puff, breathe.  very labor intensive for the amount of air she’s getting.  generally that means death will occur within minutes.

so i laid down beside her, stroked her hair and told her it was ok for her to go.  begged her to stop fighting.  told her soon she’d see daniel and son.  asked her to please take care of dylan.  told her to say hello to my friend bandola.  then she opened that sliver of her left eye and she looked at me.  i kept talking – she stared right at me.  and there was a little eye movement – almost like the act of blinking – but she just couldn’t get it done.  she never blinked – we just laid there – looking at each other.  her struggling for air – me listening and begging her to just let go.  i kept holding her hand and stroking her hair – just staring into what was left of her and her into me.

you guys… she’s still here.  and in the last 6 hours she has opened both her eyes and they are swirling around.  looking up – looking over – rolling back a little – then forward.  each time she takes deeeeep breath they open wider – it’s almost as if she’s scared.  her eyes have been wide open for close to 6 hours.  no blinking.  she does NOT want to die.  and she is battling the fight of her life.  one she surely will lose and it’s killing me… us.

the worst part is when she can’t get a breath out of either puff, puff – she starts hollering.  loudly.  not moaning – i’m talking holler.  it’s incoherent – not words – but it’s just a yell.  i don’t think she’s in pain – i think she’s just scared.  and she just DOESN’T want to go.  she’s clinging with everything she’s got.

i pulled the help cord 3 hours into this ordeal (looking back i should have pulled it 20 minutes into it but i was expecting her to go with each breath and i really wanted this to end the way it started – just the two of us).  highgate came in and said they have never in the history of all the residents that have passed here (and this place is not new… so we’re talking a TON of people) seen anyone fight like this.  never seen anyone survive fish out of water breathing for over 6 hours.   never seen anyone as agitated or stubborn.  they have been expecting mom to die for DAYS and everyday with each passing shift – she’s still here.

i’ve been listening to her gasp for air for over 6 hours.  it’s loud.  and it makes me feel sick.  my head is pounding and i, too, can barely breathe.  this whole process has been SO INCREDIBLY emotional.  up and down, up and down.  REALLLY up, REALLLLLLLY down.  part of me feels HEARTBROKEN because my mom is so scared and agitated and i know it doesn’t matter what she’s feeling – there is nothing anyone can do.  she’s GOING to die.  the other part of me is growing increasingly angry with her.  i just don’t understand how she can continue to do this and sit here listening to me cry and begging her to let go.  she doesn’t belong in this world anymore and no matter how hard she fights – this will end the same.  it kills me that she can’t understand that.

highgate gave her large doses of every med she has in her “comfort” pack.  we’re talking sleeping pills, anti-anxiety and anti-psychotics.  i’ve been pushing the morphine button every 20 minutes for HOURS.  she just won’t let go.  and it’s killing us both.

my head hurts so bad.  highgate med techs had to bring ME in some meds tonight.  {thank you!}

her eyes rolling around proved to be just too much – so i covered them with a wet washcloth.  the on call hospice nurse said that would give them some moisture.  but as i sit here – typing out our reality – i see that left eye peeking out – staring at me as she desperately clings to life.  it’s heart-wrenching.  marcia (the on-call hospice nurse) upped her morphine to 2.5 units per hour with a 1 unit push button available every 20 minutes.  and i’m pushing it.  so she’s been getting 5.5 units an hour.  which is a lot.  a TON.  even with her liver functioning at less than 10% 2 weeks ago and all the meds on board – even with being a type 1 insulin dependent diabetic who hasn’t eating a drop of anything or had an insulin shot in 6.5 days  – even being a liver failure patient who hasn’t pooped out ammonia in 7 days – she’s still here.  it’s incredible.  i don’t understand.  i’ve found myself wondering where the hell daniel is – he’s beyond late.  typical.  man didn’t know what day it was without us… alas.

on the bright side – cristal did bring me up some of my favorite cake from my stint in the manor and gave me a little 10 minute break when the hollering had peaked.  i used my time to walk the halls and go downstairs for a tea only to realize it was cocktail hour.  ummm – yes please.  hello gorgeous box o’ white wine for old ladiez.  happy birthday to me.  and so – i indulged in a little chocolate cake and wine.  cuz that’s how i roll.  all in all a successful 10 minute break i’d say.

i’m dying here with her you guys.  please keep praying.  pray for peace and mercy for her.  she needs it more than ever now.  i’m sitting here on the bed – watching her really struggle to breathe and there’s nothing i can do.  and it’s about too much.

until soon,

*m

mom is still hangin’ on.

everytime i post – something changes.  this continuous up and down cycle we’ve been on since january just won’t let up.

mom is actually doing a little better than this morning.  her breathing has steadied a bit and she is having less apnea spells.  her breathing is  really somewhat regular.  taxed a little, sure, but relatively consistent.  every now and again she let’s out a little squeak as part of her breath in.

when i said she was 100% unresponsive earlier – i was mistaken.  she still has some control over her left eye.  when i’m talking it often opens (just a crack) and stares directly at me.  i really believe she can see me – and she’s lookin’.  right. at. me.  i know she’s hanging on too – because sometimes as i talk i’ll ask her something.  “blah, blah, blah.  don’t you think mom?”  and she sometimes musters up a vocalized, well… something.  it’s a noise.  made perfectly on time when i ask her a question.  and – that little sliver of an eye is still able to track me too.  sometimes when i go from sitting to laying here in bed with her, she follows with the eye.  it’s heartbreaking.  she’s still there.  she still hears me and wants so desperately to be “in” this world.  she really doesn’t want to go you guys.  and that hurts to watch.

this is very hard.  because her brain has a tremendously decreased amount of oxygen (much less than it needs to survive and maintain being healthy) she very obviously has some damage caused by this shut down that she’s processing.  it’s very strange because if i were to bring her into the hospital right this second in this shape – let’s say after a car accident – they would be doing everything they could to stop further brain damage and help her.  but i’m not. and they won’t.  and it almost feels inhumane.  because she’s still there.  and she’s still fighting.  much longer than some of us could.  right now my mind is allowing me to think she just has a brain injury – not dying.  because part of me just can’t wrap my head around the fact that she really IS dying.  because she’s fighting and lasting.  and outlasting.  it’s really difficult to watch her in this situation.

she is still very much present.  or at least trying to be.  i honestly wish she’d just let go.  she is so far beyond the point where she would be able to come back.  even if (and we aren’t) i took her to the ER – she would come out completely dependent on… well… everyone.  she’d be 100% dependent.  i guess what i’m trying to say is – she’s closer to gone than she is to here.  and i’m sitting her waiting for her to just go.  and she isn’t.  and so i get sucked into this view where everything will be the way it is right now – forever.  and it won’t.

honestly – i don’t even know how to feel.  i don’t know how to act with my own mama.  it’s just taking a very long time for her to give in and let go.  i’m learning so much about myself and dying.  and myself when i die.  like the rest of my life – i’m learning from my mama’s experiences.  i’m taking away what she’s doing and processing in what ways i want to do it differently.  but there’s a weirdness factor to it.  at the end of the day – she’s sitting here dying.  and it really could be any second.  almost all the tell-tale signs are there.  it’s going to happen when she let’s go and she’s going to let go when her body absolutely can’t do anything anymore.

she’s the incredible hulk.  fo’ realz.

she’s almost unrecognizable at this point.  she’s so grey.  and she’s bruised and turning colors.  and she’s sinking.  dehydration is an ugly beast.  and it’s really getting her.  my heart is breaking!m  i really feel like i need to ride this out by myself.  it started with just the two of us – it should end that way too.  and so – it will.  with some highgate and hospice people mixed in here and there.  i just want to be here with her and help her through this.  for so long it was just the two of us.  and we’ve always leaned on each other.  often one leaning more than the other -but at this point – none of that matters.  my mama is dying.  and i’m watching.  and it hurts.

she’s tough.  and she’s going to keep on fighting.

on that note – my birthday begins at midnight tonight and my gut tells me she’s going to go sometime after midnight.  maybe it’ll be when she realizes there is no party.  just her and me.  still.  lolz.  i tried to tell her that her birthday was going to be wayyyyy better than mine.  i don’t think she believes me.  <3

keep praying… we’re still here.  and oh good lord – we are tired.

sooo tired.

until tomorrow,

<3 *m

do you watch glee?  i fell in love with that stinkin’ show and this song is totally stuck in my head.

mom just keeps holdin’ on.  and i’m still here.  and i’m not going anywhere until this is over.

but it’s very hard.  my heart is breaking watching this unfold.  death is a cold ugly thing.

mom’s heart rate is 133.  her heart is working triple time.  i see that little place in her neck where i’ve been watching when she stops breathing and it is just bouncing up and down at an unbelievable rate.

i’m sad to report – mom’s limbs are dead.  they are grey and lifeless.  her toes are purple and her skin is mottled.  her fingers are stiff.

her mind though – her incredible spirit – is holding on.  she’s just not ready to go.  i know once she’s gone and she see’s what’s there for her – dad, dylan, son, JESUS – she’ll be ready and probably look back and feel silly for fighting this hard – but i know this for sure… she will be here until she has used every. single. ounce. of what’s left.  her poor broken body is so tired – but she is still fighting.

she has a fever of 104.  her trunk and head are burning up.  waist down – cold.  arms are still hot – and her hands are sweaty and on fire.  i’ve been doing cold compresses since last night at about 9pm.

her breathing varies – sometimes she’s not breathing, other times she’s gasping, other times she closes her mouth and breathes through her nose, sometimes she’s like a fish out of water, other times still she’s raspy and has the death rattle.  there just is no normal.  no set thing that’s happening.  they all happen at once.

i tried coaxing her over to the other side by telling her that i needed her to go and take care of dylan today.  i told her that dylan just turned 2 and that her (i really do believe dylan is a her) papa has had to take care of her all by himself and needs help.  i told her that she’s leaving g-mack and nora but i can take care of them.  she’ll go to dylan.  and get to meet dylan before i do.  i asked her to come back to me and bring dylan in a dream.  oh how i do hope she does.

she doesn’t seem to be in pain.  that’s one positive thing.  i’ve been pushing the pain pump like crazy.  i’ve often pushed it and realized i’m still locked out.  lately 20 minutes feels like 20 years.  i just don’t want her to hurt.

i’m just waiting… watching.

please pray for us.  pray for god to show my mama mercy and bring her home.  it’s getting incredibly difficult to watch.  my heart is absolutely broken.

until soon,

*m

when i woke up this morning i opened my eyes, looked at mom thought she was gone.  she was totally still and not breathing.  i gave her a real good look over for movement before i reached over to touch her and check her body temp.  that’s when i noticed it – her neck shows her pulse rhythm very clearly.  even though she was having an apena episode (which lasted close to a minute) she was still alive.

this whole day was crazy.  something in ME changed today.  up until this morning i’ve been living in this constant state of fear and limbo thinking she really could go at any second.  but today – for the first time – i realized what’s keeping her here.  hospice keeps asking me, “do you think she has anything major that’s unresolved?”  “umm… no… not really.”  she’s clinging to life.  everyday is far worse than the last and my definition of very bad changes drastically from day to day.  what’s keeping her here is this – homegirl is stubborn.  she’s not ready to go.  this whole time she’s not been ready.  she wants to stay.  and so – i’m certain that she will ride this body out until it absolutely can do NOTHING more.  she’s still not “peaceful” to me.  she’s fighting with everything she’s got.  the hospice chaplain says that if i trust this dying process that everything will be ok and she will go when she’s peaceful – but honestly – i’m not sure.  i know she’ll get that peace as soon as she goes – but right now – she just doesn’t have it.  and that’s VERY hard to watch.  incredibly hard.

nancy came and visited mama bear and i and she told my mamas some very nice things about me.  it was really nice.  we talked about the old days when my mom used to say, “how about that kevin?  why don’t you date him?”  and my reply was ALWAYS, “ummm… ewww.  he smokes.  therefore he is gross.”  LOL.  if only we knew then what we know now, huh?  <3

also – a hospice volunteer came and sat with mom while i took a shower this afternoon.  she was VERY kind.  all the hospice people are.  teri (mom’s social worker) came to see me too.  she’s headed out on vacation until next wednesday.  i’ll miss her.  she’s wonderful.  a new hospice nurse that hasn’t visited yet came today – and she up-ed mom’s morphine.  almost doubled it.  and she needed it.  i’ve been pushing the button like crazy because anytime they come to change her or reposition her (she’s developed bed sores) it’s very painful.  so i’ve been trying to keep her medicated so that it’s not so bad.

tonight though – everything changed.

turns out mottling is completely different than modeling.  pronounced the same – but i can assure you – they are totally different.

everytime hospice makes a visit or the nurses from highgate come to check mom – they all say the same thing.  “no mottling – we still have time.”  tonight, though – it started.  i’ve been looking almost every couple hours (not even really knowing what to look for) and there hasn’t been anything there.  until tonight.  it came hard and fast.  her feet, legs, fingers, hands and arms are all mottled.  it’s almost like a big bruise and it is VERY obvious.  she’s turning purple and grey.  and fast.

she’s also developed a fever.  it’s currently about 101 and rising.

and lastly – her breathing has changed.  it’s now very labored and centered in her chest rather than her belly.  it’s very different than anything before.  she’s gasping in a very small amount of air and moaning it out.  it’s like a fish out of water – where she’s trying to breathe but there just isn’t enough air.  it’s so incredibly hard to watch.  but i am here.  holding her hand… just waiting.

when all these changes bombarded down tonight i was certain that she was about to go any second.  i was almost frantic.  i’ve been sitting up here – just waiting – but now that it’s really here – she’s really going.  this won’t last forever.  all of it is coming to a close and it hurts so very badly.

hospice suggested giving people the option of saying goodbye.  so when things changed at 730p tonight i called the aunts and my grandma.  two of the three opted to say their goodbyes via speakerphone to mom’s ear.  she is 100% unresponsive now – but her eyes fluttered (while still closed) at the sound of each of their voices.

it’s getting close now.  mottling means less than 24 hours.  the breathing and the temp coincide.  my heart is breaking – but this has been an incredibly long week and i am praying for mercy and peace for my mama bear.

until soon,

*m

ps – tonight i learned that one of my e-friends’ is currently in the er with her sweet little girl, reese, and they have found some kind of tumor on her precious little brain.  please add them to your prayers too.  we are all so vulnerable you guys… my heart is breaking for you amanda!  you are in my thoughts and prayers!

first off – i’d like to throw out some support for all the people effected by hurricane sandy.  absolutely tragic – you guys are in my prayers.

secondly – as i deal with my very own hurricane sandi – i can’t help but think what a crazy coincidence that right now of all the letters to be on it’s “s” hurricane and all the “s” names to choose it’s mama bear’s name.  i found myself searching the interwebz today to see when hurricane sandy will pass.  because who knows…

i don’t even know where to start today.

first off – she’s still here.  let’s just get that detail out of the way.

after starting the haldol yesterday mom’s nerves calmed down and hospice didn’t have to insert the foley catheter.  i’m glad – that’s just one more tube and invasive thing she’d have to endure and i’m feeling like it’s just not something i want to do unless is it absolutely necessary.  all these hard choices, right?  ugh.

she’s fighting.  HARD.  she’s really struggling to let go.  you can just see that she really doesn’t want to go.  she’s comfortable (not in pain) but not peaceful.  does that make sense?  i dunno… it’s hard to explain.

her apena (where she breathes and then stops and then breathes and then stops) has continued and worsened significantly today.  she now takes 2-3 breaths and then stops for 10, 15, 20 seconds.  and gasps and starts all over again.  she’s really starting to struggle to breath.  sometime she is gasping, other times she has the “death rattle” (sounds like if snoring and the gurgling girl in the well from that movie “the ring” had a baby – really it’s just fluid built up in the back of her throat), other times she breathes slowly and quietly and other times still she is absolutely silent.  there just is no normal.  nothing about this is easy.  they say you die like you’ve lived and i’ve never known a truer statement about this process.

this whole sitting around waiting for her to go is really starting to take a toll of me both physically and emotionally.  it is so incredibly hard – especially as her breathing pauses become more frequent and for longer durations.  every 10 seconds i’m thinking, wondering if she has breathed her last breath.  there are a lot of every ten seconds in an entire day and i’ve now been here 6 days.  so – i guess what i’m saying is – i’m stressed.  and anxious.  and mom and i feed off of each other so i’m really trying to calm the fark down.  for the both of us.  but it’s really hard.

today hospice sent the chaplain to visit me and we sat and talked for a couple hours.  her name is deborah and she was awesome.  she asked how i was doing and somehow i ended up telling her my life story.  apparently i had used up all of my canned “meh – hangin’ in there” answers to that question and she got the real deal.  bam.

then edye came to visit (hoooooray!  i lub edye) and she did her visit and together her and deborah kicked me out.  well – not really – but they “encouraged” me to take a little breather.  they said often times people have trouble letting go and hold on for their family.  they said that sometimes people need privacy to die peacefully and that sometimes you have to give (or at least offer) them that.  and so i did.  deborah stayed with mom for a couple hours and i busted out the old folks’ home.  it was almost strange to be back in the land of the living.  people’s lives have continued while mine has stood still and it didn’t occur to me until i left, looked around and felt like someone who had just busted out the big house after a 5 year stint.  there are new stores (hello tj maxx) and new buildings (where the heck did that town pump come from?).  it was just really odd.

still no change in the meds from hospice.  mama bear is still 100% on comfort care.  she’s been completely off her meds for over 24 hours now and is still holding strong.  it’s incredible.  this woman is tough as nails.  fo’ realz.

after i had returned from my little outing a hospice volunteer came to visit me and mom and told me that she’d like to sit with mom while i took a shower or went for a walk, or whatever else.  it was actually really great timing because the kids came up and i put them in their costumes and took some pictures.  they aren’t great – but good enough.  3 year olds are crazy.  let’s just call it like we see it, mmkay?  lol.  but at least i got to see how cute (read: silly) they looked.  i wish i had some edited to show you – but that’s quite a ways off.

let’s back up just a tad – after the volunteer got here and before the kids came she and i were sitting in mom’s room listening to her breathe (and not breathe) and mom is 97% unresponsive at this point.  then – all of a sudden – mom opened her eyes, looked right at me and said, “ok – here we go.  i gotta go home.  i’m going.  ok?  i gotta go home. i really love you.”  and just like that – her head hit the pillow and she was out again.   i couldn’t believe it.  you guys – i couldn’t make this stuff up.   she’s been saying from the beginning that she wasn’t dying and she’d tell me when she was – and tonight – she did.  and while i know it’s (beyond) time – it broke my heart.  she came through on that promise – i thought she was so beyond the point where she could do it – and she did.  i said, “ok – mom.  go.  we’re going to be ok.  i love you too.”  then she stopped breathing.  for a loooonnnnng time.  so long that i thought – holy crap – she’s really gone.  and then – another breath.  it’s exhausting.  i can’t imagine how it must be  in her world.

there are still times she’ll half way open her eyes (or one eye) and look right at me.  i know she’s still “here” sometimes.  even through the unresponsiveness and meds – she still looks at me – so sad.  her eyes kind of roll around a little bit and are really glassed over – but she’s still very much still there.  it’s heartwrenching.

i’m going to share something with you that is going to pull some of you guys’ heartstrings, make the hairs on the back of some of your necks stand up and others still will think i’m an absolute whack job.  first off – i believe in jesus.  i believe he died for us and i believe if you believe i’ll see you in heaven someday.  (woooot us!)  i also know that mama bear and i muddled through a prayer for her salvation the last time she was in the hospital.  surely – it wasn’t pretty – but we got er’ done.  since then – i believe the gates of heaven opened to her.  she’s been seeing our old dog toby son, my dad and “men and women” who have remained nameless.  whether or not you believe what i believe is irrelevant.  i hope you do – for your sake – but i’m here to tell you even I have felt my dad around this place lately.  there is this blanket mom had made of the two of them kissing sitting on her couch and i often talk to him over the couch (and said blanket) and out the window into the clouds.  today – the clouds broke from old man winter snow storm clouds back to fall and the most beautiful blue sky opened up directly above where i imagine heaven’s line is (coincidentally immediately over highgate’s 3rd floor roof) and you won’t believe what i saw.  before i show you – let me say this… i have over 1800 pictures sitting on my phone and this is the ONLY one that has this.  the courtyard opening was shadowed and there is nothing that could have been reflecting.  there was no direct sunlight coming in.  look at this (and don’t tell me my daddy-o ain’t round these parts.  cuz i know that big bad biker is a bright white light):

and so.  there.

keep us in your prayers.  i can’t imagine this could go on much longer – but then i realize i’ve forgotten who i’m dealing with.  sandra will go when she is perfectly good and ready.  and you can take that to the bank.  <3

until tomorrow,

*m

you guys… she’s rallying.

i spent the majority of last night watching mom’s chest rise and fall, stop for a few seconds, then rise and fall again.  repeat, repeat, repeat.

the nights, for whatever reason, are much worse than the days.  just like when you have the flu – i hate the nights.  last night i slept beside her, holding her hand, fully expecting to wake up next to her body this morning.

it’s so strange though.  the nights are so bad.  like night and day (no pun intended).  if i were a bettin’ mama – i’d bet my boots she goes in the night.  they are just so different than the days.

i laid beside mom holding her hand and talking to her all night .  i finally fell asleep at about 4am.  even though there really isn’t anywhere i’d rather be – being up here is so hard.  i – like mom – am in complete limbo.  waiting, waiting, wondering “is this her last breath? no… ok – how about this one?”  the pauses grew longer last night – but she kept fighting.

last night she was 100% unresponsive to me.  i thought she was SO close to gone.  her hands were cold to the touch. her breathing was slowing and she had frequent periods where she stopped breathing for 5, 7, 10 seconds. the silence was SO loud.   her eyes were half open and her mouth was relaxed.   and then – this morning she was able to open her eyes half way and mumble some things about “going home” and how she’s “ready to go home.”  this is a big BIG change.  up until yesterday she has looked me square in the eyes, stared and said, “quit looking at me like i’m dying.  i AIN’T dying.  when i’m dying – i’ll tell you.  and i ain’t right now.”  but there was that shift.  she realized she was dying… but she certainly hasn’t accepted it.

today when hospice made their daily visit the nurse told me mom’s vitals are wonderful.  her heart is beating strong and steady, her belly is still making noise and she is showing no modeling (the purple and grey color people’s feet turn before they die).  honestly… i was surprised.  i’m not sure why though… the ups and downs we’ve gone through in the last 10 months show no signs of stopping anytime soon.  she’s good and then she’s bad – then she’s good and then she’s bad again.  it’s so hard.  it’s the longest most vomit inducing roller coaster i’ve ever been on.  and i’m becoming ready to get off.  it’s just SO hard.

this afternoon she got the urge to go potty.  i went in and she mumbled to me so i pulled the cord as getting her on and off the commode is a two person job at this point.  when joy (one of my most FAVORITE care partners) came in to help we each took a side and lifted her from laying to sitting position.  and she screamed.  the loudest scream i’ve ever heard.  it was so painful.  she was wincing.  i quickly yelled to joy, “put her down!  put her down!  let go!”  and we slowly laid her back down.  she laid there moaning for a few seconds and joy asked her if she wanted to try again.  she shook her head no.

i’ve debated on whether or not to share this – because it’s personal.  and embarrassing.  my goal here is certainly not to embarrass my mom.  it’s the complete opposite.  it’s to chronicle her death from my eyes.  from my view.  and omitting information is stupid.  this is her story and if anything – i want to honor her – and forever preserve her spirit.  her will to live.  the way she loves.  i wish someone who had gone before me down this road had written such an honest account of the days and hours and someday i’ll look back on this and want the truth.  the whole truth.  and so… i’m sharing.

joy told mom that if she can’t get up because it’s too painful – she’d have to pee in her adult pull ups.  mom adamantly opposed to this and so joy told her that if she couldn’t get up and she wouldn’t pee in her panties she’d have to call hospice and tell them to put in a catheter.  mom also didn’t want that.  out of exhaustion – she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.  she chose not to choose.

and so – joy called hospice.  and told me they’d be here soon and she’d be back to check on us soon.  she left.

then i was alone again… and there was trouble.  about 20 minutes later mom started screaming from her room.  i ran back in and found her propped up on her elbows in horrible pain.  i said, “mom – where are you going?  you have to let me help you.”  and i could tell that angry mama bear had returned.  her eyes were wide open and her pupils were dilated.  “get out of my way – i have to go to the bathroom.”  she said.  “mom – you can’t get up right now.  i can’t hold you and you can’t bear your weight on your legs.  you’ll fall.”  i told her.  “the hell i will – don’t bleeping fight me on this kenzie.  i have to PEEEEE!”  she said as she swatted at me.  she continued to try to get up and yelled because it was so painful.  i was frantic.  i was pulling the highgate cord – and they were busy.  i called hospice and they were 20 minutes out.  i pushed the morphine pump button about 50 times but it only releases on demand every 20 minutes and i was locked out.  i had nothing.  no help – no meds- and not enough strength to get her out of bed and onto the potty.  and she was LIVID.  at me.  i was literally holding her on the bed so she wouldn’t hurt herself and she was cussing and carrying on.  it was crazy.

i can’t hang with those kinds of episodes.  finally – she rested.  she fell asleep again after wearing herself out.  but it was hard on her.  and me.  i hated it.  HATED it.

hospice says she has end of life agitation.  she’s very busy.  her mind won’t relax.  she’s very anxious and if you know her (or me – HA) you know how stubborn we are.  we are incredibly hard headed.  we know what we want and we’ll do whatever we have to do to get it.  we’re trouble, ya’ll.  take us or leave us.  <3

i told them that i couldn’t do those anymore.  i just can’t hang.  i told them that these periods where she is SO angry were just too much.  and after yesterday’s episode where she was up out of bed and then fell down – it’s out of control.  it’s crazy though – because 23.5 hours out of the day – she is sleeping.  and near the end.  but those angry times are scary times.

it took a lot of out me.  and i was really tearful when her social worker, the chaplian and her nurse came up.  teri (the social worker) said hospice will pay for a 5 day respite care at a nursing home for a caretaker breakdown.  she offered – i declined.  i told her i know my mom wouldn’t want that.  even IIIII don’t want that – but these episodes take a lot out of both of us.

so they started haldol to help her relax.  it’s a pretty serious med – but ultimately – something had to give.  i had to choose between her being anxious and agitated and trying to walk around when she clearly CAN’T or have her bring another med on board to help her relax.  i chose the latter.  they didn’t come right out and say it – but i got the impression choosing to start this med will shorten her already SHORT life.  but you guys – i had to.  i can’t have her lying around in pain.  if i didn’t start it – maybe she’d live another day or two – but at what cost?  she’d be lying around in pain and i’d be having to listen for movement and be ready for an elbow to the face at any moment and i just couldn’t.  i just couldn’t.  and it’s these decisions that are draining the life out of me.

part of me is sitting here dying with her.  and it hurts.

hospice discontinued all her meds today and she is now 100% on hospice care.  she can no longer swallow pills (or large amounts of water) – so her only meds now are morphine and haldol.

when we were leaving for oregon i asked dr. landsverk (mom’s liver specialist) what it would look like at the end – what to expect.  he said that she’d stop eating, stop drinking, stop having voids and that eventually hospice would stop her medicines because she could no longer swallow.  he said that when it got to that point she would likely live between 24-48 hours.  but – now that we’re here – hospice seems to think it could be days.  hospice says her body (obviously other than her liver) is strong.  her vitals are strong and all her other organs are relatively strong as well.  hospice said it’s entirely different case than a little old 85 year old woman who’s been shutting down for 20 years.  me?  i have NO idea.  i thought it did – but i didn’t.  all i know is these crazy times where angry mama bear shows up make me want to borrow her morphine line for a little while.  cuz it’s tough.  SO incredibly tough.

and so… that’s all i’ve got.  the haldol appears to be working… but it’s definitely made her much MUCH sleepier.  man – this is hard.  i’m listening to her breath from the recliner.  she breathes and stops, breathes and stops.  the breaks are getting longer – but hospice said it’s not uncommon for patients to do this and have 30 seconds to 1 minutes pauses and maintain for days and days.  is that really possible?!  dunno.  only god knows and i’m standing in faith that his perfect timing – be it today or friday – will be exactly right.

please keep praying… tis’ hard over here.

until soon,

*m

i’m certain… it won’t be long now.

this morning mom came to the realization that she is dying.  and it was hard for her.  i don’t think she accepted it – but she now knows (for sure) that she is on her way out.  there were lots of tears today.  it was very very hard.  very emotional.

at about 2pm mom went to sleep and became somewhat unresponsive.  at about 6pm she was a little further gone and as of now (130am) she no longer opens her eyes or speaks.

tonight i spent a lot of time in mom’s room.  these last couple days i’ve been in and out of the room.  i was scared… nervous.  i’m feeling a little guilty about that now.  feeling like i may have wasted precious, precious moments.  moments where she may have responded.  and now it’s too late.

my heart is breaking.  i STILL can’t believe this is really happening.  it’s insane.  she’s really going.

tonight i painted her nails, prayed over her, sung to her and just talked about old stuff that we had done.  i know she’s still in there because sometimes when i would talk about things we used to do she would smile for about a half a second.  it was a weird smile though – almost not conscious.  towards the end of our conversation tonight i told her to let go – that she didn’t have to fight anymore.  i told her she’s always been my best friend.  i told her i’d miss her – but we’d be ok.  i told her i loved her.  and when i said that her lips stayed together and no sound came out – but i know she was trying to say, “i love you too.”  her lips moved the way they would if her lips would have parted and sound would have come – “i love you too.”  i know it.

i forgot to mention something earlier… something really magical happened today.  after the initial crazy stuff happened (the angry and the sad mama bear stuff) and she was back in bed literally not even 10 minutes – someone VERY special came to visit.  mrs. rita – one of the most genuine and downright sweetest people on the face of this planet showed up.  she walked in and as i realized who she was – and that she really was standing in the doorway – i started to cry.  that snot ball i’ve been telling you i was saving for one of the highgate employees?  well – it landed right on her.  (sorry rita!)   whether or not you are religious – whether or not you’ve heard the good news – whether or not you know this world’s savior – i’m here to tell you this for sure.  rita’s visit – well… it was all in god’s sweet perfect timing.  mom realized she was dying and not even 10 minutes after this horrible realization God delivered one of the sweetest women in the world to remind us both that we are perfect, holy and righteous in His eyes. she reminded us that we don’t have to question our salvation and whether or not we’ve done “enough” or whether we are “enough.”  she reminded us that we don’t have to do anything but accept that love and that He (and my dad, papa, great grandma, great grandpa, great uncle james and son) are all waiting for her – arms open wide.  she came – she prayed – it was amazing.  it was exactly what my mama and i needed.  it was then that the shift happened.  she cried – we all cried – but i was so free in that moment.  thinking of that tender prayer in the hospital the last time mom had an episode.  so grateful.  thank you for answering that call god put on your heart to come here at that exact moment rita.  there hasn’t been a moment we’ve needed anymore more.  for this, my sweet sweet friend, you certainly will hear – well done good and faithful servant.  <3

i’m headed back into her room now.  i’m going to lay beside her and try to get some rest.

until soon,

*m