September 30 2005

A year ago today I woke up to the sounds of my mother mumbling over the baby moniter. I'd placed it in her room to hear her calls for assistance in the night,
should she need me.
Normally I would hear exclamations of pain first thing. I was accustomed after seven months to waking up and hearing my bed ridden mother's exclamations of
ow,ow,ow! I knew she was awake and trying to adjust herself when I heard these sounds of pain first thing.

Oddly, on this morning she was mumbling something in a monotone voice over and over. I had to lean in to listen . At first I couldn't understand what she was saying. Her voice was so flat and garbled from a huge swelling in the lymph node of her throat.

When I listened hard I could make out that she was repeating over and over like a lost little girl,

"I don't wanna go home, I don't wanna go home..."

I hurriedly finished dressing and went into her room.

She said, "I dreamed about my father and grandfather, did you see them?
You were dreaming the same dream I was dreaming."

God, I hope not, I thought.


I should have known then. But I was still caught up in the pretend game we were playing. She hadn't let on that she was dying and I pretended not to know. Never mind her hip was broken and she hadn't gotten out of bed on her own for months. She'd convinced me that she could live comfortably and happily this way for a couple of years. She was just happy to be safe with me and my girls.

I attended to her needs and made her as comfortable as possible and tried to carry on with my day, my clients arrived and it was business as usual for a few hours.

By noon it was totally apparent that this was in fact, her last day with me and I summoned my clients to come and pick up their children. Looking back incredulously now- I can't believe I was so dense. We had our own reality going on my mom and me.

I sat vigil with her for the rest the day.

Slipping out of the room when others came by to see her.

She was awake and talking all day, though she was struggling to speak. In her typical fashion she was annoyed when she wasn't able to speak clearly enough to be understood.

By nightfall she'd slipped into suspension, there, but not concious.

As the hours ticked away, my mother's lungs were filling with fluid.

Around seven p.pm. our family doctor had dropped in and told me that my mom would not be with us much longer. I was alone with her at that point. He called my mom sweetheart. I've never liked him since.

My two sisters - in - law appeared shortly thereafter. Thank goodness.


My brother came to see her and to tell her her house had sold that day. She seemed to hear. It was a message she had been waiting for. A sure sign that it was okay for her to leave. All her affairs in order.

After delivering this message and getting no obvious response my brother kissed her goodbye and told her he'd see her tomorrow.

I knew of course this was not to be, as did the two sister - in - laws that were attending me.
We had all cared for my mother through her illness. She was our patient.
We were shocked at my brother's behavior. Everyone grieves differently.
For us leaving then would be the equivalant of walking out of a delivery room during a birth.
Impossible.

We sat on.

My sister's - in - law and I sat with her like that for hours. Watching over her and administering morphine on a regular basis. The sounds emananting from her lungs growing stronger and stronger.