We believe it will be just a few more days before we say goodbye to Mom. She's more "out of it" than with it and, today, has spent more time sleeping than waking. Even "awake" means she's nodding off every minute or so... or drifting in and out of a sentence.
One of the hospice booklets that I read about mentioned how they will sleep most of the time as they draw nearer to the end. How it's their body's way of "shutting down", but the interesting thing was that it's also their brain's way of doing a "Life in Review"... Life flashing before their eyes. I watch Mom sleep and see her smile and smile as well because I hope she is seeing all the great times that I will always carry with me in my heart.
Tony, Trish, and I finally sat down and had "The Talk" about what we would do once she really leaves us. I've never had that conversation before and I had put it off until today because I didn't want to face it. It really wasn't until yesterday that it even hit me that she'll be gone sooner rather than later. We'll send her off in a style that she would be happy with. And I'll stay up here to help Tony and Tena for a while. To start to make sense of something that... never makes sense.
I haven't cried much. I'm surprised really. I thought for sure the minute I was alone in my bedroom, I'd break down, but it really wasn't until I sat next to Mom, put my head on her shoulder and told her how wonderful she is, how much I love her, and how proud I am... that the tears became to much to hide. I still hid them from her and they didn't last long... I jumped up and washed my face before she could see me cry.
Truth is, I don't know if that's the last time I'll have her attention, but I do know it's not the last time I'll talk to her. I take the first night shift... (Usually 8pm to 1-3 AM) and will use that time to whisper in her ear as she sleeps. I don't think we'll have a real conversation, but I can give her my love, my memories, and reassure both her and myself that I will be okay. That WE, the ones who will be left behind, will be okay. We'll survive. We'll hold on tight to each other and we'll survive.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Finding My Place
Let's not talk about the trouble I had to go through to get to Idaho. Delayed flights, missed connections, unplanned stay in a hotel, grumpy employees who didn't care WHY I was traveling and upset... It was not fun. Not fun at all.
But I made it. I made it to Idaho yesterday and have been here for one full day. I can't say it's what I expected because I had no idea what to expect... It's definitely more real now and "in my face" every minute of the day. What I had a hard time articulating until today is that I'm here until my mom passes away. I hated to say it. I hate to write it, but there it is. Black and white. I'm here to help send her off the best way possible.
I'm so glad my Grandpa Ted and his Carol are here for a few days. I feel like I can ease into my place and find my role without neglecting my duties. The truth is, I know nothing (to quote Game of Thrones) when it comes to the terminally ill, dying, death, and after death. I know abstract ideas and TV/movie ideas, but I don't know the day-to-day, the minute by minute play out of actual decline and death. I read all the information the hospice people left. I learned more about what to expect, why these things happen, and how to help deal with "milestones" of the dying...
It's still hard though. I had to fight back tears as I helped my mom get dressed twice today. On one hand, I was thanking God that I'm a mom and learned how to detach myself during "times of crisis" so I could deal with what needs to be done, but on the other I just kept thinking how terrible this must be for her... How independent she has been her whole life and how, now, she has to ask for help with getting dressed, sitting/standing, walking, lying down. I want to apologize to her as I'm helping her. "I'm so sorry I have to help you. Please don't feel bad. I love you with my heart and soul and will do anything and everything for you. I'm so sorry it has to go down like this. I wish I could change it, I do."
I would escape to my room for an hour or two and just distract myself from the reality in the living room. I cleaned out the bathroom in the pool house so I could use it and leave her access to the main bathroom all the time. I did her laundry, folded it, and put it where she can get to it easily. I walked the dog, played with the dog, and cuddled the cat. I helped with dinner and helped her fix her plate, pour her milk. I tried to stay busy and out of the way, quiet and not demanding. I sat in the stifling hot living room this evening and just watched the TV on silent (Mom likes it that way, now.) for a few hours while Mom dosed off and on. I wanted to be somewhere else, but I also wanted to be right here, looking at how cancer has changed her and still being able to see the mom I see in my head. Trying so hard not to put any burdens on her, now, by staying calm and strong for both of us. Always saying yes when someone asks if I can do something... Getting out of the way when I feel Mom wants privacy...
It's going to be awhile before I adjust to this "normal" and find my place. Before Tony and I find a rhythm that will enable us to work together for Mom's comfort. I know I'll do what needs to be done. I might hate parts of it and wish someone else would do it, but if it's asked of me... and even if it's not.. I'll step up and get the job done.. It's the best way I can honor the woman who taught me the meaning of stepping up and getting the job done since day one.
But I made it. I made it to Idaho yesterday and have been here for one full day. I can't say it's what I expected because I had no idea what to expect... It's definitely more real now and "in my face" every minute of the day. What I had a hard time articulating until today is that I'm here until my mom passes away. I hated to say it. I hate to write it, but there it is. Black and white. I'm here to help send her off the best way possible.
I'm so glad my Grandpa Ted and his Carol are here for a few days. I feel like I can ease into my place and find my role without neglecting my duties. The truth is, I know nothing (to quote Game of Thrones) when it comes to the terminally ill, dying, death, and after death. I know abstract ideas and TV/movie ideas, but I don't know the day-to-day, the minute by minute play out of actual decline and death. I read all the information the hospice people left. I learned more about what to expect, why these things happen, and how to help deal with "milestones" of the dying...
It's still hard though. I had to fight back tears as I helped my mom get dressed twice today. On one hand, I was thanking God that I'm a mom and learned how to detach myself during "times of crisis" so I could deal with what needs to be done, but on the other I just kept thinking how terrible this must be for her... How independent she has been her whole life and how, now, she has to ask for help with getting dressed, sitting/standing, walking, lying down. I want to apologize to her as I'm helping her. "I'm so sorry I have to help you. Please don't feel bad. I love you with my heart and soul and will do anything and everything for you. I'm so sorry it has to go down like this. I wish I could change it, I do."
I would escape to my room for an hour or two and just distract myself from the reality in the living room. I cleaned out the bathroom in the pool house so I could use it and leave her access to the main bathroom all the time. I did her laundry, folded it, and put it where she can get to it easily. I walked the dog, played with the dog, and cuddled the cat. I helped with dinner and helped her fix her plate, pour her milk. I tried to stay busy and out of the way, quiet and not demanding. I sat in the stifling hot living room this evening and just watched the TV on silent (Mom likes it that way, now.) for a few hours while Mom dosed off and on. I wanted to be somewhere else, but I also wanted to be right here, looking at how cancer has changed her and still being able to see the mom I see in my head. Trying so hard not to put any burdens on her, now, by staying calm and strong for both of us. Always saying yes when someone asks if I can do something... Getting out of the way when I feel Mom wants privacy...
It's going to be awhile before I adjust to this "normal" and find my place. Before Tony and I find a rhythm that will enable us to work together for Mom's comfort. I know I'll do what needs to be done. I might hate parts of it and wish someone else would do it, but if it's asked of me... and even if it's not.. I'll step up and get the job done.. It's the best way I can honor the woman who taught me the meaning of stepping up and getting the job done since day one.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Lessons on Letting Go
I've seen a theme pop up for the past few years. A theme that always ends up with me having to take a deep breath and just let go... Trust that things will work out and that I do not have to control everything. From letting other people pitch in and help plan one of Phoenix's birthdays to today.. where I have to take a deep breath and believe that life will go on without me in Louisiana. That Juan will handle day-to-day duties, that Phoenix will adjust to a new normal without me by his side, and that my son will be loved and cared for by our family.
I'm nervous and anxious about tomorrow. I have so much I need to do today and keep putting it off because I don't want to face my reality just yet. Poor Phoenix is still running fevers and feeling punky. I was up all night, watching over him, feeling his forehead, waking him up for more medicine, and just listening to him cough and breathe. I found myself worrying that Juan wouldn't do that tomorrow night, but I know he will. He will step up to the plate and handle everything that comes his way... because he always has. And he's good at it.
In a way, it's hard to admit that life can go on without me.. I know Phoenix will miss me, but I also know that his family here will do what they can for him and help him each and every day. I know that we'll talk on the phone every single day and that he knows he can have Daddy or Grandma call me any time he wants a chat. He'll be fine, I know. It's just hard to let go of all the things I do for him and trust someone else will pick up my slack.
Leaving tomorrow also means that my reality with my Mom is real. That I'm going to have an even harder, more advanced lesson on learning to let go in these next few weeks. I have a huge knot in my stomach today as I try to ignore thoughts about what I'm going up to Idaho for. I keep telling everyone "It'll be fine. We'll get through it," because I know we will. I know we'll survive but I also know this is going to suck. It's going to hurt and it's going to be a dark time. I just hope for a few glimpses of light along the way.
I know things will be fine. Life will go on both in Louisiana and Idaho. We will all adjust to new normals and then adjust again when that normal changes. We'll make it through minute by minute, hour by hour, and day by day.
I'm nervous and anxious about tomorrow. I have so much I need to do today and keep putting it off because I don't want to face my reality just yet. Poor Phoenix is still running fevers and feeling punky. I was up all night, watching over him, feeling his forehead, waking him up for more medicine, and just listening to him cough and breathe. I found myself worrying that Juan wouldn't do that tomorrow night, but I know he will. He will step up to the plate and handle everything that comes his way... because he always has. And he's good at it.
In a way, it's hard to admit that life can go on without me.. I know Phoenix will miss me, but I also know that his family here will do what they can for him and help him each and every day. I know that we'll talk on the phone every single day and that he knows he can have Daddy or Grandma call me any time he wants a chat. He'll be fine, I know. It's just hard to let go of all the things I do for him and trust someone else will pick up my slack.
Leaving tomorrow also means that my reality with my Mom is real. That I'm going to have an even harder, more advanced lesson on learning to let go in these next few weeks. I have a huge knot in my stomach today as I try to ignore thoughts about what I'm going up to Idaho for. I keep telling everyone "It'll be fine. We'll get through it," because I know we will. I know we'll survive but I also know this is going to suck. It's going to hurt and it's going to be a dark time. I just hope for a few glimpses of light along the way.
I know things will be fine. Life will go on both in Louisiana and Idaho. We will all adjust to new normals and then adjust again when that normal changes. We'll make it through minute by minute, hour by hour, and day by day.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
The Calm Before the Storm
Here I am. Again. Trying to gather my thoughts into sentences coherent enough to share. I am trying to get ready for my trip to Idaho on Tuesday. Making mental lists of what I need to bring, if I need to write anything down for Juan, trying to help Phoenix understand why he has to stay behind and why Mommy won't be home for a little while. I'm able to be calm and collected until I start to think of why I'm going to Idaho.
Truth is, I'm scared. I'm heart sick. I don't want to go. Not for the reason that's bringing me up there. The cold truth is that I'm going and I'm not leaving until my mom's fight is done. I am finally making the choice to go up there and help out in any way I can. To give my mom and, really, myself time to say goodbye and to send her off with all the love in my heart. To help Tony in any way I can. He has had to shoulder such an unbearable burden, one that I feel was partly mine to shoulder... I feel such gratitude for what he's done and how he has loved my mom every day... It's my job to help him help her now.
I feel pretty calm about all of it, at the moment. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a tall cliff, looking down at the choppy water and knowing that I'm going to have to jump off in a little bit. I know the fall will be scary and the impact will hurt like hell. I know it'll take me a while to find myself and catch my breath, but I also know I'll do it and survive. I truly believe that while there will be tears and heart ache, we will find a way to have a few laughs and smiles.
I continue to pray for wisdom, strength, and grace. To be able to soldier on and do what needs doing. To be selfless and to serve my family, pull them through to the other end if I have to. To love them with every inch of my heart.
Truth is, I'm scared. I'm heart sick. I don't want to go. Not for the reason that's bringing me up there. The cold truth is that I'm going and I'm not leaving until my mom's fight is done. I am finally making the choice to go up there and help out in any way I can. To give my mom and, really, myself time to say goodbye and to send her off with all the love in my heart. To help Tony in any way I can. He has had to shoulder such an unbearable burden, one that I feel was partly mine to shoulder... I feel such gratitude for what he's done and how he has loved my mom every day... It's my job to help him help her now.
I feel pretty calm about all of it, at the moment. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a tall cliff, looking down at the choppy water and knowing that I'm going to have to jump off in a little bit. I know the fall will be scary and the impact will hurt like hell. I know it'll take me a while to find myself and catch my breath, but I also know I'll do it and survive. I truly believe that while there will be tears and heart ache, we will find a way to have a few laughs and smiles.
I continue to pray for wisdom, strength, and grace. To be able to soldier on and do what needs doing. To be selfless and to serve my family, pull them through to the other end if I have to. To love them with every inch of my heart.
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