Nov. 14, 2007
Dear Readers:
My mom passed away this afternoon, just one day before my dad passed away in 2000. Thank you for being there for us and for your many kind words and prayers during this heart-aching time. I knew my friends and community were there for me even when I couldn’t see your faces or hear your voices. You were there by e-mail and in thought and prayer, whether it was day or night. You left food and flowers on my doorstep and sent so many beautiful cards. I am more grateful than you can know.
I have made so many mistakes along the way in these last days when mom was losing her grip on reality and could no longer make decisions for herself. The hospital wanted to release her to a 24 hour care home for what they call “comfort care,” which means you are close enough to death that no heroic measures are going to be taken anymore to save you. I had already tried a care home that was recommended by more than one person, but it turned out to be a place where I witnessed terrible things that none of our loved ones should have to experience.
As I sat in the car waiting for the ambulance to transport her from the hospital to a different care home, I had just watched her moaning in agony all morning, and I was bent over the steering wheel having a cry and saying, “Please forgive me, mom; I’m so sorry to move you again.” I didn’t think anyone could see me – when suddenly a woman rapped on the car window to ask if I was OK.
I couldn’t believe it – it was the first time anyone at any of the care homes had stepped out of their all-business persona to ask me if I was OK and show me sympathy. I was so overwhelmed – and she said how much she could relate when I told her I was OK, but that I just needed to cry first before going into the home to admit my mom so I could stay composed enough to get through the admitting process. She told me how she cries too when doing rehab with the patients – she said that seeing all their pain can move her to tears, but she tries to keep her composure while working with them. It was so helpful for someone from the staff to show they truly cared and to extend that understanding to me when I needed it most.
At the hospital, as I stood out in the hallway waiting for the paramedics to transfer my mom to the gurney, I could hear her crying out in pain as they moved her, so I began crying for her, when suddenly a nurse came up to me and spoke sympathetically. Again, it was the first time any nurse had shown me such personal concern since this ordeal began. She told me about her father passing away and how much she understood what I was going through. She stood with me for the amount of time it took for my mom to be moved from the bed to the gurney and brought down the hall (which seemed like an eternity), until it was time for me to get into the elevator. It meant so much to me to not be alone while I waited. I squinted at her name tag through my tears and tried to read her name, hoping I would remember it (and thank her somehow later).
I couldn’t believe how easy it was going to be to remember. Her name was “Mercy.”
