December 23rd fell on a Wednesday in 1998. I remember the day vividly, because it was the day my mother left us and went to be with Jesus.
My sweet and beautiful mother had a series of health issues
that year. She and my Dad had lived with
us for a few days during the ice storm at the beginning of the year, as they
were without electricity and heat.
During that time, she passed out repeatedly due to irregular
heartbeat. As soon as the hospital was
off generator power and again functioning normally, she had a pacemaker
inserted. But her troubles
continued. In June she had a heart
attack and in July she had a stroke…a massive stroke. Rather than put her in a nursing home, we
cleared out our dining room and put in a hospital bed for her and a twin bed
for my Dad. And there she was as
Christmas approached, unable to do anything for herself, and with a leg that
was becoming increasingly black with gangrene due to terrible circulation.
Hospice came in daily for an hour to help with her care. A few days before Christmas, they gave us an
aide for an entire day so I could finish my Christmas shopping. At the time, my first three grandchildren
were very young, and I was trying to figure out how I could celebrate Christmas
with them when my Mother was dying in the adjacent room.
The morning of December 23rd was a gray and gloomy
day. There was no snow on the ground,
and it was looking like it would not be a white Christmas. Inside, things were as cheery as
possible. The tree in the living room
was positioned so that my Mom could see it from her bed in the dining
room. The gifts were wrapped and under
the tree. The dining room table was in a
small sitting room between the living room and kitchen, so I would be able to
serve a family meal. I had made a
special gift for my Mom. Since she
always wore hospital gowns, I had made two of them out of lovely soft fabric
and trimmed them with lace. I had
previously made a small green fleece blanket with reindeer on it to cover her.
The Hospice aide arrived and began to bathe Mom. As a nurse, this is a job I could have and
sometimes did, but having someone else do it, freed me up for other necessary
things. I was at the time home-schooling
our son, who had just had his 12th birthday, so I had a lot on my
plate. I was in the room and helping the
Hospice aide turn Mom on her side, so her back could be washed and
massaged. I saw the color drain from
Mom’s face, and I knew she was going. My
Dad was sitting at a card table working on his Christmas cards, so I called to
him, “Dad, she’s going.” He, trying to
be strong, responded gruffly that she was already gone.
It was late morning. I
called my husband and suggested that he take our son to Rotary with him at noon. I didn’t want our son to see his beloved
grandmother removed from our home in a body bag. I called other family members who needed to
know. A Hospice nurse arrived to
actually pronounce her deceased and help in the disposal of medications and other
necessary matters.
The undertaker came.
Instead of the stiff black plastic body bag I expected, he had a soft
blue corduroy bag. Blue was my Mom’s
favorite color and seeing her wrapped in something that looked lovely was
comforting to me. As they carried her
body down the steps, I realized it had started to snow…big, soft, beautiful
flakes of snow were drifting down. It
was going to be a white Christmas after all.
We had a typical Christmas with family, and the memorial
service for my Mom was held on the weekend.
The timing turned out perfectly.
My Dad handled the loss well through the holidays. The weight of the loss didn’t settle in until
later. I was unable to grieve at
first. Initially, all I could feel was
relief that my Mom was no longer suffering.
It was months later that I could grieve the loss of the person she had
been before that last year of pain and difficulty.
Many times in the past 22 years, I have found myself thinking
“Oh, I should tell Mom about that!” or
“I wonder what Mom would say about this situation.” She was beautiful, kind, intelligent, sometimes
funny, always wise, and not afraid to do what was right even when it wasn’t
convenient. In a quiet and gentle way,
she was a force to be reckoned with. I
look forward to seeing her again in heaven someday. We will have lots to talk about!
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