So much has happened since the last time I sat here at the keyboard. I was too busy, too sad, too stressed, too something to actually put words down. Finally, I feel like I'm in a place where my head is back on straight and my thoughts can flow in a more concise manner. I don't want you to have to think too hard to get my point.
Just a little over a month ago my mother-in-law died. Had she just fallen asleep and never woken up this would have been sad but easily acceptable. Mary was 91 after all. Instead, John and I, and the kids, watched the slow decline of dying of old age. And it's absolutely nothing like what you see in the movies or on television. As the doctor said with no underlying cause, death is the shutting down of organs with the brain being the final holdout. And it is brutal!
We waited, coaxed, and begged her to eat and drink. I cooked all her favorite foods and she would have a bite or two. For twenty-four days, yes I said twenty-four, she did not eat. Not a bite. How can you possibly survive that long without food? Let alone someone who was barely 100 lbs, to begin with. Her body attacked itself trying, fighting, to survive. For over a week she was comatose but we knew she could hear us. Five days before she passed she no longer took fluids. And in the final two days, Mary was in a coma unaware of what was happening to her or around her.
On a quiet Thursday evening, she took her final breath with John holding her hand and me stroking her head. She died at home, surrounded by those who loved her, those who cared for her, and her precious photos of those who could not be there. Those final moments, how we knew it was coming at that exact moment I have no clue, were calm. Almost serene. The doctor said we gave her the ultimate gift. I agree wholeheartedly.
While we did a lot of the care we were blessed with two personal care workers who came into our home as strangers and treated Mary like part of their own family. They spoke to her kindly even though she was unresponsive. And watching someone wash a face and apply cream to it is an act of kindness I cannot explain. They taught me how to do things so when they weren't there I was able to make sure she was comfortable. Honestly, we cannot thank them enough.
Speaking of doctors...Keith Lane is the perfect example of someone who was destined to be a caregiver. He showed up every day that final week. A phone call in the morning and a visit in the evening. He was never, ever in a rush. Dr. Lane would ask how the kids were coping, and whether we were sleeping and eating. He would hold Mary's hand and sit beside her, asking us questions about her life. We couldn't have done this without him. He gave us strength and encouragement when we waivered and grieved with us when it was all over.
It's been six weeks. John and I are less mentally exhausted and stressed than we were. We've laughed, cried, and told stories. We walk past the empty room and lingered in the doorway. There is a hole. We feel it every day.
Ang
