I started this blog many months ago, right after my mom died. I got it mostly written, until I got to the part where she actually died. I had to stop. I couldn’t do it. I put it away. Yesterday, during my therapy (yes, therapists have their own therapists), I shared that I had not been able to finish. My therapist was gentle and encouraging. She also nudged me to let myself grieve. I have managed to stay busy instead of feeling my feelings, so it’s time to slow down and pay attention to my heart.

I hope that finishing this will help me. And I hope sharing my mom’s last day will help me to accept that she is gone. Because I’m really struggling with that right now.

Her last day…..

On Wednesday morning, February 9, 2022, as I sat in the emergency room with my mom, she said through the CPAP mask, “Why can’t I see your blog? I want to read it and it says access restricted.”

“Oh, I forgot to renew it. I fixed it the other day. Should be fine now. I haven’t written in a while though.”

“I thought you blocked me!”

“Mom! Why would I block you? I tell you everything!”

I am an extrovert, a talker, and a slow processor. So for those of you in my life, that means you may hear me talking about my mom a lot. Maybe if I write out some of my thoughts, I won’t have to go on and on. But on her last day, my mom asked about my blog.

Maybe she was reminding me of it so I could write about her. She told me that she loved my writing. She told me I’m a good writer. I know moms are supposed to tell us nice things, but she said it in a way that it felt true. She always did that for me. If she said it, it felt true. She has been telling me for years to write a book. Maybe someday. For now, I’m going to write about my mom.

That morning, I woke up to a missed call and a voicemail from the nurse where my parents live. I could tell by the sound of the nurse’s voice, it was bad, even if her words were not. She said my mom was having a hard time breathing, was clammy and cold and nauseous, so she was sending her to the hospital. I jumped in the shower, called off from work and headed to the hospital. Mikey offered to come, but I told him to stay with Daisy because she would miss me.

I got to the hospital shortly after mom’s ambulance did. The sign in the ER entrance said no visitors allowed. I asked the security guards if I could be with her. They called back to ask. The man handed me a phone number on a slip of paper and told me they were doing some tests and to call in an hour and a half.

So I had 90 minutes to kill while being about 25 minutes from home. I googled on my phone, “coffee near me” and saw McDonald’s. As I headed there, I spotted an Eat N Park. Coffee and food! Better. I pulled in and got a table. Coffee and a waffle followed. I texted an update to my husband and tried to not worry.

I played Candy Crush on my phone and drank my coffee. I picked at the waffle. Not all that hungry. I texted my people what was happening and they all were loving and supportive. I needed them and they were there. After an hour, I drove back to the hospital and sat in the parking lot for a while longer. It was sunny and warming up.

At the 90 minute mark, I called. The woman on the phone checked to see what was happening. She let me know that the nurse was currently with Mom and would call me back.

I realize that nurses are super busy. Having been raised by one, I have nothing but respect and love for nurses. After waiting another hour, I called again. This time I got to speak to the nurse. Bryan told me that she was experiencing CHF and was getting oxygen through the CPAP (or BiPAP?) and was stable. Not being a nurse, I was so confused. “What does that mean?”

“She has congestive heart failure.” Oh no. That was a new one for Mom. I asked to come back and he said I could.

So many have asked if this was sudden. Had she been sick?. Was this expected? Last January, my mom and dad had a visit with their favorite doctor/cardiologist.

That was in January, 2021. When I saw her next, we talked about it. She was tired of medicine. Tired of surgery and hospitals and all of it. “I’ve had 5 strokes, breast cancer, a pace maker, I’m done! I’ve had a good life. Enough.” I didn’t want to agree. I wanted to fight her on this. I wanted her to understand that I needed her to live forever and be around forever. I wanted to fight her. Instead, I said, “Whatever you want Mom, I support.” As her medical POA, I had to set my selfish inner child aside and focus on what she wanted.

In May I went to the next cardiologist appointment with my parents. Dr. Gellar explained it all to me again. She was not necessarily a great candidate for a valve replacement anyway and he was okay with whatever she decided. My dad was silent. My mom got tearful and said, “No more.” I got tearful too. Dr. G said, “That’s fine. Considering everything else going on, I’d say you have a year, maybe 18 months on that heart.” A year. Maybe 18 months. Ugh.

By the way, knowing that your mom is not going to be around much longer does not make her death any easier. Not even a little bit. In case you were wondering.

Back to the security guys and the emergency room. Another wait for them to call and verify I was allowed back. I unloaded my purse, knitting bag, and contents of my pockets onto the belt to be scanned and walked through the metal detector. It beeped! I said, “Uh oh!” but the security guard replied, “No. You’re fine. You just walked through too quickly.” I laughed and said, “Can’t say anyone has ever said that to me before!” Again, my mom’s sense of humor.

I made my way back and found the nurse. Bryan took me to Mom and gave me the update again. They had done some bloodwork and were giving her oxygen. The ER doctor was working to get her a bed. She needed to stay to be observed.

I sent off a text to my siblings with a report of her being in the hospital as well as what I knew so far. This is my job. When my parents are sick or there is news of any sort, I am the information giver. Thank God for texts. The thought of calling everyone each time we knew something?!? Over the last few years, I have teased my parents when I had to share information with my siblings. “You’re not really sick. You just want to make sure I talk to my siblings!” and we would both laugh. We laughed a lot.

I put my phone down. I pulled my chair up close to her bed and leaned on the rails to hold her hands. She squeezed mine. That’s when she asked about the blog. Every time she talked, I had to get up and lean in close to hear her. The CPAP was loud.

She said, “Last night I thought I was dying. I felt terrible. I couldn’t breathe.” She filled me in and reported that she felt a lot better. The oxygen helped a lot. “And I forgot my glasses! I can’t see a damn thing without my glasses!” laughter. She picked up her cell phone and handed it to me. “Call the home and tell them what’s going on. Tell them to make sure dad is okay! Tell them to put the Penguins game on for him tonight.” I did as I was told.

“Suzie’s birthday is this week. She should celebrate the whole week! If Mikey gets the whole month of March, Suzie should get at least a week!” we laughed again. Suzie (Susan) is my oldest sister. My mom remembered everyone’s birthday. I am thankful for Facebook reminders! Mom chatted some more but what she said now comes back in bits and pieces. My brain is broken. Between Covid in December and the events of that day, my brain is really broken. My memory is gone. I wish so much I could remember every word she said on that day. Every word. Every breath. Every moment.

We were visited by the hospital cardiologists. Not her beloved Dr. Gellar, but a very nice doctor. He explained what the tests so far were showing based on her history. He again brought up the valve replacement. In my heart I knew what she was going to say, but I secretly hoped. The nice doctor said he had ordered an Echocardiogram to see exactly what was going on.

After they left, we just sat there. I held her hands. She would talk every once in a while. I had to lean up close to hear her over the CPAP. It seemed to take a lot of effort to talk, but that did not stop her. “This morning Dad was so confused. I told him to get dressed. When I was about to leave with the paramedics, I saw him standing by his chair. I hadn’t told him to sit down so he stood there.” I could feel the pain in her voice. The grief for her husband, soulmate and best friend. I squeezed her hands.

“I have to pee! That have this contraption on me that’s supposed to suction my pee. I told them that I’m 89 and have never wet the bed! I’m not gonna start now!” We laughed. I offered to turn the faucet on. She said no. We sat some more.

Time passes weirdly in hospitals. Eventually the people brought the machines to do the echo. I had to move my chair to the other side and couldn’t hold her hands. The woman doing the test was explaining everything she did to her student. She asked my mom if her student could take some of the images. My mom said “Absolutely! Do whatever you want with me!” We laughed.

The echo took quite a while. They finally finished up and left, so I moved back to my spot. I took her hands again and we were silent. “You haven’t eaten this whole time. I feel so bad. Go get food.” I told her about the waffle and coffee. “I’m not going anywhere.” That was mom. Again, worried about taking care of me, not herself.

Bryan came in a bit later and started moving things around. “She got a room: 160.” Hurrah! By then it was close to 4pm. My mom asked if that meant she could take the CPAP off. “I hate this thing!” Bryan said that she would get to take it off while being moved up to the room. “I’ll take it!” more laughing. Did I mention she bantered back and forth with him the whole time, through her mask? She had him laughing and joking. Like it was her job to put him at ease and not the other way around. That’s my mom.

The girl came in to transport my mom. She must have been new, because she asked Bryan where she was taking her. He walked out into the hall so he could show her exactly. When they had all the things disconnected from the wall, my mom thanked Bryan for taking care of her. He smiled and wished us both well. I thanked him, too. I want to be like my mom someday.

It was a winding walk through the hallways to the right elevator, then to her room on the first floor. There were nurses and staff all bustling around to get her room ready. Her main nurse, a little blond woman whose name I never learned, asked me to stay in the hall until she was settled in. I stood by the nurse’s station, which was directly outside of her room. I watched as three women gently and swiftly moved my mom from the stretcher to her bed. They got her all hooked up again with efficiency. Mom got the CPAP mask back on, but it fit better this time so she said it was not so bad.

There was a large silver contraption by the window. It made a loud blowing sound. I asked the nurse what it was. She said it was to purify the room. “Every room has one, though not all are as big as hers. Because of Covid.” As mom rested, she remarked that the sound was comforting. I thought of the noise machines outside my therapy office.

The nurse asked mom questions to get her settled in. I answered when I could to let mom rest. Her breathing looked exhausting. With each breath, her whole chest rose and fell. Talking through the CPAP continued to be hard work.

We covered the basics. The nurse asked, “Is there a decision maker for you, should you be unable to speak for yourself?” I waved my hand at her. She took my name and phone number. “Do you have a living will?”

“Yes.” my mom answered.

“Do you want any life-saving interventions?”

“No. I don’t. No CPR. I don’t want people jumping up and down on my chest!” more laughter.

I restated that to the nurse. No CPR. No interventions. The nurse wrote it in her chart as she nodded.

“Would you like a visit from any sort of pastor?”

Mom said, “No!” We both started giggling. I said, “You don’t want Father Murph to visit and try to talk you into going back to church again?” She laughed a little harder at that. I made her laugh again. It helped me so much to see her and hear her laugh.

Once the nurse was done with her questions, mom and I were alone again. She set about giving me a list of things to retrieve from their apartment. I got out my phone and opened new list. “I need my phone charger and my kindle. And the kindle charger. And Kathy, I need pants! They brought me in wearing shorts and I don’t want to do that again!” more laughter. I asked about shoes. “Oh yes! I’ll need shoes.” She told me what to say to my dad. “And my glasses! I need my glasses!” We laughed again.

I left and drove straight to my dad. As I made my way from Natrona Heights to Oakmont, I thought about what to eat and that I needed to pee too. I decided that seeing him first was my priority. My mom was so worried about him. It was rush hour now, so getting across the Hulton Bridge took a bit. I thought about what to say. Would I tell him that her heart was so poor? Would I share that she had thought she was going to die last night?

I parked and walked in to their building. Sue was at the window. I chatted with her as I checked in at the kiosk. She didn’t know about my mom. She promised to pray for her.

Up the elevator and to their apartment I went. I spotted him from the hall. He was sitting in his chair looking so frail. When he saw me his face brightened and he said, “There she is! How’s your mom?” I kneeled down to him and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I have kissed my parents hello and goodbye every time I see them, since I was little. We all do. Grandkids too. No exceptions. His white goatee was soft on my face. I told him that she was okay. “She’s in the hospital. They want to keep her for a couple days, dad. I’m going to take her phone charger and her kindle.” He motioned as if to get up. I assured him I could find everything. I found a bag next to my mom’s recliner and began to fill it. I found her shoes and a pair of pants. I added her kindle and chargers. And her glasses.

I kneeled back down to my dad. He told me how worried he had been. He had his phone and flipped it open. He showed me that he couldn’t make it work. “You know, I have terrible luck with phones.” I nodded. “That’s why I don’t call you. It’s not because I don’t want to. It’s my phone!”

“I know dad. It’s okay.”

“Hey. With your mom. Please tell me what’s going on. I was so worried this morning, and no one told me anything.”

“I will. I promise. I’ll come back and tell you myself. Or Colleen will. I will make sure, dad!” Colleen is another sister. She and her husband were already planning to come in the morning to visit mom in the hospital and to check on dad.

I kissed him and hugged him tight, picked up the bag of her goodies and said goodbye again. I walked back to my car and drove back to the hospital. I got myself an Impossible Whopper on the way. My mom and I love them. I didn’t dare go back without eating. I ate the burger and onion rings as I drove. When I got to the hospital, I parked and walked up. I had to check in with the a new security guard who was cautious but helpful. I headed on up and arrived at my mom’s room. She was no longer wearing the CPAP. She had a cannula for oxygen in her nose and was eating pieces of fruit. “They let me switch to eat dinner.”

The nurse (the little blonde one whose name I did not learn) came in to see if she had eaten. She told me that mom had refused everything on her tray. “It kind of looked like fish, but I think it was some sort of chicken. Your mom was not interested.” We all laughed about the ambiguity of the food. Mom said the fruit was just what she needed. The nurse left and mom and I were alone again. I showed mom all that I had brought. I handed her the glasses. I plugged in all of her chargers and tied the ends to her bedrail. She sat the kindle and her cell phone on the bed tray. “I need to have my phone ready for the Penguins game. Janet will text me.” I asked if the game was going to be on there. As if on cue, another nurse brought a TV guide.

“Right here. See? Fox Sports. I’m good. Wait, on more channel… there it is! Fox News!” The crazy liberal inside of me sighed but said nothing. I know my parents. I know what they need and I get it. I said nothing. It was familiar to her and that’s what she wanted. But she also left the tv off. She talked a bit more about Janet. They have been friends forever but since my parents moved into assisted living, they hadn’t been able to get together. But they texted. During every Penguins Hockey game, they texted. Mom commented that she wasn’t sure she would be awake for the game. I told her it was fine to rest. She’d had a busy day.

I have an interesting relationship with the television. I prefer to have it on, regardless of what is on, because I find the background noise comforting. I realize now that I get that from my dad. I can remember being little. I was probably about 9? My dad would come home from work, turn on the TV and then go upstairs to change his clothes. He has always loved TV. In 1981, we had cable and MTV because my dad wanted cable. Looking back, it was a crazy privilege that probably made my mom crazy. “$40 for cable?!?!” In contrast, mom would come home, sit or lie on the couch, and never touch the remote. She was perfectly happy with silence.

Mom asked about my dad. I told her what I had said to him. “I hate to lie to him.” Her eyes welled up.

I said, “I know, Mom. It’s okay. It’s not like you’re going to die tonight.” She cringed. Did I really just say that? And what did that face mean, mom? Weeks later, I fervently wish I had asked.

We chatted some more. It was much easier now that she had the cannula. She remarked that she could feel the difference, though. She said the CPAP made breathing a lot easier, but she still hated it. I liked being able to hear her when she talked. Should I have insisted they switch back to the CPAP? Blonde nurse came in and told us that they wanted to wait for about an hour after she ate to let the food settle and would then put the mask back on. Mom agreed. I said nothing else about it.

At this point, we had spent the whole day together. She was falling asleep and I was thinking about other things. I knew my sister was coming in tomorrow and would visit mom. I would figure out what my dad needed and be available. I was planning and thinking. I had been here, with a parent in the hospital, many times before. I asked if she was okay as she dozed. “Oh, you should go. No reason for you to watch me sleep.”

What if, instead of leaving, I had asked, “Mom, is it time? Are you ready?”

But I didn’t.

I stood up and started organizing her things again. We talked about Colleen coming in the next morning. I told her I would get the number for the nurse’s station in case anyone wanted to call to check on her. Mom noted, “I have my cell phone too.” I squeeze her hand and leaned close. “I could never thank you for all you’ve done for me. I just love you and your siblings so much. Tell them, okay? And I worry about Amelia. She’ll be okay, right?” I assured her that everyone would be okay. I would tell them all. I said I would go home and explain to Mia that Gma was in the hospital. I would tell everyone and make it okay. “I am worried about your father. She looked at her rings and said, “He’s the most loyal man I’ve ever known.” I leaned up and kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand. “I’m just so thankful for what you do.”

“Mom, there is no place I would rather be. I am here for you always.” I gave her another kiss on her cheek. Was she crying?

I walked out of her room and talked to a different nurse. I asked for the phone number. The young woman read it to me while I tapped it into my phone. “I need this so I can make sure she’s not giving you guys trouble.” My mom giggled and waved at me. I waved and left.

I had so many thoughts and feelings inside of me. I had texted my friend and coworker, Keith, earlier, about talking when I left the hospital. He told me to call. I got to my car, and dialed his number. He picked up. I backed out of the spot and started to talk about my day. My phone got a call. I looked at it and didn’t know the number. I had barely spoken to Keith. As I left the parking lot, the number called again. “Keith, someone is trying to call me. I’ll call you back.” I answered and it was that nurse. That wonderful, blonde nurse.

“I’m so sorry to call you. I know we just talked about this. Your mom is coding. She doesn’t want CPR, right? Because we don’t have it in writing, I need you to tell a second witness. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” My mind felt frozen. I JUST LEFT!!

She passed the phone to a male nurse. “I’m so sorry. I need to know. Does your mom want CPR?”

“No. She does not want any extraordinary measures. If she is dying, she is ready to go.”

“Okay.”

“I’m really close. I just left the hospital. I’m turning around”

“Good. Come back.”

I have watched enough hospital shows to know. I was never going to make it back. I pulled in and parked up front in a 15 minute parking spot. I threw on my mask and rushed in. I passed the security guard. “They called and told me to come back!” He told me to go.

Up the elevator one floor. Time was thick. I walked to her room. There were so many people in her room. They all saw me and started flooding out. The nurses were crying. A man, probably a doctor? He looked like he was in charge. I walked up to him. He said, “I’m so sorry.”

“She passed?” He nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

No one said a word and I walked in. She was like I had left her, bur flat on her back. She can’t lay that way. It hurts her to lie flat. Two back surgeries. It hurts her. But she was still. She was quiet. They all filed out of her room. I took her had and sat down. I sobbed. “Oh mom! Mom!” I sat next to her and held her hand.

What was I supposed to do? Where were the adults to tell me what I was supposed to do?! I wanted someone, anyone, to be there at that moment and to take over. I didn’t know what to do. I felt so lost and alone. I leaned on to her bed and sobbed into my arms. What was I supposed to do?

From that point on, I called and texted my people and sat with her. I can’t remember much detail except for sobbing on the phone over and over with each call. When I was ready, I packed up her stuff and told her goodbye. I walked out to see all of the nurses at the nurses’ station. Many were crying. They all stood there. I walked over to them. These amazing human, who had only known my mom for a couple hours, were crying for her. That is the impact she had. I promised them that they had let her go exactly how she wanted. I found myself laughing in my head because I was comforting them, when I was the one who lost a mom.

I regret leaving that night. I feeling strongly that my mom knew she was going and did not want me there. But I still struggle. I was with her the whole day, with no idea that it was going to be her last. I suspect she knew. I missed it. I couldn’t or wouldn’t see it. I think about that day, about how hard she struggled to breathe. She went the way she wanted.

My mom is the reason I have a pretty healthy view on death. None of us will escape it. You live your life as best you can, helping others along the way. I had my mom for 51 years. I was honored to spend the last couple years as her gopher, her chauffeur, and her friend. I ache for her. It still doesn’t feel real. I know it is. But I am not rational about her yet. I just want her one more day. I love you mom.