Sending Mother Home

Sending Mother Home


As we entered the quiet, antiseptic room, I could hear her shallow breathing. Her tiny, frail face , lay on the pillow, a testament to her eminent passing. Nothing perceptible of the robust, independent woman that had raised me. Our slow goodbye was about to reach its final termination. She had not acknowledged her husband or children for more than a year now. I pondered on how losing someone you love this way gives an emotional sense of anger. Anger directed at whom? Actually a fair share to go around. Yourself, your siblings, God, most of all her. As if in some manner she had any control in leaving. The early years were the worst because the fear of what was happening so overwhelmed her. No matter how much comfort I offered, I could still see the panic in her eyes. She tried to wrestle all the control she could back to her life but everyday brought new terrors. First she couldn’t find things, then she couldn’t count her stitches, then she couldn’t read and finally she couldn’t recognize those who meant the most in her life.

I pulled a chair up to her bedside and gently took her thin, delicate hand. This is a woman who gave so much. My best gal pal who had suffered too long. Memories flooded my mind, forty years worth. Her relationship with her mother had been so charged with resentment. I remembered my grandmother’s repugnant suspecting ways. She had never been able to establish a bond with her daughter. But I also think Mom realized in her later years, before she was sick, that her mother had really been a very accomplished, disciplined , devoted woman. One who raised two children and put them through college in the 1930's. She realized that her mother had sacrificed a great deal to accomplish these ends. In some ways she learned from her mother’s mistakes how to accomplish her goals and have the kind of relationship she had longed for as a girl. I was living proof that this dying woman gave me the childhood she had desired. The bond between her and I would always continue. We had only reached an inaudible period which at sometime in the future would be revisited.

With the flood gates of my mind now open I smiled and remembered. Life with her was fun but not at the expense of responsibility or values. We were not a rich nor a poor family but we had our share of hard times. We had a small seasonal family business and my brother and I were expected to work during our summers and contribute. In the winter months our parents took seasonal jobs to supplement the family income. My dad’s parents were involved in the business also. My mom and grandfather didn’t always concur. Most of the resentment stemmed from my father’s inability to defend the right position and admit a bad position regardless of whom’s position that happened to be. My grandfather and mom had equally strong wills and it was a “clash of the Titans”. Had my grandmother lived longer she was the steading balance beam in this family act. But Mom took Grandpa into her home during the last 10 years of his life and took care of him. Even when his son went off on “jobs” for weeks at a time. I never heard her issue one harsh word about Grandpa. Grandpa learned to loved her and respected her. They would have been great allis’s if they had only known.

I suddenly came back to the present as my nephew’s girlfriend and six year old daughter came in the room. Fran was a sweet girl and it struck me at how very thoughtful for a young girl who really had only been part of our family for a short while. Her homey Kentucky country breeding was showing.

I thanked her for coming and said that it means a lot that she was here. Her daughter sat quietly on the floor and began gently talking to her doll. Fran took the other side of my mother’s bed. She pulled a brush out of her purse and softly stroked my mother’s hair. Then as she took her hand, she decided that Mom shouldn’t arrive in heaven without nice polished nails. As she went about these chores she quietly talked to Mom as if she could hear and understand Fran. I don’t exactly know why but these simple touches represented acts of kindness in the most mysterious, gentle way.

I dropped back to the past as the death watch continued.

As a teenage I was angry at my mother for not having me until in her thirties. Angry because I wouldn’t have enough years with her. Little did I know that I would lose seven at the end of her life. When I would voice my concerns she would assure me that the relationship I had with my future mate would bring me children of my own and I would develop bonds with them. At the time this abstract did little to relieve my concerns. In fact, even as she promised, my adult life has been full and relationships rich but I only really accepted a life without her when her illness took her inch by inch. But at this moment I wanted her back. Please just for one moment, can we say a goodbye?

Suddenly something drew me back from my thoughts, perhaps a change in breathing, perhaps a feeling from my mothers hand but suddenly I knew the time had come. Perhaps a distant stranger had entered the room to bring Mom home and my sixth sense felt the arrival. I bent over and whispered in my mother’s ear, “he’s here Mom”. A smile came to her face, her hand squeezed mine and her breathing stopped.