The Darkest of Times

I have thought long and hard on how to present this chapter in an ethical and articulate manner. To be scrupulous in presenting the tale of my mother’s passing is without question a must. One must keep a perspective in reading it, as I have every intention of doing so in writing it.

This is an emotion-laden story. Love, understanding and compassion were never challenged in such a way before, at least not in my wildest dreams. I think one never truly understands the enormity of such events until it actually happens to you. It was a demoralizing and dehumanizing time for me. Thank goodness time doesn’t stand still for the inflicted wounds within the walls of my heart have, at least, partly healed.

Let me begin this imposing story where the world I once knew was about to be changed forever…

Hearing the news of my mother’s sudden trip to the hospital because of a possible stroke put an unknown fear in me. Actually, it frightened me to death. To expect the worst always seems to be my way of not being as surprised when I find out there might be a severe type of unsettling news. I assumed the same posture in this case.

Pam and I immediately left our home for the hospital to see her. My wife came with me for emotional support as well as wanting to know herself what was happening. My mother and her got along great. My mother loved my wife like her own daughter. While driving to the hospital I was reminded of a comment my mother made to me a few months after we were married.

She once stated in referring to Pam, “You better hold on to that one or I’ll kick your ass if you don’t!” immediately after giving me a soft reassuring smile to let me know she meant her comment in a good way. As if I didn’t know.

I would answer her by saying, “Don’t worry, Mom. This one I plan on sticking with even after I’m dead and gone.” We both knew that I had a good thing going when I married Pam again.

When we arrived at the hospital, I found my sisters, Kathleen, Barbara, Myra and my mother’s twin sister, Deloris, all sitting quietly in the waiting room. All of them had an exhausted look about them. I concluded later they must have just gone through an emotional wringer of sorts to possess the haggard look of a boxer who had just gone fifteen rounds. Their expressions were wretched.

They didn’t say anything for the first few moments; they just awkwardly looked at me. Their eyes appeared haunting and seem to sit deep within their sockets. I noticed Kathleen’s face had no makeup, so I knew the situation was of grave importance for her to leave her house without putting makeup on. She never does that.

“Mom’s in a bad way,” Myra fearfully stated. The comment certainly didn’t help my thoughts any. The unknown gravity of the situation kept me on an emotional edge in not knowing exactly the extent of the physical damage done to her. But by the way everyone’s faces were emitting such obvious unhappiness, I knew it couldn’t be good. I inhaled a long and deep breath to try and calm those rising insecure feelings that kept my insides grumbling like a volcano. The fresh crisp scent of sanitizers in the hospital air was a momentary welcomed relief, interrupting my thoughts and temporarily soothing my worried mind.

“In a bad way? How bad?” I asked as I continued to search everyone’s faces in hoping that more light would be shed on the situation. Being uninformed about something as important as this was leaving me feeling desperate.

Then Deloris said, “The doctors are working on her right now and will come out to explain to us exactly what’s going on when they’re done.”

In wanting to at least see my mother to satisfy my own curiosity as to what was going on, I said, “I’m going to see her now. I’m not going to wait.”

Kathleen without saying a word agreeably motioned with her index finger the direction that our mother was taken. So, off I hurriedly went, leaving Pam behind to sit with the rest of them in the waiting room. I was conscionable of the fact that my mother might be better off if she had someone around her that she knew. I thought that because of my predisposed worst scenario thinking.

When I walked back into the actual emergency area, I immediately found her. My eyes were suddenly transfixed onto this horrific scene of her strapped to a gurney, twisting and turning in all kinds of ways that didn’t look normal. I had no time to react fearfully to her surprising contortions as my own fear suddenly increased to such a high level that I was instantly propelled toward compassion. She seemed to be totally absorbed in a disassembled or fragmented condition of some sort. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I knew I had to do something. I had to make her aware that I was nearby at least.

I quickly went up to her and said with a voice that I was hoping was loud enough for her to hear, “It’s going to be okay, mom. Everything will be just fine.” I began repeating those comments over and over to hopefully get through to her. It was fast becoming apparent that she was oblivious to me. “You’re going to be just fine, really. Don’t worry.” She wouldn’t respond. She couldn’t. She acted like she wasn’t aware of anything around her. Her distant and painful expressions were now consuming me with a fear that was ever more increasing. She was looking like someone I’ve never seen before, certainly not like the mother that I knew. It was like she had experience some sort of dramatic malady that transformed her into this twisted and tortured soul. I was soon immersed in so much sympathy that I immediately assumed responsibility to look after her. She was my beloved mother.

Without giving much afterthought to my actions, I began to remove the leather straps that had her tied down to the gurney like she was some kind of wild animal. It may have been reckless on my part, but I was there to forcibly control her if she got out of hand. I was even insulted in a twisted sort of way that the doctors had her in this manner. She was my mother; the woman who reared me from childbirth and it was extremely painful for me to see her in such a way. She obviously wanted to be free of those straps and I allowed it. I was there to protect her now, even from herself if I had to.

In the past she always found a way out of any dilemmas that came along in her life. She always displayed a remarkable resiliency. The woman raised eleven children. That alone speaks for itself. So, I wanted to believe she could find her way out of this one, although the situation definitely looked pretty bleak. All the while my heart sunk lower and lower.

But as I continued to try and comfort her, she suddenly sat up in being free of those leather straps and began rocking back and forth, mumbling incoherently. In seeing her behave in this manner, the very idea of possible brain damage rushed more to the forefront of my thoughts. Her unnatural behavior was clearly a demonstration that something awful had happened.

Sometimes assuring someone, regardless if a particular situation is looking bad, can have a positive affluence on that particular person. So I kept saying to her that everything was going to be just fine. I tried to hold her to have her feel me near but she still seemed oblivious to my presence. Her persistent rocking back and forth felt like she had a force of nature that was now dwelling beneath her skin. Her movement felt unstoppable, much like a bull’s muscular vigor. I wondered where was all her strength was coming from. She was over seventy years old, but she seemed damned determined to keep moving with this Herculean effort she was demonstrating. It was like she was trying her hardest to get somewhere or break free of something. In my entire life, never have I seen her look so frightened.

Having seen this kind of behavior when I worked in a nursing home many years before, I felt I was best suited to deal with the situation more than my sisters, who still remained in the waiting room. Although I had very little understanding in a medical sense of debilitating mental conditions, I did learn by just being around similar individuals how to deal with those who seemed lost as my mother now does. I worked as a maintenance technician for one and a half years in a nursing home where all sorts of physical and mental conditions were treated, so I was exposed to many types of people possessing ailments that seemed pretty hopeless. I could only hoped that my mother’s condition wasn’t.

As I continued to stay by her side, I was fast realizing that there was nothing I could do to improve her situation. I’ve been here for five minutes and she still did not recognize me. The poor woman’s face looked like something out of a horror magazine.

While I was there she did a number two in the diaper the hospital had placed on her. Immediately, I attempted to get anyone’s attention to assist her but they were too busy scurrying around taking care of other matters. I was highly offended that it took at least five more minutes for someone to come and clean her up. When they finally arrived, I was asked to leave. I told them that I wasn’t. I was prepared to take a backseat to no one. She needed me. She was my mother.

But they told me again more sternly a second time, practically ordering me away. In seeing that I would have gotten in the way if I remained, I left and went to the waiting room to join my sisters who remained ever so vigilant and hopeful.

The terrible ordeal I had just been through must have seemed obvious to my siblings, for no one said a word to me as I took a seat next to my wife in the waiting area. I immediately leaned forward to rest my elbows on top of my knees to cradle my weary head. After a few moments of staring down at the floor by my feet, I finally glanced up to eye everyone staring back at me. They seemed to be searching my face for some kind of indication of her condition.

I could only say, “She looks pretty bad.” I no sooner finished my comment than I went back to looking down toward the floor at my feet and to contemplate more of what I had just gone through. I didn’t care to hear any response from them. I didn’t feel like talking. My throat swelled from the unknown words that lingered from not knowing the appropriate way to describe her condition and the darker emotions I just experienced.

But, after a few minutes of realizing that I should at least attempt to relate the ordeal somehow, I returned everyone’s inquisitive looks and began explaining to them what I had just seen. The sad news further laded their hearts, with each of them looking even more distressed. A dark cloud of grave uncertainty remained hanging over our heads as we waited for the doctor to arrive.

When he finally appeared about an hour later his face gave me an uncomfortable feeling. Emotionally he seemed detached from our despair. I prepared myself for the worst like I normally do. He took a seat near us and began speaking directly of the heart of the matter.

He said, “She has suffered a major hemorrhage, affecting most of her brain. The severity of the damage is unknown at this time. We’ll have to keep her for a few more days for more observation and further testing.”

My heart exploded like it was hit with a torpedo, quickly sinking to the deepest part of my uncharted soul.

“Go home and get some rest. There’s nothing that you can do for her now. But I would like to talk with you tomorrow after I find out more about the extent of damage done. Meet me in the lobby at nine o’clock in the morning.” he stated.

Subdued sobbing ensued, for it all seemed so sudden. I felt like I was just ambushed. We all did. The dynamics of a hemorrhage, so awful sounding in itself was paralyzing my hope for her. None of us ever had a close relative experience something of such personal magnitude, much less it be our mother. We didn’t know what to expect.

The six of us decided that we needed to spend more time in each other’s comfort. We went to a local restaurant to have coffee and to scrutinize the extent of her damage as we searched for hope and the grace of God to intervene to help her.

The next day, family members that lived in the immediate area came to the hospital to meet in the lobby as her doctor had requested. My brother, after talking with his boss on the telephone, announced that he couldn’t remain and had to get back to work. His exit left me feeling perplexed because of the importance of such a meeting. But, I certainly understood also the importance of having to be at work when one is needed. One has to do what one must.

When the doctor finally did appear, he gathered the entire family into a side room, giving us needed privacy where he would reveal results of the testing.

He began to explain, “Your mother has suffered about ninety-eight percent brain damage from a massive stroke, where the oxygen was hindered in flowing to her brain. The damage is irreversible and don’t expect much recovery, if any at all. Most of her memory has been wiped out, along with her ability to communicate on an intelligible level. ” His words sounded as sharp and painful as a sudden death announcement.

Then he added, “She probably will not recognize any of you, at least in the beginning. However, it is imperative that she have as many people around her as much as possible to try and stimulate the remaining functioning brain cells if there was going to be hope of any memory recovery at all.”

His statements instantly sent off an alarm in my head as if it were a call to duty. I decided right then that spending as much time with her as I possibly could to aid in her recovery was going to be as imperative as the air I breathed. Again, one has to do what one must. I had no choice. She was my beloved mother.

Everyone’s face suddenly possessed defeated and deserted expressions. Our mother was now being replaced with someone of lesser quality, a stranger perhaps, someone who didn’t know us and someone we didn’t know. It was a very tough thing to accept or even try to embrace, which I realized I had to at some point for her very survival.

An instantaneous barrage of questions began springing forth from everyone. Questions such as: Are you one hundred percent sure that she won’t completely recover? How long before she would begin to recognize any of us? Who will take care of her? How long will she remain here at the hospital? Then where will she go?

The doctor raised his hands gesturing for everyone to quiet down so he could speak again, saying “More testing needs to be performed, so she’ll have to remain here at the hospital for at least another day. As far as where she might go after she leaves here, a nursing home would be the kind of place that could provide the kind of care she needs.” Then he paused a few seconds to give thought before continuing.

Then he briefly paused before continuing, “You can go up and see her now, but be very quiet, she may be asleep and she needs all the rest she can get. She’s just been through a terrible ordeal.”

Without saying a word, everyone slowly got out of his or her own seats to proceed toward the elevator that would take them up to the fourth floor where her room was located. Long faces outlining subdued expressions were prevalent on everyone.

As for me, not knowing what kind of person I would find in that room left me even closer to that edge of a maligning uncertainty.

After all of us gathered as a group outside her door, we then quietly entered her room where we noticed she was indeed sleeping. A clean white sheet beneath a yellow cotton blanket was lying on top of her, embracing her to keep her warm. She looked peaceful and at rest, unlike yesterday where she seemed to be fighting demons for possession of her very soul. That same simplicity that I’ve come to know and love over the years was softly caressing her face once again, giving me hope that maybe part of her identity still remained.

Had she lost her will to live? Just how much different is she going to be? Question after question swirled through my head as she lay in bed before me. As I took a moment to look away from her toward other family members surrounding her, I noticed huge tears quietly and diligently rolling down each cheek and gathering at the bottom of every chin there, stretching themselves away and silently falling onto the floor, seemingly knowing that they too must be quiet before our mother’s very presence. It was a very somber moment indeed.

I returned to gaze upon her. The freshness of the sanitizers of the hospital again permeated my nostrils to slightly lift my spirits. In lovingly gazing upon her, her frailty was more apparent than ever.

But, suddenly and without any warning she awoke from her slumber and noticed strangers in her room. My attention heightened as she began to eye everyone closest to her. Everyone froze. That moment of reality had come that would dictate our future relationship with her.

That reality hit me in the stomach like a massive crushing blow when she disturbingly asked, “Who are you?” It was a stinging question that devastated everyone. Our tears seem to be noisier as they now authoritatively splattered onto the floor, instantly attempting to rinse away our emotional attachment from her. Hearing her ask such a question was like she was unknowingly ripping out our hearts and then violently slamming them to the floor where she could stomp upon them until there was nothing left. A few of my sisters suddenly turned to leave and to stand in the hallway outside her room. Uncontrollable sobbing was heard from them. They obviously couldn’t handle it. It was very tough just to stand in her room and not show any outward emotion at all. But she was my mother and I had to remain strong.

After the moment was swallowed where it remained in our collective throats, everyone introduced herself or himself one at a time, along with I’m very happy to meet you introductions. She would reply in kind saying that she was happy to meet all of us too. It was the beginning of a new friendship that lasted until her passing.

Although my siblings and I greatly feared it, our hope for instant recognition from her held on to every last thread of compassion we owned. We also eventually understood the premise of those past connections were of lesser importance than her present heath and mental condition. We loved her dearly and we accepted what we had to for her sake. Her survival in whatever shape or form it might be was never so paramount before.

None of us, of course, at the time had any idea if she would ever regain any of her memory. I believe everyone in her room came to terms with the fact that our mother, who always had displayed a special caring personality her entire life toward us, was now history.

In the proceeding days it was extremely difficult to continually adjust our thoughts and emotions, now that we viewed her in the condition of obscurity. It was an emotional time. In knowing who she was and with us possessing loving feelings for her, it was tough to handle when we ourselves weren’t recognized. We repeatedly had to introduce ourselves. Her diagnosis of irreversible brain damage began to seep more into our daily conscious, permitting a necessary reality to be born so everyone could develop a closer relationship with her.

When the doctor informed everyone that it was imperative that she have as many relatives around her as often as possible, especially in the next couple of weeks so she could possibly regain as much as her memory as she could, Kathleen, Barbara, Myra and myself were there every day to try and communicate with her, to try and make her recall her past. Her remaining brain cells needed to be stimulated to be reborn. We were totally consumed with thoughts about her welfare and the unbelievable reality that she will never be the same as before. The four of us became a quartet of common sense interns with no medical experience. We were the real deal behind our mother’s eventual partial recovery, giving her the kind of love and attention she needed to become better. The more time went by, the more reality set in allowing us to adjust our thoughts and emotions to allow our mother to be whomever she could.

After spending two more days in the hospital, she was moved to a nursing facility where my three sisters and I continued to visit her daily.

Initially, it seemed to be a nice place, but I’ve always had a fear of all nursing homes, especially since I’ve witnessed patient abuse first hand when I used to work at one many years previous. My fear of these places was justified, unfortunately.

Choosing a less expensive nursing home for our mother was also unsettling because it probably meant not as good care and increased chances of that abuse. Unfortunately, my siblings and I couldn’t afford a better facility, so we always remained vigilant about the possibility of any abuse happening, often inspecting our mother’s person for bruises or bedsores.

My sisters and I constantly brought up the past to try and reconnect her to her former self. Working with her was a challenge at times. She now possessed a child-like quality that was totally innocent. We were always attempting to speak to her in a way that she would understand, sometimes as if she was no more than seven or eight years old. All of us were extremely dedicated to her recovery. When she actually began to remember parts of her past, it was like a magnificent gift from Heaven above, rewarding us for our love and the dedication we had.

We questioned her about her husband, our father, if she remembered him at all. She would say, “Ooh, he was a good looking man!” as a happier glow quickly embraced her face. One could tell that a warm feeling for him still remained inside her by the way her eyes sparkled at the very mention of him.

We questioned if she remembered specific episodes we had as children, or people that we knew she was aware of, or places where we lived. We sometimes connected with her, giving us the satisfaction of success. But in the beginning, however, failure happened more often.

Reconstructing her memory was a responsibility we employed every second spent with her as the days rolled by. Parts of her former self would sometimes shine through, allowing us to be thankful in bringing her back from no man’s land. But, she still remained a long ways away from her former self. When she began to eventually recognize us on a regular basis whenever we would walk into her room, it put broader smiles on our faces, as well as hers. She even eventually developed a dry sense of humor over most anything, implying to her children that at least she was aware to some degree to what was going on around her. She was really turning out to be an amazing individual. But of course, we already knew that she was.

My three sisters and I began a rotation after those first two months of visiting her, to where we all began taking turns on different nights of the week. We collectively felt that we needed a bit of a break from all of us seeing her everyday all the same time. By this time our mother had recovered a larger portion of memory back, but remaining still far from our unreachable goal of complete recovery. Every day she still had someone there to be with her so she would never have to go through a single day without someone around her that she knew.

Sacrificing my personal time was the least that I could do. Here was a woman that was in dire need of love, understanding and most of all compassion. I knew I wasn’t about to let her down. Driving fifty miles coming and going to see her every day for the first two months was a minor thing to do when I thought about the gravity of the importance of how much it meant to her for me to be there by her side.

In the evening after work when I would come, she’d be sleeping sometimes. And I would remain by her bedside so if she should happen to awaken, she would then see a familiar face. I cherished my responsibility to her. The more she would recall her past, the more magical those visitations with her became and the more I felt blessed. I knew her complete recovery was never a possibility, but those times when she would remember something for the first time, it seemed a miracle took place right beneath my nose.

However, sometimes my visitations weren’t so wonderful. The conditions of the nursing home were horrifying at times. The facility was severely understaffed more times than not. Debilitating folks were left in their beds after they were soiled upon. The smell of human waste and urine filled the air in the hallways more times than not. Those fears I’ve always had of nursing homes remained real. Sometimes when the conditions were extremely bad, I had to simmer my anger to avoid erupting into heated exchanges with the nurses and aides on duty at the time.

I’ll never forget the time when I came to see her one night during the week and discovered her covered from head to toe in her own excrement. I immediately gave the nursing aides a lot of hell for their lapse in performing their jobs properly. I left her room to enter the hallway to begin cursing at anyone dressed in a white uniform. It was extremely upsetting to find her like that, using my vulgarity to strongly express what I thought of them. And when I returned to her room, I grabbed all the bath towels in her bathroom, along a bar of soap to clean her up. And after an aide finally arrived about fifteen minutes, I then demanded that my mother be scrubbed from head to toe with a disinfectant to kill all that bacteria on her skin. I stood nearby to ensure that happened. After that, I believe they gave closer attention to her, but I still had to remain vigilant.

Another time when I found her in a not so pleasant way was when I came on a weekend and found her in the dining room slouched in her wheelchair and totally naked. She should have had at least her nightgown on in order to be allowed to even sit in the dining room. That’s the nursing home’s own rule. The blanket an aide used to just simply cover her up when she was taken from her room had fallen to the floor. All the aides were ignoring her, walking by her to serve other residents. I immediately ran into the dining room to cover her up and to express my opinions about the uncaring attitude with which they were displaying in performing their jobs again. It was dehumanizing to have her live there. I cursed myself many times for not having the monetary means to afford a better place for her to live.

One day the nursing home wanted to discuss with us some issues concerning our mother’s health. A meeting was set up between the nursing staff and ourselves. My sisters, nor I, thought about informing my brother about the meeting only because he wasn’t in our thoughts. It was certainly apparent that he had his own visiting schedule because up to this point I saw him at the nursing home maybe twice. He was handling his affairs separate from us.

My sisters and I were at the meeting, as well as my oldest sister, Connie, who was on the telephone calling from Georgia.

Shortly after the meeting began, the door to the room opened like someone wanted to enter. Immediately a nurse jumped out of her seat to run toward the door to not let the person enter because it was a private meeting. My sisters saw that it was our brother.

When Connie stopped talking on the telephone a few minutes later, I went to search for him. All of us wanted him at the meeting. He was family. Unfortunately he was nowhere to be found. So, I returned to the meeting without him.

The meeting was about how to deal with our mother’s deteriorating mental and physical conditions. With most of her identity now gone, her mental condition left a lot to be desired. Her physical condition was steadily getting worse because of not eating regularly and the lack of physical activity. The nurses wanted her to interact more with other residents, instead of being off by herself all the time.

One time she boisterously fought them off when the staff attempted to get her to physically take part in a few exercises while I was visiting this one particular time. It was a demonstration of her inability to cope with anything that would supposedly aid in her recovery. When they attempted to remove her from the wheelchair to place her in a whirlpool, she began omitting a high-pitched scream, piercing my eardrums and sending chills up my spine. She fought them every inch of the way. She was never much a person to take part in anything of this sort in the first place.

She despised her life there. Several times she pleaded with me to take her away. She even said once that she would be happy to live with me, which made me feel atrocious because I couldn’t afford the amenities that would have been required to sustain any kind of a life for her. The cost of fixing up a room with all the medical equipment necessary, plus to have a nurse live there around the clock, or to even visit her on a regular basis, would’ve been impossible for me to afford. Again, I cursed my lack of wealth. All my siblings wished we could have had the means to do more for her.

Many times when I would be with her, either in her room or sitting next to her in the nursing home lobby, she would gingerly lean over toward me to speak just above a whisper and beg me to take her away. I think she was trying to be sneaky, like she was planning a secret escape of some kind. She would get real close and barely be heard, causing me to lean in more toward her just to hear her speak. She would give me this ornery expression where it was just her and I that only knew of her plot to get away from her tormentors (nurses and aides). I would have enjoyed nothing more than to take hold of that wheelchair and roll her out through the front doors of the place with the intent of never coming back. But, sadly, I couldn’t afford such an act of mercy.

She would say to me, “Rob, let’s go. Take me out of here. I don’t belong in this zoo with the rest of these weirdoes. What do you say?” Her crackling voice was full of sincere desperation. She would look at me with those big pleading eyes, begging me. Her entire face would light up with hopes of me fulfilling her wish. She sounded as innocent as a child. The woman made my heart melt and I wanted to cry whenever she would talk to me in that manner. My conscious was never at rest.

After a slight change in her care was agreed upon while at this meeting, my sisters and I left to go to our mother’s room to visit with her. When we discovered she wasn’t there, we logically deducted that she would be outside sitting on a bench that was located next to the entrance. She enjoyed watching people come and go.

No sooner had my sisters and I exited the front doors when we saw my brother and his wife sitting on that bench with her. He didn’t give anyone much of a chance to even say hello before verbally attacking us. He was beside himself with anger about not knowing about the meeting and immediately flew into a rage, cursing all the while and stating we should have informed him of it. His words were mean spirited and very spiteful.

“Why in the f--k wasn’t I told about the meeting?” he demanded to know. Those were his exact words, along with a host of other demeaning denunciations.

Immediately my sisters and I tried to explain to him that we weren’t trying to keep him out of any meeting to which he was implying. But we could barely get a word in edgewise. He was so irate that he was having nothing to do with our explanations. We continued to try and inform him that since he seemingly had his own schedule, that we assumed that he would take care of his own business as he had done up to this point.

My brother, however, continued to rage on with his foul language. I began to get a little irritated with his behavior and his woeful foul mouth, so I took two or three steps toward him and stopped, not actually wanting a confrontation but just to try and intimidate him into ceasing his verbal onslaught.

I startled my sister, Myra, when I took those few steps. She attempted to stop me when she tried to grab my shirt as I walked by her. But I was able to deflect her grasp with my arm as a pen suddenly jetted out of my shirt pocket and landed on the ground several feet away. This probably aided in me appearing more intimidating, and at that moment I thought all the better. After all, he was behaving, shall I say at the very least, uncivil. After his attack, his wife and him left in their car.

My sisters and I just stood there and watched him drive away. When he was out of sight we turned and looked at each other in absolute shock. We couldn’t believe what had just transpired. He has never apologized to this very day and I understand it was an emotional time for everyone.

I am reminded of some words of wisdom that I wrote many years ago over this incident and they are as follows:

What comes out of mouths is sometimes purposeful thought expressed even though what one says sometimes isn’t always the most advised thing to say. But, the point is that when something is purposely said as a result of a desire to make things complete, then the words spoken have more meaning behind it and more weight because it is controlled and it is more purposeful, unlike reacting to emotion in the heart, where a person is only indirectly responsible.

Being in control when verbally apologizing for something is a lot different than expressing regret only because you feel it in your heart, although having those feelings in the heart is a necessary step toward full restitution. Expressing regret, as my brother has only done when he said, “You know, I shouldn’t have behaved that way,” only enforces the first step of the three R’s, which are feeling regret, taking responsibility for your actions and remedying the situation by apologizing.

Reasons why this is so difficult to comprehend for him and others I can’t understand. Emotions are one thing, but the mind must be in control to point our lives toward paths that we choose.

If our emotions were allowed to direct our lives then all of us would be headed for various levels of failure and disappointment. For someone to walk around living his life solely on how he felt, then what good is the mind that God gave him?

In other words, when my brother expressed regret he was only reacting to my expressed anger and shock after I called him on the telephone when I got home later that same day. It was given to me only because I made him feel guilty at that very moment for what he had done. His statement was not from any desire or thought of his own making. It didn’t originate from deep within him. To have an original thought of his own free will to apologize, without influence from others to do so, has never dawned on him.

There’s an expression that rolls off the tongue, oh so easily, Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can never hurt you. Nothing could be further from the truth. And the power of words can destroy people’s lives. It really does matter what we say to each other – and how we say it.

Without courage, wisdom bears no fruit.

I found this quote by Sir Francis Bacon interesting. He was a Renaissance author from the 1500’s. Many people have considered him the father of deductive reasoning.

Quote: “Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider.”


The following is a detailed account of my most private moments with my mother just before she passed away. I am sharing this so the ones who have lost a loved are able to relate on a personal level with others over losing a loved one.

Watching my mother’s health decline was a tough time for all of us. This once spirited woman was now just a shell of her former self. When my mind was consumed with thoughts of her, compassion ruled my heart.

All of us were leery that her time to leave this earth was getting very near. She had gotten very weak from being off the feeding tube for close to a week by now. The family voted to remove her feeding tube because her health was drearily declining anyway. Hope of any recovery was down to zero. We agreed why prolong the inevitable. It was time to end her suffering.

That dreadful day, Hospice informed us that we had enough time to grab a quick bite before our mother would take a last turn for the worse. As for myself, I hadn’t eaten that day yet. How could I? I doubt if anyone else did either. But, it was after noon by this time and unfortunately sustaining our strength was important too. So, we went to grab a sandwich while a representative of Hospice sat with her.

Kathleen, Myra, Pam and myself returned to the nursing home after having our lunch in about an hour. Since we already knew that the State would claim any money that my mother had left in her account at the nursing home, which she did, my sisters agreed to go and purchase a beautiful dress she could wear for her funeral using that very money. So, the three of them left to hurriedly take care of that matter while I remained behind.

When I returned to my mother’s room Hospice informed me that my mother had taken a sudden turn for the worse and that her time to leave was extremely near. I didn’t want her to leave this planet alone so I rushed to her side.

After looking at her I could see that she was in great discomfort and that Hospice was correct in saying that her time to leave us had come. I instantly grabbed her hands that were clasped together in front of her and held onto them very tightly. I leaned over near her ear so she could hopefully hear me. I didn’t know for sure if she was mentally aware of things or not, but I gave her the benefit of a doubt that she was.

I told her, “It’s all right, Mom. Jesus is on the other side to greet you. He’s there in his kingdom waiting for you.” I further said, “Your father and mother are also their waiting for you, along with Fred.” Fred was her brother. I kept repeating over and over, “It’s okay Mom, it’s okay. God loves you. It’s okay to leave this world and enter Heaven. Jesus is waiting. I love you and your family loves you. Everything is going to be all right.”

I could see she began having more difficulty breathing as her chest suddenly started to heave up and down more rapidly. She was soon grasping for every breath she took. I could see the strain on her face as she struggled to remain alive. I tried to remain strong as held on to her tightly. She was my mother.

All of a sudden she sat up and began rocking back and forth struggling to hang on to her very last breath. She obviously wasn’t breathing in or out. All the while I kept softly whispering in her ear, “It’s okay to go Mom. It’s okay.” For a good thirty seconds she determinedly held on to her last breathe before giving out a very, very long exhale. I could only stare at her in silence. And just like that, life itself had left her body. She was dramatically now gone.

Tears swelled my eyes as I very gently laid her head down on the pillow and continued to stare at her, her eyes blindly returning my own look. I was interrupted for a moment when a nurse took her wrist to check for a pulse. As I looked up at the nurse as she held my mother’s wrist aloft, she shook her head back and forth implying the obvious. Then she slowly reached over me toward my mother to softly caress her eyelids to close them.

I could only cry as I laid my head on her chest.

When Hospice and the nurse left the room so I could have a final moment with her, I only mumbled, “You’re in Heaven now, Mom.” I got up to wipe my face with my hands and gave her a long last look. After years of living in a shell of her former self, I knew that she was now complete.

I caressed her pale cheeks, which have always felt like satin. No longer apparent was the distorted expression that she wore since her nightmare began. I was so grateful that she would suffer no more.

The End