Death In December

DEATH IN DECEMBER


Imagine how horrible it must be for an only daughter to bring a lawyer to her dying mother’s bedside to sign a will? To sign the title over to her car? To be sure insurance papers are in order? I had to do that. Charlie Crimmins (Boston) was a good lawyer friend of ours at the time, witnessed make my mother’s signatures and made them official. He had to attest she was of sound mind. I was the one not of sound mind.

I felt bad at times that I would get impatient. Or that I would have to put her in the wheelchair myself. Wasn’t it easier for us for the medical staff to do this? To move her and all of the tubes she was connected to. Make sure the right machines come down the hall with us.

Sometimes, they would let me wheel her to the solarium. This is the only place she could smoke her damn cigarettes, and I’m sorry mom that I gave you a hard time about them. I should have let you smoke as many of those damn cigarettes as you wanted. I think that was your only vice, actually.

She was sick all my life. I don’t ever remember her being really healthy. So, her being in the hospital all the time was not unusual. Visiting her there was a way of life. At the end, she had multitudinal problems --- diabetes; under-active thyroid; thin blood; neuropathy; blindness; weak heart, and finally, kidney failure.

Toward the real end, she just lied there; staring emptily. Was her mind functioning the same, though? Did she know what was happening? Was she in any more pain? Did she know things, but just couldn’t verbalize anymore? Did she know it was me when I was there??? I would attempt some small talk, pretending I was visiting her in the hospital – just like all the times before. Could she hear me? I’m sure she must have hated me to see her this way…

When she was at her absolute worst, when I knew it would be soon that death would take her from me; I knew she could never be returned to me. She would never again be able to be the mother I remember in my childhood.

It’s not fair. It shouldn’t have been this way. Suffering is a curse for the ill, and prolonged traumatic agony for the observing loved ones. With each visit, she was slipping away from me – each time I saw her, it was harder. It became impossible for me to see her without an onslaught of tears. Each time wondering if it would be the last time. And, when it was the last time, I didn’t realize. I just cried & cried & cried on every trip there, and every trip home… And I came to hate every street & every house I had to pass to get to that place.

Tonight, for the first time this year, I actually look at and notice Christmas lights on family homes. And there was some snow. I consciously was careful of ice on the road -- I didn’t want anything to happen. But, for some strange reason, I knew right then & there "it" was going, all too soon. My fear grew immensely and my heart pounded. I was on my way to see her in the twilight – would she wait for me? Would she see me? No, of course not. But would or could she acknowledge me? She’d been slipping away from me too fast. Sometimes she would know I was there, and try to make an effort to hug me as well as she could… what with her being tubed and plugged and restrained and beaten by life. Naturally, all that stuff is for her own good; at least that’s what they tell you.

There is no way to prepare oneself for someone’s death. Even when you are facing an inevitable death, you still cannot be prepared. It is impossible to be ‘ready’. You cannot gather enough strength to get through it all. Especially with a family member’s death. No matter what the circumstances - no matter how much in control the illness - you cannot prepare yourself. I’ve always known that my mother could not live forever, and I’ve always ‘felt’ that she would die before me. Even she used to tell me that. I could never think about it, even though I did know the truth which came to be.

My mother did pass away recently, and it still does not seem real… The pain will always feel like an open wound, incapable of healing. And now, there’s a very big part of me missing – well, not missing – just gone.

I purposely pretended to be sleeping because I could not face the reality of "the call". I don’t want to wake up. I knew it was the call. I knew my mom was ‘gone’. No more could she breathe. No longer was she alive. It happened on December 17, 1984 at 2:15 A.M. I was to report to the nurses’ station first thing in the morning. There were papers to sign, and personal effects to collect. Conveniently packed for me by the time I arrived there…

I took her "personal effects" home. I came across a hankie from my younger years – was it something she always kept with her? Even at death’s door? It was freshly washed, and feeling almost new. I cried. I’d been crying anyway. I pull 2 TV Guides out of the oversized totebag. They’re both from June. As I flipped through them, I continued to cry. When my mother admitted she began to go blind, I would mark channels & times of her shows with a marker. She could still see large, dark writing back then. And I think that’s really what did her in. The blindness. The loss of independence. {Everytime I found myself impatient, I tried to remind myself that, if I were in her position, I’d probably be the same way. Absolutely frustrated and embarrassed to ask for help.} Let’s not forget the regular Chesterfield cigarettes, which she wasn’t supposed to have anymore…

How does one deal with this monumental pain? How do you handle the heavy weight of responsibility? The hurting is like nothing else which transforms your emotions. I was always so afraid to think about what it would be like… This is only the beginning of my life changing drastically. Darkness will become more of a companion, now, I fear.

Depression is a daily condition. Emotional numbness overrules all else just so you can still function. I’m numbed; hurt, scared, angry, paralyzed, traumatized, confused, helpless and very lost.