the very beginning, found all of the nurses and service people to be very thorough, professional and caring. Many times, they would see a need that we had not thought of and immediately order it, then have it out the same day. The doctor that was my mother’s case overseer came out several times to my parent’s home to see them and certify that the hospice service was still appropriate. He was also just personally interested in them; they were not just a box to check or a signature to obtain. Through the whole process many relationships were developed, and we felt that they were really part of our family.
As the end drew near, the visits were more frequent and more of the family showed up. I lived across the country from them and would fly out every couple of months to give my sister a break. My sister told me that things were deteriorating but she was not sure of the timing. So, I decided I would come out and spend time with my mother and family anyway. Time with her alive would be worth so much more than if I waited to come after she passed, which would only be a formality for a memorial.
I am glad I came when I did because I was able to be at my mother’s side through the last 10 days of her life and it was so rich because there were no intrusions from medical staff trying to perform the next doctor’s order. There was no waking her up in the middle of the night for the next day’s x-ray. There were no pokes to do the oxygen level test; no having to start another I.V. into her fragile veins to be able to give her medications; no repeated intrusions upon her body’s integrity and dignity.
Instead, I was able to play the harp for her upon her many requests. We shared memories, pictures, and recipes. Our family even picked out a jigsaw puzzle to put together one piece at a time through the quiet hours to later be framed in a sort of remembrance to our mother/grandmother/friend/wife and all our participations in her life. We laughed and we cried. We hugged and shared. The time was rich, and our hearts warmed with the recounting of a life well lived. Friends stopped by and shared how she had impacted their lives. Some brought food to help us keep our nutrition going at times when we were more focused on our mother than the next menu.
My father was able to lay next to her instead of being ushered out of her hospital room. As she drew close to the end, we were able to spend all the time with her, not just visiting hours. In her final hours, we were able to quietly talk with her and assure her that she could now rest; she had fought a good fight and it was now time to rest. We let her know that we were all okay and she was free to let go and release. With her spiritual understanding of an afterlife, we encouraged her to be free to fall back into the arms of God that she anticipated meeting on the other side. With her blindness, we reminded her that the next moment she would see!
Her passing was sad and painful, but also very different and wonderful compared to most of the others I had observed throughout my many years of experience working in hospitals. As we talked among ourselves after the van left with her lifeless body, we all agreed that we were so thankful that we had taken this road with our mother. We chose a different road, “And that had made all the difference” as Robert Frost penned so many years ago.
Our thankfulness was also increased as we sat down with the funeral director that was taking care of our mother’s/wife’s body. My father had made arrangements 20 years previously for a funeral plan that was all inclusive for a fixed price. Instead of having to go through decisions of which plan and which options, and how much it would cost, the decisions had already been made 20 years before.
All he needed to do was to sign the appropriate forms for release and we were done. It was a relatively painless procedure with a very caring representative, projecting beautiful sensitivity