LOSING MOM - Part 23
At first we thought Mom was just worn out from all the birthday activity, so weren’t too alarmed when she slept all afternoon. We weren’t even that worried when we tried to wake her for dinner and she only stirred enough to shake her head weakly when we asked if she was hungry.
Even when she didn’t wake up when we kissed her goodbye before slipping out for our own dinner we weren’t overly concerned, nervously joking as we walked to the car that we hoped her birthday party hadn’t actually killed her.
It wasn’t until I popped back in after dinner to check on her and see who the night nurse was that my antenna started to go up. Mom was still sound asleep and, again, didn’t stir a muscle when I whispered in her ear that I was there.
Hmmm...I thought to myself. This is getting a little worrisome. Has she been asleep this whole time? I wonder if anyone’s been in to check on her?
Glancing at the clock I saw that it was close to 9:00, so I knew someone had to have been in to at least give her the 8pm pain medication. Curious, though, to know if she’d been able to wake up enough to even take it, I poked my head out the door to see if I could find someone to ask for an update.
The hallway was strangely busy for that time of night, with many unfamiliar faces milling around what looked to be an empty nurse’s station. Some sat in chairs talking in low voices while others paced nervously up and down the hall, their pale, drawn faces pinched with worry. I guessed that there must have been a late admission, maybe even more than one, and knowing that the nurses and aides would be busy dealing with all that entailed, I stepped back into the room, closing the door behind me so the noise from the hall wouldn’t disturb Mom.
I settled myself into the recliner and pulled out my phone, sending a quick text to Sal and Lib, who had headed back to the apartment after our dinner:
“Mom resting peacefully. Didn’t wake when I gave her a kiss. Very busy here tonight so I’m going to stay for a while. xoxxo”
Pushing the seat back as far as it could go, I covered myself up with a spare blanket and tried to get comfortable, figuring I should get some sleep while I could. But no sooner had I closed my eyes, than I heard Mom groan and, unable to find the lever to get the seat back up, clumsily climbed over the footrest, catching myself on the end of the bed as I stumbled to her side in the dim light.
Mom was trying to sit up, her crooked hands shakily reaching for the water cup, her eyes wide with panic.
“Water,” she croaked, her voice so scratchy and weak it was hard to understand. Anxious to help her, I grabbed the plastic cup and awkwardly tried to position the straw between her dry, puckered lips.
“Okay, Mom, here you go.” She sucked in feebly, then paused to swallow, her throat muscle pulsing with the effort. Taking another sip, this one a little stronger, she closed her eyes briefly, her panic of a moment before subsiding as the water cooled her parched mouth.
“A little more?” I urged.
She nodded her head, and took another little sip, then slowly leaned back on her pillow, the straw slipping out of her mouth as she lay back. I held it in front of her a moment longer, just to be sure she’d had enough, before carefully placing it down on the tray table.
I pulled a chair up close to the bed and sat watching as her face relaxed back into sleep, though her bent fingers continued to grip the edge of the tray table. Scared to move back to the recliner in case she wanted more, I considered crawling into bed next to her in order to try and get some rest.
Would that be weird? I wondered. It wasn’t like Mom and I had ever been big snugglers, so having me suddenly curl up next to her might be a bit over-dramatic, like that scene in the movie Love Story when Ryan O’Neil crawled into Ali McGraw’s hospital bed just before she died. But I’d seen Libby do it a couple of times, both in the hospital and at Hospice, and Mom hadn’t seemed to mind, so I grabbed the blanket off the recliner and cautiously lay down next to her tiny, frail form.
Turning my body to face hers, I gently rubbed her shoulder so she’d know I was there, my mind all the while arguing with itself whether this was a good idea or not.
There’s not enough room! You’re making her uncomfortable!
But I’m so tired! I need to get some rest!
This is ridiculous, Peggy. You’re just trying to be like Libby. This is just not you!
But she's my mom! I just want her to know she’s not alone!
The thing was, Mom had never been the kind of mother who would snuggle up with me on the couch to watch TV, or wrap me up in her arms in a big bear hug. A kiss on my cheek when I came down in the morning, a quick hug when I left for school, a cool hand on my forehead when I was sick...those were the ways I remember her touch.
In fact, it wasn’t until after I was married and had children of my own that I started to see Mom as someone I could talk to about things. Growing up, Mom was always so busy - running errands, playing tennis, volunteering for countless worthwhile causes. Don't get me wrong, she was a good mom and always there for us, but definitely not the kind of mother who I would sit on my bed and share secrets with.
When I was around 13 I woke up one morning with a thrumming, unfamiliar ache in the bottom of my belly. It was an odd pain - nothing I could put my finger on. I didn’t feel like throwing up, but it hurt enough for me to go downstairs to the kitchen where Mom was cooking breakfast and ask if I could stay home from school.
She looked at me suspiciously, but then nodded her head.
‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘But no TV. If you really don’t feel well, then you can stay up in bed.’
I quickly turned away, padding back up the green carpeted stairway to my room before she could change her mind. Crawling into bed, I curled up as tight as I could, hugging my knees into my chest to try lessening the pain.
Perhaps I dozed off because the cool pressure of Mom’s hand on my forehead startled me from sleep.
‘I’m running to the store,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling?”
‘The same,’ I murmured. ‘My stomach hurts a lot.’
She disappeared into the hall bathroom, returning quickly with the waste basket and put it next to the bed.
“Just in case.’ she said. “I won’t be gone long.” And with a swift kiss to the top of my head she disappeared down the hall.
I lay there for a minute trying to figure out if throwing up would help. It didn’t feel like that kind of stomach ache, but it was definitely a real pain, low and dull. Maybe a bath will help, I thought, and pulled myself out of bed.
Sitting on the toilet as the tub filled with hot water, I stood up to wipe and stared at the toilet paper in my hand. What is this? Confused to see brown streaks smeared across the white tissue, I looked in the toilet to see if maybe I’d had diarrhea without knowing it.
At the sight of even more brown streaks trailing in the water, my heart started thudding in my chest as the realization slowly dawned on me what was happening.
Oh my god! It’s blood! This is my period!
I didn’t know what to do. Even though Mom had, a few months earlier, given me a box of Kotex and a garter belt, she certainly hadn’t shown me how to use them. All I could remember from the awkward conversation was her telling me very matter-of-factly that once I got my period I’d be able to have babies, which was probably the only thing I did actually know.
Stuffing some toilet paper into my underwear, I went out into the hall to see if I could find the supplies in the big linen closet where I knew Mom kept such things, and much to my surprise found her standing in front of it, looking for something herself.
I wanted to tell her. In my mind I could hear myself saying, Mom, you’re not going to believe this! I just got my period! What should I do? But the words wouldn’t come. I stood there paralyzed in front of her, somehow embarrassed by this intrusion of womanhood on my body.
“Peg, are you okay? What’s wrong?” She looked at me worriedly, and I wished I was braver. I could feel the words in my mouth, but they were stuck. They just wouldn’t come out.
“Nothing, Mom. I’m fine.” I turned around and went back into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
So, no. Mom had not been the warm and fuzzy, you-can-tell-me-anything kind of mom. Or maybe she was and I was just too shy to know it. Either way, it didn’t really matter...I never once doubted that she loved me.
And as I lay there next to her arguing with myself, I realized that the awkwardness I was feeling perhaps had less to do with Mom and more to do with me. Maybe I was uncomfortable because I didn’t really like to snuggle either! In fact, I couldn’t remember myself ever curling up with one of my kids, or wrapping any of them in big bear hugs.
How funny, I thought, no wonder this feels so weird! It’s not Mom I’m worried about...it’s me!
Just then she opened her eyes and, with our faces just inches apart, looked at me and whispered, in a voice so raspy and thick it was hard to understand, “It’s time to stop.”
“What? Stop what, Mom?”
But she couldn’t seem to find any other words, and just kept repeating the same ones over and over, “I want to stop. It’s time to stop.”
Oh my god, my mind was racing as I tried to make sense of what she was saying. Is she trying to tell me she wants to stop living? Right now? Oh my god!
‘Okay, Mom. It’s okay. You can stop whenever you want. It’ll be okay.” God, was I really telling my mother it was okay to die? It felt surreal...like I really was in a movie scene, but one I had agreed to be in without reading the script all the way to the end.
Did I really want to be lying next to my mother when she died? No! Absolutely not! What had I been thinking? But I couldn’t very well step out of the scene before it was over - that would be horrible of me. So I just lay there, rubbing her shoulder, promising that everything was going to be okay. She could stop whenever she wanted.
Luckily, unlike in Love Story, Mom did not actually die right then with me awkwardly lying next to her. She fell back to sleep, and when the aide came in to check on her a little while later, I gratefully, albeit a little embarrassedly, slipped out of the bed.
“I think I’m going to spend the night,’ I whispered to her as she carefully lifted the covers to check Mom’s brief. “Do you think that would be okay?”
‘Of course! Family are always welcome to stay over if they want. I’ll bring in a cot and get you all set up.”
She disappeared out the door, and minutes later was rolling in a freshly made twin-size cot, with extra blankets and pillows stacked on top.
‘Wow!’ I exclaimed. ‘That looks comfy!’
“Well, some people say they actually prefer the recliner’ she admitted as she unfolded it and pushed it up against the wall. “But some people say it’s fine,” she added quickly, “at least you can lie down all the way.”
I left her to finish up with Mom and went out to the hall to call Sal and Lib.
One of them, I can’t remember who, picked up on the first ring.
“Is everything okay?”
‘I’m not quite sure,” I admitted, tears welling up in my eyes when I realized how scared they must have been to see my number on the caller ID so late at night. “Something’s definitely changed, though, so I think I better stay with her tonight.”
‘Okay. Do you think we should come back?”
“I don’t know! She keeps talking about wanting to stop so I’m scared to leave her alone. But I’m not sure we all need to be here. Maybe we should just leave it that no news is good news for now?”
Promising to call if anything changed, I hung up and stared blankly out the dark window while I waited for the aide to finish getting Mom ready for bed.
*Note to Reader: This is a story in progress, so I am sharing it as I write it, as a way to spur me on. If you're interested in following along, here is the link to the others I've written so far. Thanks!