LOSING MOM - Part 5
THE MIDDLE OF THE BEGINNING OF THE END
So this is the point when my story actually becomes our story - mine and my sisters. Our shared experience of the weeks leading up to our mother’s death began in earnest that afternoon when Sal and Lib walked into mom’s hospital room.
Of course, we didn’t know yet that she was nearing the end, but even so, seeing them come through that door made me absolutely teary with relief.
And the look in Mom’s eyes when she saw them...oh, if only there was a way I could have bottled it up and stashed it away for safekeeping.
I’d give anything to see it again.
There was definitely something about having the three of us together that Mom drew strength from. One time in particular, after she was diagnosed with lung disease and was told she’d have to be on oxygen the rest of her life, Sallie, the daughter-on-call, was worried Mom wasn’t bouncing back like she normally did.
“I don’t know, you guys,” she said to Lib and me on our daily phone call, “there’s something in her eyes I haven’t seen before. Like she’s given up. I think maybe you should come.”
And so we did. I got there first, and could see right away what Sal had meant. There was a dullness in Mom’s eyes, dimming the spark that I was so accustomed to seeing. And then Lib arrived, and I swear, within a few hours of the three of us being there with her, we saw signs of our real mom coming back.
Her eyes brightened up. She smiled a little. She tried to eat something.
And even though it took a few weeks, Mom did manage to bounce back. Not all the way back, mind you - after every hospital visit she tended to reset at what we would come to see as her ‘new normal’.
But somehow the combined presence of her three daughters rebooted Mom's spirit, energizing her in a way that no medicine ever could.
I guess it makes sense now that I think about it. When our dad died 25 years before, he left the four of us stranded together trying to figure out how to fill in the enormous hole his sudden absence had created. Through our shared grief we would often seek each other out - finding ways to get together despite the fact that we all lived in different parts of the country.
And through these 'get-togethers' our grief, as grief is wont to do, slowly but surely ebbed and shifted, making way for something that the four of us might never have known without it.
But then sadly Mom’s health began to decline, and we seemed to be getting together more and more often when she was in the hospital. In fact, it was happening so often that we jokingly dubbed ourselves the K-Team, after Mom, whose first name was Kay.
Mom was, obviously, the CEO, it being her life and all. Sal, due to her medical knowledge, became the CTO, and Libby, who was really good with financial things, the CFO.
My life skills were somewhat more ambiguous, but being a Capricorn I've been known to be pretty organized, so COO seemed a good fit for me.
Kind of silly, I guess, but as we navigated the big and little bumps along our aging mother’s path, we found that our designated roles helped us remember who was in the driver’s seat when, which gave the rest of us a chance to let go of the wheel and take a break.
Of course, my sisters and I are all horrible backseat drivers (just ask our husbands!), so I have to confess the system wasn’t always perfect.
But on that Sunday afternoon, as Sal and Lib wrapped their arms first around Mom, and then around me, it was more than perfect.
And all I could think was how lucky I was to have them.
How lucky we were to have each other.
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 are the links to the others I've written so far. Thanks!