I've seen things

The last couple days of my mom's life...  don't quite know what to say about them.  I remember last Sunday when I came to her house and saw her slumped in the chair barely able to move after the medication fell out of her mouth and onto her shirt.  No one was available to change her shirt.  I asked my Dad if he would do it and he declined.  I did it.  It was the most awkward thing.  I had her told the clean shirt up to cover herself as I carefully removed the dirty shirt.  I planted by eyes next to her head looking at the back to her chair and was able to help my Mom be comfortable while preserving her dignity.  There are some things about your parents that you shouldn't know.  Like what an 80 year old body looks like while deprived of nutrients and exercise....  So there was that.

Then seeing my Mom in the hospital bed after she could no longer walk.  Laying there with her head cocked to the side and her mouth open as dying process began,  Seeing her struggle to open her eyes to look at me.  Hearing the unintelligible breath come from her mouth as she tried to say something.  

As the dying process continued, seeing her raise her eyebrows when she heard a familiar voice.  

Holding her hand and feeling her gentle squeezes become softer and softer until it was just her hand in mine.

On Monday night my Dad called and told me she had passed.  I came to their house and saw my mom's lifeless body laying in the bed.  Head cocked to the side.  Mouth open.  No breathing.  Turning an unusual color of yellow.  The oxygen concentrator still concentrating.  

The caregivers at their residence opened the window to their apartment so her spirit could leave.  There was no awkwardness or bad ju-ju in the room.

The hospice nurse came and did her evaluation and pronounced Mom deceased.  My Dad and I in the room.  Silent as we watched.  The nurse asked if Dad wanted the rings on her fingers.  He did.  I watched the nurse remove them.  Wasn't prepared for what I would see. The color blue (or was it black?) started at her finger tips and working it's way up her arm.  I had seen enough.

After a short time, the crematorium transport came with his gurney to retrieve the body for storage and cremation after the necessary permits were acquired.  The nurse asked if we wanted to watch.  Instead we left the room and went down to the lobby of their residence.  It was dark.  My Dad and I were sitting on a couch.  We heard the elevator bell ring and we moved toward the path the gurney would exit the building.  Standing near the door.  I held my arm around my Dad as the gurney made its way to the front of the building.  My Mom was either in a body bag, covered or both.  We followed the transport driver out and stood watching in total silence with tears streaming down our cheeks.  The transport driver secured the gurney into his vehicle (A Toyota Sienna minivan).  There was a place for two gurneys.  My Mom was the only one being transported at the time.  There was a dog sitting in the passenger seat.  I thought that was really odd.  

The driver closed the door to the van.  My father and I watched the van slowly exit the parking lot, make a right turn, watching in continued silence until the van disappeared down the road.  I spent a number of hours with him after that.  We looked at pictures of Mom projected on the TV and shared space together sharing odd cherished memories with each other.  

When I left in the early morning hours on Tuesday, I heard the strangest thing.  It was dark outside and the birds were singing.  I used to get up in the middle of the night to go to work to be at the airport at 0400.  There were never birds singing.  There were birds singing that night for me and my Mom letting me know everything was okay.

Now there are moments of extreme sadness coming from what I've seen over the last two weeks.  I wish I could unsee some of what I've seen.   

The death of a parent changes you in a way that only comes with the loss of a parent.  Life feels heavier.  More serious.  I am no longer my Mother's child yet I will always be her child.  I stand strong in the fog of death and lead everyone through this dark and unchartered part of life.  Hopefully I've done it with strength, care, kindness and compassion.  Gentleness, too.  I hope my mom is proud.

Has it been three weeks or two weeks?  Has it been six months?  Has it been longer than that?  Everything leading up to today has turned into a blur.  Watching my Mom decline over the last year has been something else.  Some of the caregivers shared videos of my parents starting with them moving in to their apartments.  And the decline is dramatic.  Going through the decline, I didn't realize the magnitude until seeing videos and photos of her over the last three years.  You don't see it when with someone day to day.  It's a slow slide. As my Mom declined she never got angry, mean or bitter.  She was always happy when she wasn't in pain and made it through each day being a kind, compassionate and gentle soul that she always was deep down.  A flower.  A delicate flower.  Giving joy to those she interacted with, even while under duress that comes from living with dementia.