Nothing Left but Love

Forward "... These stories, like the one you hold in your hands, are prayer beads to be lingered over, to connect us to the big questions of our times: how to live, how to love, how to die and to forgive. This is a story to wonder about, to be troubled by, with the power to touch us and teach us." Holly Pruett Life Celebrant Chapter 1 Hospice Day “…waiting in a life full of stories for a death to come.” ~ author unknown Our entry into and exit from this world are the only moments when what is real, true and vibrantly important about life comes into undeniably, crystal-clear focus. And usually they happen in their own time, which is often not a convenient one. Especially the moment of death. It comes under no one's rule but Its own. While my sisters and I were moving along in our individual life streams each filled with our own trials and tribulations, my mom Wanda’s death forced itself into our lives. Chapter 3 Becoming Mom’s Mom “Parenthood… It’s about guiding the next generation, and forgiving the last.” ~Peter Krause The mom I most remember had amazing alabaster skin, beautiful freckles and strawberry blonde hair from our Celtic heritage. She could be very bright and bubbly and loved dancing, though her attempts at teaching me the Jitterbug failed miserably. She stood on a strong, 5’5” frame and always had the most beautiful, long fingernails. Mine have never been that strong. She enjoyed her career in medical technology and I know, in spite of everything, that she loved her family very much. March 15, 2013 Glenda’s Entry I arrived at 12:50 PM to see that you had eaten all of your lunch. You are still really tired. I spoke to your Hospice nurse who visited you at 10 AM. She said that you slept deeply through her entire visit. When I arrived, you were still sitting in front of your tray table. I cleared away your lunch dishes and helped you to the bathroom, then to bed. You rested until 3 PM when you moved to the red chair. You were hungry enough to snack on some yogurt, which you enjoyed. After that, you dozed until 4:44. Then you got really angry. You weren’t hungry because you had just eaten the yogurt, but you were restless and tired and tired of being tired and restless at the same time. You mentioned Dad about three times today. Then you were trying to tell me a story about a caregiver having something on her back and others were joining in. Something I had said sparked this conversation. You were having trouble finding your words. I never did understand what you were trying to say. I think you weren’t tracking well so the story kept morphing into other things. You continued to get more agitated and uncomfortable. I called your Hospice nurse and asked if some medication might help. She agreed it would and said she would call the staff med aid. A Hospice volunteer delivered a bedside commode for you. That created even more agitation. I finally figured out that you were worried about being billed for new equipment. I explained that your insurance paid 100% of the costs so you wouldn’t be getting a bill. Your staff caregiver brought you some Lorazepam at 5 PM. You started severely hallucinating around 6 PM or so. You got even more agitated and angry because you didn’t understand what was happening. You didn’t know where you were or how long you’d be there. It seemed like you thought you were in the hospital. You started saying that, “they,” (I think you meant the doctors or the hospital people) started in at noon putting some kind of screw in your neck. You were worried that your head would fall off. Then you started saying something was wrong with your legs and that they wouldn’t work. I touched them and asked if you could wiggle your toes. As you could feel my touch and wiggle them, it calmed you a little. Then you became angry because you felt no one was telling you what was going on. I think it’s because I left your room to talk to the Hospice nurse about a possible reaction to the Lorazepam. I told you that we were talking about your meds as they seemed to be making you more uncomfortable, but it didn’t really resolve your agitation. So, I sat on the bed with you and told you that you had heart failure and a brain disease and that your body was failing. I explained that the doctors, nurses and everyone here was doing everything they could to make you comfortable. Your reply was, “Well, it’s not working!” I said, “I know.” I told you this reminds me of the times you made me milk toast when I was sick and feeling miserable. You couldn’t make my sickness go away, but you could give me some comfort. I said, “We’re just trying to make you milk toast.”