Living without you: Day 1

There comes a point where the body is perhaps too exhausted and no matter how much chemical you pour into it, the damn thing just refused to cooperate.  No, I’m not talking about my mother.  She’s gone, you missed her.  

Last night I saw her change for the worse.  In matter of moments she made the transition towards being completely bedridden.  Well to me it was a matter of moments but I’m not a medical professional.  The morphine made her very disoriented and my mother was (in her better days) anything but confused.  I helped my father lay her down on the bed and make her comfortable.  I tried to lower the bed but she sat right up.  Eventually, she calmed down enough and we lay her down.  I leaned down and told her to stop fighting to let go and just go home.  She didn’t need to fight anymore.  

Earlier that night my dad had gone to the Friday night healing service at our church and the whole body prayed for her and our family.  I didn’t get to see this.  But I know that God does work all things for the good of those who trust him and are called according to his purpose.  Seeing her like that nearly broke me.  I’m not sure how I kept a straight face or a calm voice when I spoke to her.  This woman sitting before me did not bare any resemblance to my mother.  Eventually she fell asleep and just watching her mouth, open and gasping for breath broke my heart.  Before leaving I wished that she would just go home already.  

I drove away thinking that I would sleep in a little late before heading to my parents to stay with her so my dad could go do things he needed to do.  I didn’t expect to be greeted by my other half, kids, or my cats when I got home at half past one.  My cousin told me earlier that he woke up early in the morning because he had dreams of large gates made of gold which he could only surmise as the golden gates.  All day we’ve had an out pouring of love from family and friends.  So the day my mother went home turned out to be an amazing day with gorgeous weather and wonderful family and friends.  

I am exhausted.  As I sit here writing, her hospital bed is gone.  The hospital equipment that sat on the porch unused are also gone.  The oxygen sits silent with the wires piled on top.  The offensive sheets that had been used to wrap her body in has been removed from my sight.  All around me are pictures of her.  She smiles back from them all at various times of her life.  

I have wrestled with my decision to move back into her house with my family.  Now I know why I had to do this.  Yes, my dad and I need each others company in her absence.  But more than anything, I need to be surrounded by her things.  There are so many traces of her that will have to be removed.  But there is time enough for that.  Right now, I just want to let my heart throb and ache as her absence washes over me anew.  I want to purge the image of her slack mouth gasping for breath, her torso heaving, the sound of her wheezing as she tried in vain to do the simplest of things, breathe.  So I stare at her pictures and her smiles.  

Mommy, I miss you.  I have been loved all day.  I have touched your things, worn your things, messed up your kitchen, threw out your sheet, let your grandchildren make a mess out of your carpet, let the baby spill cereal all over your floor, and who knows how many other things you’d find wrong.  I would give anything to hear the sound of your voice or hear you laugh.  All I have are my memories and all those pictures.  I miss you.  I’m happy you’ve gone home.  I know one day we’ll see you again.  But this gut wrenching pain I feel when I stop and the silence falls around me is too unbearable.   

You know, God did give me beauty for my ashes.  Despite the pain and sorrow I feel at the loss of my mother, I got two and a half months to pour love into her.  We never had the ideal relationship.  But for the last two and a half months, we got the chance to love and cherish each other.  God gave me the chance to say good-bye and love her the way only a daughter can.  I am grateful for the time I got to spend with her.  The sound of her voice happily introducing me as her daughter to everyone at the hospital still rings in my ears.  I wonder, in the end, was she waiting for me to let her go?  Did she and God plan it all along, this perfect exit as soon as I was able to let her go? 

This is my first time writing without her.  Every entry I have made was written sitting beside her since this journey began.  Mom, I let you go because your father wanted you home with him.  Now I just got to figure out how to untangle myself from the throes of this grief that is squeezing the life out of my heart.