R.I.P. Mom

Most of my friends and loved ones have learned by now that my mother passed away: I'd like to share at least the parts of my beautiful experience I feel comfortable sharing publicly. So many more "God moments" occurred than I am describing here.

My stepfather Neil had been increasingly sick the prior three weeks or so and, when I called home Tuesday to say 'hello', a friend's voice answered the home phone and told me that Neil was in the hospital having had emergency surgery the night before. The added complication was that my mom had had multiple sclerosis for almost four decades and Neil had been her sole caregiver for the last seven years that she was bedridden. Mom and Neil's generous friends B., S., and H. were taking shifts caring for Mom in Neil's absence, then a home health aid was brought into the mix.

I was not planning to fly out, as we had just the night before purchased airline tickets for Chris and me and the children to visit California in mid-May. But that's when God in His mercy stepped in via a friend of mine who I believe responded to the nudging of the Holy Ghost. She emailed me Wednesday morning offering me one of her family's "non-rev" tickets (a low-cost ticket given to airline employees to distribute to whomever they want). It took me a couple of hours to move from brushing aside her generosity to thinking, yes, it would be a good idea for me to help take care of Mom in Neil's absence. I asked my husband about it that afternoon and he was immediately supportive.

I called home and the brand new home health aid K. answered the phone and was able to facilitate a phone call between Mom and me. She put the phone on speaker function and I was able to have what turns out to have been the last conversation I ever had with Mom. As background information, I will explain that her ability to speak had been slowly eroded over the years due to the MS. Over the years, I've been calling home and speaking more and more to my stepfather, my mom only participating for as much as she had a voice left. Neil and I always spoke on speaker phone in front of Mom and, for the last couple of years, Mom almost exclusively listened without being able to join in more than a sentence or two. But I'm told she still loved those calls from her daughter.

So, in that last phone call, I talked to Mom about how so many people who loved her were taking care of her, they were feeding her good food, and how Neil was getting stronger. Mom could only moan but they were clearly "happy moans." Then I said, "Mom, it's time for me to end our phone call," and her moans immediately became upset and anxious. So I soothed her for a couple more minutes with sweet talk and her moans were happy again. Then she was able to voice three words I was actually able to discern and which I will always treasure: "I love you." Those were her last words to me.

That night I packed a carry-on piece of luggage and experienced some more God moments that I share for His glory: we always need to be quiet enough to listen to the Holy Ghost whispering in our lives, and I listened to some things, not to others. While packing, I went to my bookshelf to select what books to bring. I thought I'd have several days of quiet reading time, spending many hours next to Mom's bed with Neil still in the hospital. My hand reached for my tiny black book, "Instructions and Devotions for the Sick, Dying and Deceased." Even as I pulled it from the shelf, I though to myself, "I don't need this book. Neil is recuperating well, he'll be fine. I'm not going to a death bed. Nobody is dying." But the compulsion was so strong to bring the book, that I did.

However, I did not follow strong nudges on certain clothing to pack. As I was packing my clothing, I felt an external source tell me that I should bring an all-black outfit. I even fingered my black knit skirt and thought, 'No, I'm not going to wear this winter-weight skirt in warm California. I'd be too hot! Ridiculous.' I felt a similar nudge to bring an outfit of grungy cleaning clothing, but I refused to do so because I was trying to pack everything in one carry-on and I felt three nice outfits would be more practical and could be worn anywhere: besides, I was not going to be doing any cleaning or manual labor. (I ended up wishing strongly I had both an all-black outfit and a grungy housecleaning outfit.)

I was at the airport by about 7:30 a.m. Thursday morning.

The two legs of the flight went about as well as they can go with a 12-month-old, unless she had slept blissfully the entire time. Family friend B. picked me up at the airport and delivered me to the hospital where Neil's car was still parked from when he barely got himself there Monday night and was ushered into surgery.

I had just enough time before getting to the house to relieve the home health aid at the end of her shift to stop in and visit Neil for twenty minutes or so. He was still very weak just more than two days since his surgery, but was recovering well and his color was good. He was so gladdened to see me and little Margaret.

Then I drove Neil's car to his and Mom's house, arriving at 5:30 p.m. and finding Mom taking a nap. I visited with the home health aid K. for 30 minutes and she gave me a description of the last two days. I found K.--a woman with six minor children at home and caring for her own elderly mother--to emanate love with her every move and word. In retrospect, I am so comforted to know that Mom was surrounded by three friends and loving K. during her final days when neither Neil nor I could be there.

My mom never woke up while I was there that evening. She never "met" her newest granddaughter Margaret in a conscious way. But K. and B. had been telling her all day that the baby and I were coming to see her and she had been able to smile in excitement. Everyone believes that Mom knew in her soul that I was "arrived home" that night.

I had a lot of pragmatic work to do that night. I had to unpack, email our worried extended family that I was here and give them updates and Mom and Neil, and get the high-strung but jet lagged baby to sleep. I had three phone conversations, first calls to an aunt and my husband. When describing to them that it was hard to see Mom in her most "retreated" state ever, each independently suggested I might benefit this week from calling Hospice and just asking a nurse what signs we'd see that indicate a final decline. I brushed off both people making the same suggestion, but in retrospect think that was God, in His graciousness, once again trying to give me a nudge (some might say a sledgehammer smack) about what was to come. Then I called Neil in the hospital and told him how hard it was to see Mom this way, and he and I had a good cry about it. But again, we talked about when the final decline would come as something in the not-immediate future.

It was then time to turn out all the lights and go to sleep after a long travel day. I had been sitting at the computer-and-phone desk ten-feet away from Mom, on the other side of a little partial wall. I went in to turn out her lights and found she had passed away peacefully in her sleep. I had walked through her living room and past her bed repeatedly that night as I bustled around, so I feel her passing had to have occurred within 30 minutes or, I believe, sooner.

The day was Thursday (April 12) within the Octave of Easter, on the seventh day of the novena to the Divine Mercy. My mom was 56 years old.

I'll keep private some of the details of that night. I will say that I had no idea what human panic, terror, and grief could feel like. Losing my mom reminded me of the feeling a child has when she discovers suddenly she has wandered too far in the department store, is now lost, and Is All Alone--except a feeling exponentially bigger than that. I had no idea what an anchor of a steady, loving presence Mom was for me even unable to move from her bed or to talk with me at length, until she was no longer there.

I was able to call Neil in the hospital, and he directed me to call 911 (which is protocol when a person has passed away). Then 911 was done with me, so I spoke with my aunt on the phone until the first responders arrived, then asked my aunt to start making phone calls through the family (including my own husband), knowing there was no way I could manage myself or even form words. Indeed, I was tied up with service personnel for about three hours--and let me add that they were all incredibly compassionate and I hope to be sending them all thank you notes for superior service.

Meanwhile, Neil had called our family friend B., who had spent every night here with Mom while Neil was in the hospital. She thought that would be her first night back in her own home, but she rushed to my side to sit with me through it all. After everyone had left and Mom's body was removed, I tearfully asked B. to spend the night with me and she laughed at me that I thought she'd be anywhere else.

Because I had been obedient to God's nudge to me to bring that prayer book for the deceased, within minutes of Mom's passing, I had remembered it, run to get it, and was able to pray the Catholic prayers for the dead next to her. The service personnel had to interrupt me many times with questions, but I'd simply answer, then plow ahead with the prayers.

The following days are a blur. I knew there was much work involved after death, but really had no idea. Even looking back, it is hard to say everything I did, but I know I was working nonstop for days, really only allowing myself to start to slow down the pace a few days later when my Aunt Alexandra arrived. In the meanwhile, my Aunt Erica told me that she'd be driving down that very next day and I told her no, no, she didn't need to trouble herself and take rare time off needed work. Well, as the day progressed, I was so glad my aunt shoved aside my protests like an annoying fly because it is totally inappropriate for a grieving person to be all alone and doing the work following a death. I couldn't even remember to meet my own body's needs and had to ask my husband to start making phone calls to me to be sure I had eaten, etc.

The very next morning (Friday), I had barely slept all night and realized I was awake so early, I could make it to 7:00 a.m. Mass. I called ahead to my friend T., guessing she'd be at church early, and she was (thank you, God): I was able to ask her to get to the priest before Mass and have him add Mom to his list of private intentions for the Mass--which he did. (And later I saw him on Sunday and he said he'd added her again that day!) As I pulled into the church parking lot, another car pulled in nose-to-nose with me and out stepped my maid of honor from seven years ago. What are the chances? She stood there jaw-dropped and I said out loud, "Thank you, God, for sending me A.!" She sat with me through Mass and afterward T. took me to breakfast, which was so useful physically and spiritually.

By Saturday, people were rallying. I had Aunt Erica with me, arrived the night before. Her adult son Ethan joined us as well. People brought us meals: B.P. breakfast, L.M. lunch, and J.D. dinner. And so many people were praying for the repose of Mom's soul: within about an hour of her passing, a priest-friend was praying the prayers for the dead. Dozens of my friends were praying. In the mere week since Mom's passing, so many Masses (private and public intentions) have already been said for Mom--including, mysteriously and miraculously (my Catholic friends will understand this), the public intention for the Divine Mercy Sunday at my in laws' parish, which somehow had not been booked in advance. Someone thought to inform our priest here at home about my mom and he emailed me from Rome, saying that he is remembering my mom's soul at Mass and at all the holy sites and saints' relics he is visiting (which, to a Catholic, has deep meaning).

On Sunday Aunt Alexandra arrived and Neil was released from the hospital. I had extended my stay from a plan to arrive home Sunday night to arriving home Wednesday morning. It was such a blessing to have Aunt Alexandra with us, not only for physical support, but because it was a beautiful thing for the three of us to share so many spontaneous joyful and tearful conversations remembering Lisa as wife, mother, and sister.

I like this photograph because it captures how Margaret (since she was old enough to have the fine motor control) tugs her hair when she is comforting herself, either at moments of stress or when she is nursing to sleep.

On this trip, Margaret remained standoffish to Aunt Erica, Grandpa Neil, and everyone else we visited, but she quite fell in love with Aunt Alexandra. What a gift from God because I was barely sleeping and was a wreck, living on candy and caffeine all week, so Alex was able to play with the baby for snatches of time so I could at least lay down and close my eyes.

Margaret found the stash of high-quality chocolates that Neil always kept in the house for my mom with her sweet tooth (a sweet tooth but one that didn't go slumming!). I found that Margaret had gnawed through the foil wrapper on a chocolate bar and was sucking out the melted sweet nectar of expensive chocolate and she was then hooked. More than once she snuck back into the unlocked cupboard and gnawed through more foil, so I told Neil about it so he wouldn't think rats had gotten to the candy!

It was such a gift that I could extend my stay and spend more time with the family, remembering Mom. There will be a Celebration of Life for her later and we will remember her then, but that isn't the same, nor does it replace, the spontaneous and immediate remembering happening in her very own house. I did miss my family terribly, having never been away from them even close to six whole days. I'm glad that is not a normal thing for me. The kids did beautifully with Daddy, and they shared with me some humorous stories of misadventures.

Margaret and I took the Tuesday night red eye home. It was about as brutal a flight home as the flight out had been peaceful. Unfortunately, I was stuck next to two intoxicated women who were almost removed from the airplane, but the judgment calls were made not only to let them continue riding but to keep serving them alcohol for the whole overnight flight. They spent the flight carousing loudly and cursing the vilest of words in literally almost every sentence. I was too emotionally fragile to manage any conflict at all, so merely curled up in a ball with the sleeping baby in my arms and prayed for them to find their way out of such a distressing state of living.

It was with such joy I got to hug my family again. I was one bedraggled mama and fell on my knees to hug my babies. I was so happy later to have the privilege to do something so simple as don my apron and cook my son's favorite homemade macaroni and cheese.

The outpouring of flowers, prayers and Masses, and meals (including women feeding my husband and children while I was gone) has been tremendous and affirming. Knowing that I grew up my entire life knowing my mother would die an early death, I am shocked at how much grief I am feeling nonetheless. It is quite unmooring. My productivity is minimal, I'm barely sleeping, am having nightmares when I do sleep, am eating like it's going out of style (bye-bye all the progress of the post-baby diet!), and am crying. I guess all of that is well within Normal. It wouldn't be called grief if it was normal and happy like usual.

We'll be back in Davis for the Celebration of Life at the end of May (when we were scheduled to be there anyway). The obituary for Mom (Lisa Baldwin) will appear in the local paper on Sunday.

Thank you for your prayers!