Mom passed on January 15, 2019 from complications of ALS. I traveled out of state to be with her and my family this past year and more frequently in the months before her death. As a nurse I was able to care for her and teach my stepfather to care for her so she could remain at home as was their wish. I was also able to help coordinate hospice and other services they needed. It was a team effort that helped me feel closer to my parents and to my family.
My mom and I had, shall we say, a complicated relationship. I am pleased and at peace that I was able to get enough healing under my belt during the past decade or so, to be able to approach her and the difficult situation that is the dying process without agendas, anger or fear. I simply was present.
The last days were difficult and neither my father (I never call him step) nor I got much sleep as we worked around the clock to keep her comfortable. There wasn’t much time for writing or anything else for that matter. But the following is a random scribble I wrote on January 12th.
Saturday morning. It's so strange having conversations about silly, unimportant things. Laughing, figuring out logistics such as which bedroom I should sleep in now that more family will be arriving, and does she want more water. Will these conversations, her personality, be snuffed out soon? It's such an odd comprehension. One my brain has not fully accepted at this time. I have seen death many times. I have watched and participated in the dying process with many patients and their families. But when it's my mother, none of the old rules seem to apply.
My mom and I had, shall we say, a complicated relationship. I am pleased and at peace that I was able to get enough healing under my belt during the past decade or so, to be able to approach her and the difficult situation that is the dying process without agendas, anger or fear. I simply was present.
The last days were difficult and neither my father (I never call him step) nor I got much sleep as we worked around the clock to keep her comfortable. There wasn’t much time for writing or anything else for that matter. But the following is a random scribble I wrote on January 12th.
Saturday morning. It's so strange having conversations about silly, unimportant things. Laughing, figuring out logistics such as which bedroom I should sleep in now that more family will be arriving, and does she want more water. Will these conversations, her personality, be snuffed out soon? It's such an odd comprehension. One my brain has not fully accepted at this time. I have seen death many times. I have watched and participated in the dying process with many patients and their families. But when it's my mother, none of the old rules seem to apply.
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