Letting go

Two years ago tonight I was struggling with the culmination of events that began in 1996. I know I wasn't instrumental in bringing it all smoothly to closure - that was my brother's role. But I still went through it all, myself. I am still dealing with it.

When we realized my father had Alzheimer's, it was a devastating revelation that took years to play out. But at least there was an end point. It was a knowable quantity. I could research and read. I could prepare myself for the ultimate outcome. I was relieved when it finally arrived, though the journey took a terrible toll. That was November of 2000.

When we realized, however, that my mother would be incapacitated by the loss of my father, we (or maybe just I) had no idea what to expect. She had denied so many things for so long, it was difficult to have a real conversation with her about it all. At least she was clear about what she did NOT want, and in the end, that was our saving grace.

When she admitted her need for full-time oxygen, and when she found a sort of housekeeper/care provider, we thought things would improve for her. But then the inexplicable pain started. And like so many other aspects of her personality, her struggles, it was hard to measure the accuracy of her descriptions. It was hard to assess how we could possibly help her manage and improve. The trips to the emergency room continued, as did the visits to specialists. She grew weaker, more exhausted. And the pain got worse.

I thought I had prepared for the worst - the one thing she did not want, the one thing she might have to face - time in a nursing facility to recover from surgery to relieve the pain that cascaded from her back down through her lower extremities. Through unspoken agreement, my brother and I set up the treatments to alleviate her immediate and acute issues, all the while hoping she would forgive us for the required intermediate steps to get her back home, where she ultimately wanted to be until she died. But we did not count on events getting out of our control.

Two years ago today, on a recovery floor in Mercy hospital, my mother apparently suffered from a post-op infection that went out of control. She had had back surgery. I had been with her two days earlier for an abbreviated visit (I had a cold coming on, and didn't want her to get sick), and saw that she was in, impossibly, even more pain than I had witnessed in the days before her surgery. She said she didn't feel well, and lied to the 'attending' about doing her recovery therapy that day. But I had chalked it up to her delicate emotional state - the fact that she was just tired of it all. My brother saw her the day following her surgery, and was with her the next morning - the 20th - with plans of my alleviating him later in the afternoon. We were in for the long haul, and expected many lengthy days at the hospital or nursing home. I was conserving my energy.

But then her fever made itself known through mild but growing hallucinations. When it spiked my mother was swiftly moved to the ICU (thanks to my sister-in-law, who finally made the staff take action). But it was too late.

The decision to let her go, ultimately, made sense, but it was a crushing decision nonetheless. I have to say, in addition to my brother's clarity and my sister-in-law's unwavering and loving presence, the thing that saved me was the nurse in charge of my mother's care. She told me to do what my mother would want, not what the doctors, the nurses, or even I would want. Two years ago tomorrow, my mother finally joined my father.

My brother and I, and our spouses, made it official the following June, when we let their remains go off together in the warm waters off Astwood Cove, Bermuda.

The trauma seems to have passed. I talk about it less, and think about more of the positive aspects of our relationship, and of her good and memory-building time with J. But it's here with me tonight. I want to mark it down to say, "I haven't forgotten you, Mom." Though this time takes me back to a place of tremendous grief, I want to stay connected somehow. I hope it makes sense...