Mom -- One year later

Mom died. That seems simple enough to say right? It seems like I’ve been trying to put into words what I can’t quite put into words…so forgive my rambles, but you’ve been warned. I've got about 5 pages of "stuff" I have to get out.  It's real, parts of it seem to be silly details and play by play...other parts of this bring me to tears.  It might not do that for you, but again, you've been warned.  I just feel like I need to share this...even if it doesn't help anyone else, getting it out will help me...just like so many times that updating the blog or facebook helped me.  In my head I replay, sometimes with entirely too much vividness and realness, something that I never want to see again and something that I never want to forget.  I am desperately seeking to hold on to something that I desperately want to forget.  I’m in a constant battle for my mind to forget something, but then I’m equally afraid I might forget.  I don’t know why I’m afraid I will forget…I haven’t forgotten much of those 30 months that happened before, I don’t know why I would start now.  Some days I think, I should write a book…I know what I would call it: “34 months”.  34 months is how much time we had from Dad’s original diagnosis until he died on July 15, 2013.  Do you know how much happened in those 34 months?  Enough to fill a lifetime, yet it was really only one small sliver of life.  But today, I’m not concerned with those 34 months, or even just one month.  Today I’m concerned with one little week…March 12, 2013-March 19, 2013.  Do you know that I can almost hour by hour tell you what happened that week? For some reason, I feel like I need to just get out the details that are important to me.  It may seem insignificant, but this is my way of processing just what truly happened and I just need to process this anniversary.  That week was one of devastation, crushed dreams, harsh reality, and anger.  Yet at the same time, it was tenderness, togetherness, reality, and love.

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.  He rescues those whose spirits are crushed." ~Psalm 34:18

That week started simple enough...Steven and I had gone through an IVF cycle and 3/12 was test day. We were very hopeful and I felt sure that we'd finally received a blessing. I went for the bloodwork and confidently answered the phone when the office called. Well, you know we don't have any children, so the obvious answer was a big, fat, negative. That glorious little ultrasound with the two tiny specks that Steven took a picture of that early morning of the procedure is all we had and all we would have. Devastated, I had to tell Steven. And then I told my Mom. We were heartbroken because I knew that was our last chance to celebrate a pregnancy together. She mentioned on the phone that day that she hadn't been feeling well. When we got home from work that night, I had the first of many meltdowns that would be March Meltdown 2013. Later that evening, Mom was in extreme pain and went to the ER. The next day the results of bloodwork were in and Dr. Cripe delivered the news that none of us were ready to hear, but knew was coming one day. The leukemia was no longer able to be controlled with blood transfusions and was taking over. I was at work when Mom called to tell me and went over to be with her. I remember crawling into that hospital bed with her and we just cried and cried."This just sucks, doesn't it? This effin cancer is gonna get me, isn't it?"  And sitting there in that room, I realized that against all will and hope against this "effin cancer", it was going to get her...and there was nothing we could do about it. She had fought so hard, battled through two incredibly critical ICU stays (where the doctors told us she was going to die SO many times), and here we were wondering what there was to fight. 

The next day, I couldn't face going in to work.  I woke up sobbing and Steven and I stayed home.  My mom came home on hospice that Thursday.  It seemed so surreal, knowing that she wasn't going back to the hospital again. I knew that people were going to ask me what was going to happen, and even though the truth is that I didn't really know, I knew enough that I was afraid.  I've seen children die from leukemia...I didn't want to watch Mom do the same thing.  That Friday, Amanda took Mom to Bingo.  Just the week before we had all gone and had a great time.  I debated about going, but had another commitment and Amanda said I wouldn't have wanted to be there...Mom was not herself and was out of it.  I'm so thankful that I don't have that memory and I'm so sorry that Amanda does.

On Saturday, the hospice nurse came out to do her evaluation and get Mom all signed up.  It took hours to do all the paperwork and the assessment.  The Gentiva Hospice was so very nice and worked to make sure that Mom had all the right equipment and medication.  The grandkids came out to visit that day and hopped all around the living room and gave hugs and loved on Grandma Mary.  That took a lot out of her and off to bed she went.  The thing was that between the fevers, she was good...she was "Mom", but when she had a fever, she was out of it....we'd find her walking without her oxygen, sitting on the side of the bed, or just sitting in the bathroom.  Dad wasn't 100% then either, so we made sure that he had help, but he still wanted to do as much as he could.  We were there on Sunday too. Doing whatever we needed to do, trying to figure out how to be normal. You could tell Dad was tired and stressed and scared. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew there wasn't much he could do either and he just wanted to fix her. Mom didn't feel like eating much that day, but you know what I remember? She wanted Taco Bell. I still have the note in my phone with their order. I think Amanda stayed the night that night. 

Monday they delivered all the hospice equipment--we already had just about everything from home care, but this was hospice now and it needed to come from that company and be billed that way. So out went the old hospital bed and oxygen tanks and wheelchair. In came the new hospital bed and oxygen tank and wheelchair. Mom said this mattress was better--the hospice nurse told us she'd ordered the best one, not that it means much since we were still talking about a hospital bed, but she was doing her best to make a difference.  This nurse was very nice and we all sat in the living room while she did her assessment and made plans for the week.  She was going on vacation the next week and we talked about who would be covering in her place.  After work that day, Steven came by to check on the farm and Mom said she wanted to see Steven, that she hadn't seen him  since she'd been home (even though he'd been there when she got home and over the weekend)...but he came in that night to say hello, and in typical fashion they said goodbye with "glad you got to see me".  That night I remember that Colleen Tennery came by with dinner.  Ever since Mom had been discharged in January, the Tennery's had regularly brought dinner to Mom and Dad and visited with them.  Mom was in the bedroom then and Colleen stopped in to say hello.  Mom was tired, but she was happy to see her and thanked her for bringing dinner.  That night I talked to Mom about Child Life week that was happening at work and told her I'd be at work on Tuesday.  We said I love you and good night. Of course, Mom said "be careful"...just like she ALWAYS did every time I left the house.  Granny stayed with Dad that night and I went to work that Tuesday morning. 

Tuesday. March 19th.  I went into work and knew that I needed to just wrap up some loose ends.  I filled out all the FMLA paperwork I needed and planned to stay home with Mom as much as I needed too.  I sent emails to people that needed information and tidied up details for events. I was not planning to get a phone call that day...but I did, from Curt.  He was at the house and Mom was not doing well.  Hospice had been out because Dad called for Mom's fevers.  They had had a rough night and needed some extra help.  What hospice found when they got out there was that Mom had declined rapidly and that she was still declining.  It was time to get home.  So phone calls were made and family was getting out there.  I remember I lost it.  I frantically called Steven at work and told him we needed to leave, but he didn't know if he would be able to leave right away.  Amber was there...I don't remember how she knew? Did Krista call her? Did I? I don't know, but what I do know is that she dropped everything so that I could get home while Steven wrapped up the patient's work he was with.  By the time we got to the atrium, there was Steven!  He had gotten done and was heading to Riley to get me.  So there we were, the three of us practically running to the car, probably looking crazy.  (As a side note, just a few hours later that day there was a shooter on the IUPUI campus and the entire campus, including the hospitals, were on lockdown...I don't think any amount of lockdown would have kept me in that hospital, just sayin'). We raced home in what seemed like the longest drive ever.  As we pulled in the drive, there was Joe, James, and Amanda.  Being there, but not really knowing what to do.  We were in shock.  All of us.  Hadn't she just been walking, talking, coherent Mom?  What happened, why was this happening?  Was. this. really. happening.?? We all scurried about trying to make sure everyone was updated and trying to take care of each other. Steven and Joe running an errand for Dad.  Running home to get a change of clothes. Someone grab cheeseburgers from McDonald's.  Don't forget phone chargers!  There were so many chargers plugged in at one point I'm surprised there wasn't a surge or something.  That day family and friends were in and out. Carla and Dave came with sustenance...what is it about fried chicken that always tastes fabulous when you need comfort?  In and out of that room, checking on Mom, holding her hand, talking, praying.  I know I got a little bit of a squeeze from her hand that day and I am so thankful for that.  Around the house, praying with friends and family, talking with loved ones.  There were many text messages, updates, phone calls that day.  The hospice staff was present, but not up in our business.  I remember at one point the house was FULL and she commented about how you could literally feel how much love was in the house.  That was so true.  At some point, we decided that we each wanted to have some private time with Mom.  I don't know what everyone said in those moments, but if it was anything like our "talk" it was heartfelt, gut-wrenching, and raw.  No amount of preparation can prepare you for this...even with the ridiculously accurate blue book (if you've been a part of hospice, you know that book.  The one that tells you about what to expect, but you don't really want to expect any of it).  Amanda and I each took pictures that day of our hands with Mom's.  There are some days I look at my hands and they look SO much like hers.  

As the time drew closer and closer, you could tell by her breathing.  Dad had been in and out of the room all day and had spent time with her alone too, but he was resting in his chair.  We knew it wouldn't be much longer and gathered in the room with Mom.  Dad sat right at the head of her bed.  Holding her hand.  We were surrounding Mom...holding her hand, rubbing her legs, there was an eerie quiet that wasn't exactly quiet.  Breathing became more shallow and infrequent.  There was a moment when Dad even took the toothette to wipe her mouth.  I remember saying it didn't matter if he used the toothette (meaning he could use a tissue), but he responded "it matters to me".  Simply meaning that it was important to him that she was comfortable and peaceful.  And she was.  As she drew her last breath, there was peace and comfort in the room surrounding all of us.  The thing about that last breath though, was that her breathing had become so shallow that we weren't sure it was her last one.  So those last breaths were the worst type of anticipation.  It was a heartbreaking anticipation of the last one coming.  It was awful.  I remember just praying over and over again for peace that surpasses all understanding.  Lord, please just keep her comfortable.  Lord, please don't let this be an awful death.  Jesus, please. Please, is it too late for a miracle?  Probably, but if it's not...but it is.  Lord, please, what am I going to do without my mom? Lord, please, where is this peace.  What am I going to do, how am I going to do this?  Is this happening? Oh, Lord, its happening now.  Breathe, Mom, please, isn't there another breath?  There's not.  She's gone.  Oh my God.  She's gone. no no no no.  When am I gonna wake up? I'm not.  This is real? And then, when we realized that she was gone...Gone to her eternal home.  With Jesus in Heaven.  It was strange, because there she was, but she wasn't really there.  Her body was present, but you could feel it was different. I remember Amanda and I helping the hospice nurse prepare Mom for the funeral home to pick her up.  I remember being picky about what she wore...seriously? Was that important? Yes.  It was important to us that she wore something that we were OK with not having, but that she was still comfortable in.  We made the awful calls and sent the messages we'd been dreading.  Then the funeral home arrived.  I remember laughing at the irony of them finishing their cigarettes in the drive before coming in.  And the debate about which door to use. And then the time had come for Mom to physically leave the house. And. We. Lost. It.  Not all, but most, by most I remember Amanda and I.  Whew!  Did we lose it.  With the most guttural cries and pleadings.  Of course, Dad didn't lose it then, because he needed to keep all of us together.  At one point, Dad and Curt were with Amanda in the living room and I remember "are you all right? STEVEN!  Melissa needs you right now, I think she's gonna pass out".  And there I was, almost passing out in the kitchen.  And there was Steven.  My rock. Helping me navigate all of this.  And there was Dad..."Sis, just relax, come on now.  You're going to be OK.  Just calm down."

What happened after that is another chapter, because that week was crazy and I swear was almost replayed just 4 months later like Groundhogs Day...what do you do after you go to the funeral home? Of course, Bob Evans (Thanks again Teri).  Not everyone will get that.  That's OK. 

What I will say is that over and over throughout these 34 months and throughout this year that has followed Mom's death, my faith has been tested.  I've been questioned several times...where is God in all of this? I've questioned it myself sometimes, but when I look at my life without faith and belief in God. it would be much worse.  I am comforted to know that Mom did have faith in Jesus Christ.  She knew that He was her savior and that she would be reunited with all of us in Heaven.  Thank God for that assurance.  I'm reminded of the Awesome Power of God through song, worship, and scripture AND through loving acts by friends, family, neighbors, and strangers.  I know that Time provides Distance, and that distance can lead to objectivity and clarity.  I'm not saying that it takes emotion out of it, but over this last year, there has been time that I've been able to see that assurance.  Even in my email this week; "Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way consider it an opportunity for great joy.  For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow." ~James 1:2-3

I don't know that I've felt that "great joy" necessarily, that is directly related to Mom's death...but I know that great joy is possible, and for that, I can be eternally grateful.