I got to hold my moms hand for a long time this morning. I slept on a couch at the hospice center. I woke up early. My dad and I held both her hands. We were stroking her forehead and telling her how much she meant to us, how much we loved her, how everything was going to be okay, not to worry about anything and how we were all going to be okay. When the nurse took out the tube that had been collecting the bile from her stomach, she squeezed my hand. She squeezed my hand. I got to tell her how it has been my greatest honor in life to be her son. I kissed her forehead and cheeks. They cleaned her and washed her hair. Her family was around her bed when she passed. My sister was stroking her face, my father was holding her and praying, my brother and I held either hand. It was peaceful. She passed feeling no pain, being cradled by the people she loved and she passed quickly, less than a day after the doctors told us there was no hope. There was no extended suffering. She married her soulmate. She never lived in an empty home. She never had to see her kids in the position she was in. She never had to see her own mother in the position she was in. Nor her sisters. Nor her soulmate. She is survived by virtually everyone she loved and she mourned little in life. She spent most her life on her terms, free to pursue anything she wanted. Free to bounce around with her ADHD, taking walks, gardening, baking baboon brownies for the employees at her favorite Starbucks, reading books, listening to Billy Joel, et al. She was a wealth of hope and love. It was her nature. And when she knew she was going to leave us, it came swift and mercifully. Knowing that she spent most of her life healthy and happy fills me with a tremendous amount of joy and gladness. The thing that absolutely destroys me inside is knowing that I got to hold my moms hand for a long time this morning... and tomorrow, I wont.
Posted on: Sat, 13 Sep 2014 18:41:07 +0000
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