“earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust”
My mother did not fear death. Nor did she fear suffering. She was the strongest woman I have ever known. Her faith was abiding and steadfast. So when she and God decided it was time for her soul to take flight, take flight it did, despite what the nurses said, despite what family and friends said. Gmamma had her own timetable for departure from this earth and it was one week to the day after she told Dr. Bhandari that she did not want further tests or treatments.
Gmamma was never the last one to leave a party.
That final week of my mother’s life was a hellish whirlwind. Denied hospice by Shannondale, she suffered in silence until Dr. Bhandari ordered palliative care. Even then, the pharmacies didn’t stock the prescribed medications, so Dr. Bhandari went to Walgreens the Saturday night before Easter with her scrip pad and wrote out a prescription for whatever they had on hand. We administered droppers of liquid morphine to supplement the transdermal fentanyl patch. And still the pain persisted.
Gmamma slept deeply and awoke on Easter morning, weak as a kitten. She sat all day in her favorite chair like a statue of herself. Monday she didn’t get out of bed except to go to the bathroom, because despite her opiate-induced stupor, she never lost her dignity.
There were tragicomic moments along the way – my sister and me dancing our mother from the bed to the wheelchair that my brother and I swiped from the nursing home (my brother-in-law has since returned it). Me lying in bed with Gmamma, whispering that it was all right to let go, that we’d take care of DooDaddy for her, to which she replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You people are confusing me.”
Monday afternoon she became agitated and saw old friends who have long since passed on. She thought she was late for a bridge game. “Who’s the fourth?” she demanded over and over again, dealing imaginary cards with a fluent motion of her hands.
A death rattle shook her chest Monday night and then early Tuesday morning, her breath stopped. And just like that she was gone. My sister was sleeping fitfully on the sofa and noticed the sudden silence. It’s hard to tell about these things, so Keeling called me just to be sure. I was already on my way over and went straight to the bedroom. There was a body there, but Gmamma had left the building. Our mother, our totem, our constant, our touchstone. Gone on from this world to the next.
I’ll never forget the agonized look on my father’s face when I told him the news.
Then came the haze of food and flowers – much appreciated – and the flood of faces wishing us well. I recognized the motherless among them by the look of profound empathy in their eyes. I had become a member of a special club now, no secret handshake required, just hugs and the shared experience of unspeakable loss.
I tried to do her justice in her obituary, but how do you capture a lifetime in a few paragraphs? I forgot to say she was a Girl Scout Leader and a Scotch drinker. That she loved cats, especially Richard Parker. That before she was married, she worked in advertising at Lavidge & Davis, subsisting on coffee and cigarettes. I didn’t specify that memorials might be made to the Music Fund at First Church. Then again, Gmamma would have considered all these details “too much of a muchness.”
The service was lovely and subdued, befitting a stoic Scots-Irish Presbyterian. As the bagpiper played “Amazing Grace” and walked slowly toward the hills, birds flew overhead. I think my mother bird was among them, wings spread, eyes on the horizon, riding the wind upward …
Just now I almost bought her raspberries at the grocery store before I remembered.
Rest in peace Jennie Dickerson Keeling Mansfield 3.29.16
Well said, sister. Mom left this world on her own terms and for that I am glad. Her suffering has ceased and she is at peace. I will think of Mom daily and try to “stand up straight” for her.
So well said Laura! I have thought of you everyday and my heart aches for you as I know all too well what you are going through. Sending you lots of love and hugs.
Beautiful tribute to your Mom Laura. My frail Mother remembers her well as a young college age girl.
Oh wow, such a heat tug to hear that … blessings and love to your mother. Loved seeing your face the other night. XXOOO
Laura, I pray for peace and serenity for you and your family. I missed the obituary, therefor the service. I am not yet a member of the lost mother club, but your strength, laughter and love…..I will remember. Love to your wonderful, kind father.
Thanks Cindy, Thad represented at the receiving, and we were delighted to see him. I will remember you to DooDaddy. He thinks the world of you and your family. So do we all. XXOOO
Love to you, my sweet friend. I’m so sorry that you are now a part of this club – I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But membership gives you an empathy and compassion for others that is our mothers’ last and lasting gift to us. Although I would give almost anything for one more day with Mama and to hear her sweet voice and feel the softness of her hand in mine, the lasting gifts she has given me strengthen and grow greater with time, and they sustain me. They will, too, for you – that I can promise.
Love to you, sister friend and fellow member of the motherless tribe. Such precious memories of your mamma. And mine. XXOOO
What a beautiful tribute to your mother. Continued prayers for you and your family.
Bless you. She was a beautiful lady, and, after years of trying NOT to be my mother, I now aspire to be more like her.
Laura, so beautiful… Beautiful in many ways!
❤️💪🏼❤️
Love you, Lois. XXOOO
Laura, you have inspired us all on your journey. I did not know Gmamma personally. You have made her a part of my life by sheer emotion and your gift of the written word. Praying comfort, grace and mercy surround you.
Lori, I feel like you did know her, because you have been on this journey with me. And I am so grateful for your company. XXOOO
Thank you for sharing the story of your mother’s passing so honestly. I’m sorry for your loss and wish you peace and acceptance in the tough days ahead.
XXOOO
I am so sorry for your loss she was so queenly..thank u for bringing her to light and sharing..
Queenly is the perfect word for Gmamma – Oh Dr. Cindy, you understood her so well!
I’m so sorry for your loss, Laura. Beautifully written.
Thanks, Julia. There’s a mom-sized hole in my heart, but I am grateful that she is no longer in pain.
lovely tribute and beautifully written, as always. continuing to pray for grace and strength to you and your whole family. love lance xo
Thanks, Lance. XXOOO