I've never been one to drag out goodbyes. I'm the type that will drop someone at the airport door rather than go in and wait for them to leave. I'm the one that doesn't give a last backward glance as I'm leaving. I just don't like saying goodbye to anyone.
Yet, here I am again saying goodbye to someone I love dearly. This time it's my mother, who is losing her battle with dementia.
Just over two years ago, I sat in the same building saying goodbye to my father who lost his own fight with the same illness. At the time, I couldn't envision having to do it again even though my mom had already been diagnosed. I guess I thought I'd have more time with her.
My dad left my world very quickly. Although he'd been ill, once he was declared palliative he was gone within hours. Not so with my mother. My sister and I have been by her side for 6 days, watching her slowly fade from us.
And it really is slow. She has remained in the same unresponsive condition for the last four of those days. She is stubbornly clinging to life, and it is heartbreaking and painful to witness.
We always used to say that my father was the stubborn one, and blamed it on his Cape Breton roots. Whenever I would dig my heels in on something, I'd be told I was just like him. Well, now I'm thinking that some of that stubbornness and determination just may have been passed along from my other parent.
Even in her unresponsive state, she clearly knows what she wants and what she doesn't. When the care team puts pillows behind her legs or between her feet to prevent pressure sores, my sister and I make a bet as to how long before she wriggles around enough to get rid of them. Her average is 15 minutes. She always hated too much stuff around her sleep space. When it's time to turn her onto her side we give each other a knowing look because we know she will manoever her way onto her back again. Average reposition time of 4 minutes. She hates having those sponge things put in her mouth to prevent dryness, and clamps her lips shut as soon as she feels it. She is one determined lady.
In the last six days, my sister and I have had a lot of time to reminisce. It's funny how we can both have such different memories of the same person. I suppose we both had a different mother in some ways. My mom was in her late 30s by the time I came along and dad was 40, so my sister had the younger, more energetic parents. I had the "embarrassingly old" parents (at least in my mind at the time). Her mothering style was much more fun for my sister than for me. Of course, I was likely more of a handful to deal with. I wish I'd had as much time with my parents as my sister did, but at least I made it through my forties before losing them.
For hours on end, my sis and I have sat together by our mothers bed telling each other "Mom" stories that the other never knew about, laughing over some and crying over others. Once or twice I swear I saw her mouth turn up into a little grin when we talked about some of the funnier things. Yet, although we desperately would love to keep our little circle of three, it's time for us to become just a really small gang of two now.
We've tried everything to help our mom make this transition. We've told her over and over that it's okay to let go. We agreed with the staff to increase the morphine and dilaudid and to take no measures to revive her. We've assured her that we will look after each other, we've forgiven her for anything she may think she'd done wrong. I even sang to her. Anyone who has ever heard me sing would think that surely that would do it.
Yet she stays. And once more I find myself trying to will someone to say goodbye to me, even though I hate goodbyes. Especially long ones.
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