Coming Home to Die

Three years ago today, my mother came home to die.  Nine days prior

she suffered a massive stroke from which it was determined she would

never recover.  After the stroke, I refused to accept that she would not

recover.  I held on to every hope despite the palliative care physician's 

prognosis.  He sat with me many times during those nine days she

spent in the hospital, telling me about his wife who had just lost her

own mother.  I know he was trying to be kind, but I just didn't really

want to hear what he had to say.  He didn't know the woman my 

mother was.  He didn't know her strength and will to live.

I stayed with her all day every day during her hospital stay.

She couldn't speak.  She showed no signs of recognizing me or

where she was or whoever else came into the room.  For 

nine days she lay motionless with her only nourishment from

the saline IV drip spiked with morphine.

I talked to her.  I told her about current events.  I chatted about

everything except what was happening.  I couldn't accept the

impending death, so I chose not to talk about it.

Of course, I could not deny the truth forever and her

doctor told me that I must prepare for the end and either 

take her home or choose a nursing home for her final days.

Hospice would be there to help me.  I chose to bring her home.

I had not noticed that the azaleas had begun to bloom.  I was

living in such shock that nothing around me made sense nor

seemed important.  I went home to prepare her room.  A hospital

bed was being delivered along with an oxygen canister.  

The ambulance arrived at 4:00 pm followed by the hospice

nurse.  My mama was home at last.  It would be her last

twelve hours on this earth.  She passed away at 4:00 am on

February 21, 2014.

The days following her passing were dark and cloudy, much like

it is today.  While I didn't notice that the azaleas were blooming, I

could see that the leaves of our big Live Oak trees were falling 

like rain all over our property.  It was as though those

giant ancient trees were weeping.  

The last three years have been tough ones.  Mom and Daddy are both 

gone and my beloved Aunt Susan is too.  I have been forced to live in

a new world without my anchors.  

My pain is no longer as raw as it once was.  I have accepted my fate.

The leaves on the big old Live Oaks are starting to shed once

again.  New growth will follow.  We had a few days of a hard

freeze back in January and our beautiful ornamental ginger 

had to be cut down to 6 inches off the ground.  My caladiums

suffered too and only a couple of lonely little plants remain.

Next month I will plant new bulbs.  Our azaleas have begun to

bloom and in a few days they will be ablaze with their pretty

pink blossoms.  

I have been working out in the gardens, getting ready for spring

and telling Mom and Daddy about my garden plans.  I know they

are listening.  I have another plan too.  A plan that I know will

make them both very happy.  That plan is the answer to my

Mom's question for me .... "when are you going to write

your book?"  

The answer is now.

Big Texas Hugs,

Susan and Bentley