Well, my mother passed away. She made it to 92. Her inability to live mostly on her own ended right as the pandemic was starting to radiate out from China. While she did not die from Covid-19, she did not last through it.
She never fully appreciated the scope of the pandemic nor did she appreciate that the mere fact that her children visited her regularly was so very rare in this pandemic era. She even overlooked that for much of this time we were masked and distant when we sat with her. Mercifully, in the last several months with vaccinations, hugging her or even holding her hand or patting her arm returned to restore some of the tactile signs of love.
Mom hated being the center of attention but loved being in the center of her family. Her walls and counters were filled with pictures of family.
She loved to bake and yet she tried to avoid eating what she baked. When I was older I joked that it wasn't until I moved out of the house that I realized that cakes and pies didn't come with a tiny sliver missing. Mom seemed to love that memory.
She adored cats. She wanted a dog but realized that was beyond her in her old age.
Holidays and birthdays were cooking and family events. I kept my mouth shut for decades when mom caught Sandy, the family cat, up on the kitchen table with a big piece of chicken from the platter in her jaws. Everyone blissfully enjoyed the chicken--minus one piece that the cat had plucked out.
Mom loved World War II era movies because that's the era she grew up in. And she felt guilty for liking movies set during such a horribly violent event.
Mom went to work at a young age and kept going until she retired.
She treasured her collection of tea cups and saucers.
Until recently, she knitted and crocheted. She made many hanging kitchen towels as gifts. And she made kitchen dish scrubbers for gifts, as well. For charity she knitted children's caps. She needed no credit to do the right thing.
And she was never tempted by phone scam artists. In that moment, she was sharp. They picked the wrong mark for their crimes.
Mom ended up making it longer than my dad. Mom's end was different.
Dad suffered a long decline from dementia. By the end he recognized his wife and children, but could not put names to us. He struggled the longest to keep mom's name with him. But other than that he faded within himself to a place unknown to us, unable to really communicate much beyond rote scripts, really. He could seem outgoing even to strangers until right before the end. But he could not move past that into real interaction.
Mom's decline was more rapid but different. She did start to get dementia recently. But her biggest problem was the end of her short-term memory. She was in many ways very sharp until they end. She joked and smiled with her doctor and the medical and support staff who came to check on her. They were often quite amazed at her mental abilities and thought she was quite content and capable physically of going on--with the normal assistance you need as you age, of course. Mom lived in the moment, as someone I know observed. In those moments she was able to seem happy and cheerful.
But her family saw her bleak side of negativity. For us she so often showed a face of loneliness, anxiety, and helplessness. Her memory loss made her feelings seem real. She did not remember the many family visits and phone calls. She did not remember the many staff visits to help her with the things she could not do. She did not remember the things she could do for herself.
Instead of memory, she based her life on her fears. She truly believed she was alone and helpless, with only her cat. My sister and I fielded many calls that were literally calls for help. It broke our hearts. But having even more people coming through could not pierce that veil of memory loss. Even if someone was sitting with her all day, I know she'd come to think that until that moment she had been alone. And wonder why that was so.
We were helpless to combat that effect of memory loss but kept trying anyway. Even though in some ways it seemed like our visits brought on the darkness and snuffed out mom's ability to feel the joys of the moment. My sister especially, who bore the burden of living closest to mom, was outstanding in her loyalty and ability to help and cope.
In the last weeks of mom's life I often gave up on convincing her she wasn't really alone. I'd just try to give her hope for improvement. I'd tell her, "Maybe tomorrow will be better." I had little hope that it would be so. But I wanted mom to at least have that hope.
I had spoken with my mom just an hour and half before she died. She was anxious. And wanted family visits. But she seemed as well as she had been for several months now. She passed out while walking to her chair, in the presence of a staff member who mom adored. The woman caught mom and lowered her gently to the floor. My sister was actually on her way to visit mom when she got the call that mom had passed out. Death came quickly after that, without signs of fear or despair. We at least have that.
And I'll take care of her cat and make her mine, which I promised I'd do.
Now that she is with God and so much of her family, I am finally sure that her tomorrows will be better.
Goodbye mom. Like dad and grandpa, I will always--if it is within my power--remember you and be thankful for you.
