Mom’s Loss

Isn’t it interesting how the tables turn in the blink of an eye?

I’m guessing in your mind’s eye you can see that 10 or 20-year younger version of yourself. For some of us, we can say 30 or 40-year younger. No matter, the point is well taken. While in my forties, I commonly said how did I get to be my aunts’ & uncles’ age? Looking back, I find it strange that I didn’t say my parents’ ages. I suppose I considered them in their younger version, too. During those years, though I may have thought about the future, I don’t recall giving much attention to the day my parents would be my grandparents’ age.

As a nurse, I’m accustomed to difficult conversations, the ones that few of us want to approach. Conversations such as, please remember to have the doctor turn off the AICD (automatic internal cardiac defibrillator) when you change your dad’s status to DNR (Do Not Resuscitate), or who do you want at your bedside as you take your last breath? and do you want locks of hair and hand/footprints for memories? All in a day’s work? Hardly. Those conversations molded who I am today. I’m better prepared now for life’s difficult terrain.

Or am I?

Returning to the US from retirement in Colombia South America has been a true journey, not just in terms of miles, but in many unexpected side trips. Despite all the travels we’ve done in the last few years, we’re unprepared to help her with the journey we’ll all one day make.

The most recent learning opportunity came as another loss for my mother. The once vibrant, fiercely independent woman who made her way, mostly on her own for 90 years is now frail and forgetful. Her car keys are on the kitchen counter, her beloved Honda Civic detailed and ready to be sold. Her ‘wheels’ are gone — forever. Just as are one son, both her parents, 2 husbands, 7 siblings, and most of her friends. Mom is comfortable and well cared for in our home. We’re kind, compassionate, respectful, and as empathetic as we can be with her. And yet. We have no experience with the rocky landscape we’re now entering with her. Her heartbreaking look accompanies her now-common refrain: “Why can’t I go now? I’m ready.”

I have no answer.