Haunted
It’s just over 2 months now, since I lost my mom. Sometimes when I’m having a hard day, it helps me to remember that it really hasn’t been that long, and it’s normal for me to still be so heartbroken about this whole thing. I’m tired of her being dead. Tired of it.
One thing I’ve noticed in this whole process of grief, is that I’m ok with most of it, or getting there at least, but what makes me the most upset, what brings tears to my eyes any time I think of it, and makes me want to choke (I think only those who have gone through serious grief know what I mean by that, and I think they all wish they didn’t), is the memories of my last few visits with my mom. She was so sick. So very ill. It was really hard and miserable to see her that way. I feel somehow like if I can write it down and get it out, it will be therapeutic for me. So I’m going to.
The last time I saw her, about 14 hours before she died, she was confused and scared. Scared that the extended care facility wanted to keep her there until her Medicare Benefit ran out, and wouldn’t let her leave because they wanted as much money as they could get.
The first thing she said when I got there was, “Oh! Julie! GET ME OUT OF HERE!” Followed a bit later by, “I’ll bet your uncle Forrest could come in here and get me out. It would be easy for him.” So she felt like she was being held hostage, and none of us really understood that fact, that we were somehow being tricked. Even though I told her that she could leave any time she wanted, once she was strong enough to walk around a bit, and could eat at least a small meal.
She told me at one point that she wanted to cry when the physical therapists came to work with her, because they would get frustrated with her for not cooperating. She said, “I’m afraid because they don’t know me…they only see this person in my body. I don’t know who this is, but it isn’t me.” That scared me. And she seemed so frightened and upset.
She couldn’t keep anything down. I brought her some Gatorade, hoping it would help, because with not eating, not drinking much, we were worried about her electrolytes. She drank some, and she liked it, but she threw it up again. Same with her pain meds. She took some, but threw up. She ate a bit of fruit I brought, and threw it up. She was having a hell of a time.
At one point, she asked me if I had a picture frame around my face. Ack! What? She was clearly hallucinating.
So see, these are the images that break my heart. They stick in my head, and they are the ones that come to me unexpectedly, when I think I’m OK, just working or cooking or talking to Ted or Maya or walking the dog. Her telling me, over and over again that she loves me, but seeming confused and scared. Me wishing that I had climbed into her bed and given her a nice hug up before I left, instead of being frustrated and leaving. I wish that when she told me it wasn’t her in her body, acting this way, that I had asked her if that felt scary, that I had commiserated a bit with her. Instead, I tried to get her to see that they could only work with what she gave them, so she needed to give them more cooperation. If only I had known how far gone she was, I would have been more gentle, less frustrated and peevish. I wish I could have a do-over. (Just the other day, I read an amazing description of depression, one that gave me a glimpse into what my mom was going through. It might have been helpful to have read it while my mom was still alive. Sigh.) I was so upset that I had to stop and look at a mare and her foal in a nearby field for awhile, just to calm down. And when I got home, I went swimming, hoping that would help to calm my jittery nerves. It was so scary, thinking she was getting worse and worse. Which, yeah, she was.
What I find myself wishing, lately, is that she had gone more quickly, that she had died up in Alaska. I think that might have been easier for everyone involved. Though it’s somewhat helpful for me to be able to go through her things. And to feel like I’m helping more than I could if she had been so far away. So there are pluses and minuses, I guess, either way. Mostly, though, what I feel is haunted by my memories. My yoga teacher said that at some point, you get better, and your memories are mostly good ones, the ones that make you feel buoyant to have known that person. God, I sure hope so.
16 Comments
lilalia
Maybe you have to mourn the death of two persons. The mom you knew and loved throughout your life, and the person she was towards the end. Someone who neither she nor you knew, yet you struggled to understand her; you tried to make her better; and, most importantly you loved her, even if it was in a confusing way.
An important part of mourning is coming to terms with what you loss. And the death of your mother is coming to terms with the fact that you didn’t understand how ill your mother was after she moved down from Alaska and that she was about to die and not just on a very arduous voyage to getting better. Both the mom before the illness and the mom who was ill would undoubtedly take you in their arms and tell you all is well. You just have to believe this yourself. Take dear care.
Diane
My grandmother is in the advance stages of Alzheimers. I recently went to the hospital to see her and it was a terribly heart-wrenching experience. I can relate to the feeling of watching someone who is clearly suffering and not being able to do anything to help. Hold on to all of your memories of her, from the beginning to the end. You will learn to cherish all of them, even the ones that are painful. The good memories, the ones of her when she was healthy, will alway be the strongest.
Take care of yourself.
Rain
You did the best you could with what you knew. Hindsight is easy for us all when we look back; but at the time, you were doing what you hoped would most help her. You love her and you did your best. She really would not ask for more. It is sad though, very sad that such a strong lady had to go through that. The dying process is not easy for many people and a lot of care facilities/hospitals don’t help. Some are excellent but some aren’t any more equipped than the families to deal with the emotional or even physical problems. Just sad. It hasn’t been long and it will get better but this is a hard time for you now as it was her then.
Autumn's Mom
You did the best you could at the time. Your mom loved you so much. It’s hard with the memories we are left with. I’ve been thinking about doing some positive thinking to change some issues I’ve been having myself. Maybe every day you could take 5 minutes and think of 5 things about your mom that make you smile. Maybe then those memories will begin to take over. Those last couple months were such a small part of your mom and your relationship with her.
Gina
I echo Dot in saying that you did the best you could. You just wanted her to get better and all you could think about was that her mental condition was hindering her physical recovery. But, I understand the guilt you are feeling, I really do. I think almost everyone has some regrets about interaction with a loved one before they passed.
But.
As painful as those few days were, they were nothing compared with the joy of her life and your relationship together throughout all those years. It’s hard, but try not to give such a short amount of time equal weight with all the wonderful things she had and experienced throughout her life. Those are what really count.
Do you wish it could have been different? Yes. But that doesn’t erase the good things, either.
Hugs to you, Julie.
Shelliza
I’m sure you’re thinking of a million things you could have done differently but you J could have only done so much. Try to hang on to the better memories and hopefully they will bring you much comfort. ((HUGS))
Ted
I don’t think any of the medical staff suggested at any time that your mom was basically in hospice. I know one nurse in Alaska said that you mom’s chances weren’t good, and the emergency room doctor in Juneau said your mom had the organs of a 90 year old woman, but all the other doctors and nurses were telling you “If she would just get up and walk around more than what we’re trying to get her to do, she can make a recovery.” So, it’s perfectly understandable that given the reports the med staff was giving you that it was highly possible that your mom would recover from this. And it’s perfectly understandable why you would be frustrated. Your mom was deteriorating, but the staff was saying “If only your mom would…,” and you’re caught in the middle.
C
Oh, Julie! I totally feel what you are going through. What a haunting post. I’ve lost a few loved ones in the past few years and it never is easy. My grandfather died in 1999 and it took me years to be “okay” with things. Every now and then, I’ll get a bit weepy and think of how sad it was to have to lose someone so dear so soon. It does get easier with time. Take as long as you need to go through all the emotions. You all did the best you could at the time. I’m sure she knows that. xoxo
Suebob
Yes, yes, absolutely. My sis was totally paralyzed and on a ventilator and so couldn’t speak and was pleading to me with her eyes. I honestly think my last words to her were “This sucks.” I wish I would have remembered to say something better, to kiss her, something before I left and it kills me that I didn’t.
I wish I could make it better for you.
Siobhan
This may sound like a cop out, but Gina said exactly what I was thinking, and perhaps executed it a little more eloquently than I may have.
We have more in common than you may realise.
Last November, my Mum told me that my Gran had cancer again for the second time, this time in her throat, and that she would be receiving chemo. She was cancer-free, but then in January, mum told me that she had it again this time to entrance to her stomach and it was untreatable.
I was really close to my Gran growing up. My husband and I decided to go over to Scotland with our boys to see her. We had no idea how long she had left, anywhere between 2 months to 2 years. She died on 22 March (2008), 10 days after I got there. I know it’s no coincidence and that she waited for me.
Death is much more difficult for the ones left behind. I am so glad my post was able to help you in some small way; and as intensely difficult as it was to hit that Publish button, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
joan
My mind is so full of weird twisted thoughts. Right now my mom has no hair, exhausted, and has memory loss. All this is from treatment to prolong her life not from her illness. I just hope she starts feeling better for some time before she feels worse otherwise was it worth it?
Starshine
Dear J,
I’m glad you could get this all out. I hope it was therapeutic.
My heart goes out to you. Be gentle with yourself, friend.
Sending hugs and love from LA!
Jill
Julie,
It is so easy to wish for do-overs, especially when you are grappling for some peace. I hope that when you have these obsessive fears and “shoulda beens,” you’ll stop, step back, and think about how YOU would counsel yourself if you were looking at the situation through the eyes of a good friend. You would be much nicer to yourself, reminding yourself that you did the absolute best you could under those cricumstances–that you were trying to help your mom get out of there by encouraging her. Wherever your mom is now, she’s not obsessing over any of this, and I’ll bet if she could talk to you she’d offer some classic Joy advice that would put it all into perspective.
That said, I understand where all of the thoughts are coming from, and I hope you’ll be gentle with yourself as you heal. It’s not a quick process, and it’s a difficult one, but you WILL come out on the other side. Really. Really.
Jill (your mom’s OO friend)
Lalunas
It’s like baby steps, small steps everyday towards feeling better…
Barbara
Julie,
I must echo what so many have said. You did the best you could. It is all any of us can do when faced with such circumstances. I think anyone who loses his or her Mom, be it quickly or slowly, would be haunted by “what if’s”. I can remember the physical pain I felt when my Mum died and how I would replay the picture of her at the hospital in my minds eye over and over again. Those feelings and images were so intense at first, maybe like what you are going through now. Slowly they lessened and I was able to think of her without the tremendous grief. It takes time. I think it also helps when you can remember to be kind to yourself as you go through the process. If you are at all into or open to alternative healing Reiki was a true blessing for me and helped me let go of some of the heaviness of the grief. It is such an individual process.
Peace!
V-Grrrl
Gina echoed my own thoughts. That last visit with your mom was just a tiny sliver of your life together, the love you shared, the relationship you cherished. It is not the final word, the final chapter. As you grieve you are writing a new chapter, a summary, a version that will be more complete and balanced and rich in memories from all phases of your life together.
You loved your mom. She knew you loved her. You were frustrated BECAUSE you loved her, because you cared, because you were desperate to make things better for her.
That’s what matters. You don’t judge your mother’s love by the moments in your life when she said or did the “wrong” thing, when she made you upset, when you wanted her to fix something she couldn’t fix. Extend to yourself the same grace you give others that you love.
Peace.