When the outcome is not what you hoped for

a Tuesday post on Monday because life changes at breakneck speed

I am not telling you anything you don’t already know when I say life is full of disappointments. Some are inconsequential—like when Cracker Barrel doesn’t have the crispy hash browns your mouth was craving. Others are life altering—like when your mother’s UTI turns out to be an acute stroke that is taking her life way faster than you imagined.

Things don’t always go our way. If I had my druthers, as they say in the South, my parents would both be healthy and happy and vibrant today. But I’m not getting my druthers.

Daddy suffered a gradual decline that ended quickly with aspiration pneumonia last December. Mommy (yes, I’ve always called her that) was doing well until some “episode” (maybe an undiagnosed stroke?) last spring started her decline. But she was still with us mentally and we enjoyed a lot of months together. She was never happier than when the family was gathered around her. She held us together like maternal superglue.

But lives on earth don’t go on forever. Bodies wear out, get tired, stop trying. Another “episode” took her to the hospital last week, and the news got worse every day.

We brought Mommy home on Thursday under hospice care. The nurse met us here in Mommy’s apartment and did a detailed assessment. Finally he told us that she would probably pass in 3 or 4 days.

Why was I shocked? I could see her condition right in front of me. I’d been with her round the clock in the hospital. I knew what was happening in her body and mind. The stroke was simply too much for her weakened body to handle.

But I was shocked, as if it were all brand-new information. Our minds don’t like to accept news we don’t want.

So we keep her comfortable and let her body shut itself down as all bodies do, given the chance.

I want a timeline. I ask every nurse some version of “When will it happen?” and they all give me their best, educated but non-committal answer.

I Google “end of life stages.” Highly do not recommend this, but I am my daddy’s daughter and I feel the need to be prepared. I read many articles particularly on the breathing changes that take place. I learn more than I ever wanted to know about the “death rattle.” It is both fascinating and heartbreaking, watching my mother become a statistic.

Thursday becomes Friday.

Saturday.

Sunday.

Each day brings a new hospice nurse who brings her own perspective and we welcome the different thoughts. Every night I move from the recliner to the love seat to the chair next to Mommy’s bed, waiting for the next breath.

Sunday, 6 pm

Another hospice nurse comes to check on Mommy. She sees several chairs around the bed where we have been sitting, talking, telling stories, laughing, crying. She notes aloud that we are “keeping vigil,” as she terms it.

I immediately feel defensive, like I am being accused of some ridiculous behavior and she inwardly rolls her eyes at me. We are surprised that Mommy has lived this long in such a state, and the nurse suggests we all go home. She says some people don’t want to be watched while they take their last breath, and maybe Mommy is waiting for us all to leave.

I am angry. Who is this stranger to accuse me of sitting with my mother, as if I am clinging to some unreasonable hope? I have sat by her bed repeatedly giving her permission to go, even encouraging her to let go. I have not tried to keep her here beyond her time, whatever that is. We have followed every item in her advance medical directive, making very careful, thoughtful decisions on her behalf. We are confident we’ve handled it all exactly as she wished.

Who is this stranger to assume she knows what my mother wants? Does she have even the slightest clue who Mommy is? Does she know Mommy’s multi-generational heritage of family being the most important thing? Does she know how, since Daddy died ten months ago just a few weeks short of their 68th wedding anniversary, Mommy has never been happier than when her children and grandchildren were gathered around her? Why would that suddenly change now? Why would she prefer us all to leave her alone when she never once in 89 years wanted that?

And yet, this is the hospice nurse. This is what she has done for decades—help people finish their journey through life and death. Maybe she knows something I don’t.

So against everything that is in me, I leave. We all say good night to Mommy and leave her alone, just in case this nurse is right. We don’t want to keep Mommy here longer than she wants to stay. We give permission, we kiss her, and we leave.

I go home. I cry. I shower and I cry. I lie in bed in the dark and I cry. But finally, after a week of sleeping in recliners and love seats and listening for every gasping breath, I sleep, unconsciously waiting for the phone call that Mommy has passed.

Monday, 4:28 am

The house is still but I am wide awake. There has been no phone call and I was right. Mommy is not hanging on until she is alone, and I feel vindicated. I want to see her.

Monday, 7 am

After a struggle to get in the building before sunrise, I am finally here. Mommy is still breathing, but her inhales are fewer and much farther between, often 45 seconds. We are amazed at how long she can go without a breath, and also how strong is the body’s instinct to keep itself alive against all odds.

She may not know I’m here, but I know. I told her in the beginning of all this, which seems like months ago but in reality was only ten days, that I would see her through. I promised I would walk her home. I would not leave her alone.

I am committed to doing this for the woman who grew my body in hers, who gave me life, who formed in me the underpinning of God as bedrock and family as foundation.

It is not the outcome I hoped for, but it is the God-ordained course of events. Last week Mommy’s 23rd great-grandchild was born. This week Mommy will go the way of every human who has ever been.

Birth and death.

Joy and heartache.

God created it all for our good and his glory.

The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit. (Psalm‬ ‭34‬:‭18‬)