MY HEART RIPPED IN TWO

On New Year’s Eve, 2018, at 12:30 a.m., my daughter-in-law texted me letting me know my 34-year-old son had been admitted to the hospital due to shortness of breath and fever. He had been on medicine for almost four days but things had gone south.

She asked if I could come and help out and, of course, I said yes. After making sure I had sitters lined up for my Mom and my business was squared away, I went by the assisted living facility to tell my Mom goodbye before I headed West. I had spent Saturday and Sunday sitting with Mom, who has end-stage Alzheimers and I decided it was time to begin using oxygen to help with the wheezing. I stopped by Monday morning and did my usual morning routine with Mama.

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I got very close to her, put the back of my hand on her cheek and said, “Good morning sweet Mama.” She typically would then lean into that hand and put her head on her shoulder embracing my tender, warm touch. That particular morning it took a few times to get her to respond, but I kept trying. I moved to her left side doing the same motion I do every morning and added, “I love you, sweet Mama.” She quietly responded, “Thank you. I love you too.” Those turned out to be her last words I’ll ever hear her speak. I stayed for thirty minutes, and after being reassured multiple times by the sitter that she would be okay, I gave Mama another kiss and suddenly burst into tears. Something in my spirit was just different than previous times when I had left her. My friend again reassured me and reminded me my son needed me.

I began my journey west to see about my son. He is young and very healthy. He exercises often and is active. He had been sick for six days at this point and this ole girl was very concerned. As I was driving the next five hours, I would call the sitter and check on Mom. It seems that 30-35 minutes after I kissed her goodbye, she started with the infamous “death rattle.” I called my sister in Alabama and told her I needed her to come home, NOW! I couldn’t bear the thought of Mama being without one of her six children. How could I possibly be two places at one time? In all the moments I had imagined Mom dying, this was not going as I had dreamed. I felt strongly one of us should be with her. She had been our only living parent for the past 40 years.

When I arrived at the hospital in Texas and entered my son’s room, I was horrified at what I saw. The man who I had seen only seven days before for an early Christmas gathering was now lying in a hospital bed with no color, droopy eyes, and not even able to put two words together and honestly, it was devastating. Oh God, please heal him! I am a crier but held it together for him, barely. I asked him if the pneumonia they had previously diagnosed him with was bacterial pneumonia, and he said, “yes,” and then he added, “and spesis and pleurisy!” My knees buckled and I felt like I was going to faint. Sepsis!!!! How in the world did this happen?

The next twenty-four hours were the absolute most gut-wrenching experience I have ever had. As I grew with concern over my son’s bizarre condition, I was getting word that my Mother was declining rapidly. How can I be two places at once? My precious child and my sweet Mama. I couldn’t choose. I love them both dearly and yet they were both fighting for their lives.

As soon as I saw my son and realized the seriousness of this situation, I called my husband and my younger son and told them to get here as soon as possible. My son, my firstborn, was in the fight of his life. The doctors were shocked and unable to understand how a patient so young and physically fit could be in such a horrific and unexplainable predicament. Before I left for his house that evening, he had begun to start feeling somewhat better due to antibiotics, etc, etc. The doctors had made a decision to try and remove some of the 1500cc’s of excess fluid in his lung the next day. I stayed the night with my two grandchildren at their home while my husband and son stayed at the hospital. My daughter-in-law was a trooper and had stayed by her husband’s side the six days prior to his hospitalization and needless to say, was exhausted.

All throughout that day, I kept my racing mind on two things: my mother and my son. The latest update on my mother was that she was refusing to drink anything, piercing her lips closed. My sister had not yet arrived but would be there in the morning. We discussed whether to start morphine with Mom but chose not to at that time.

On January 1, I spoke with my Mom’s sitter and she mentioned how bad Mom sounded, the rattle worsening overnight. I was told it sounded like she was drowning. She even recorded it for me so I could hear the “death rattle.” I wanted to clearly understand what was transpiring in the death process. I wanted to be there and couldn’t but that did not and would not keep me from staying in touch.  Around lunch, it was determined we needed to begin morphine to keep Mom comfortable. Two of my sisters arrived shortly after from Alabama. The youngest sister confirmed how quickly Mom was progressing. I was informed my only living aunt and uncle went to see Mom to say their sweet, emotional goodbyes to their big sister.

Back at the hospital, they were not successful with draining the fluid from my son’s lung, and they did inform us that it was the consistency of slush. My concern grew. My son’s medical team was contemplating putting some drain tubes in to help him with his severe back pain and difficulty breathing and to have a better chance of getting that fluid off of his lung.

I do believe with the emotional see-saw I found myself on for well over 24 hours, I was a verifiable “basket case.” I couldn’t turn off the tears. I was drowning in uncontrollable waves. My heart was ripped in two. My husband and my sons saw my tormented state and were drawn into my downward spiral of anxiety and grief. It was a horrific, explosive combination. We all sat in the hospital room, my husband knew I needed to get back home and walk out the journey I had begun ten years ago. My sweet son, who could barely talk, looked at me with all sincerity and compassion and told me I needed to finish this chapter with Mom to have closure. This was the final chapter. Oh my gosh, how could I leave? How could I turn my back on my son?

I was incapable of making a decision of any kind with my state of mind, so my husband did. He called in work and told them he was taking a vacation, and my youngest son was going to drive five hours to get me home to walk out Mom’s final hours. As we began our journey home about 5:30 that afternoon, I gave my son a very emotional farewell, somewhat encouraged by his progress, but still extremely concerned about him, and all we could do at this point was rest in HIS arms while two people I love more than life itself were fighting, and fighting hard. God has carried me, healed me, protected me, and blessed me all throughout my life. I trust Him. Until that moment, I don’t think I fully knew what 100% trust looked like.

I called while we were driving to get an update and was told my Mom’s breathing was much worse and they were going to increase the morphine to make her as comfortable as possible. I arrived shortly after 10 p.m. and raced in to find Mama lying in her bed. I did what I had done thousands of times before, I got on my knees by her bed to get close to her and whisper to her and the floodgates opened. My sisters came to my side to comfort me. I took in every sound, every breath, and every little movement. The end was indeed near and I was so relieved my husband willingly took my place so I could finish my journey with Mom. I stayed up all night with Mom and my sisters took turns watching with me. At one point, things started changing with Mom. Dying is a process and just like no birth is identical to another one, the same is true for death. Mom was going to to leave this world and enter into the next in her own unique way. I’ve said this countless times, but it merits saying it again, Mom taught me SO much about so many facets of life and now she was doing it again, except this time it was lessons in death.

January 2 rolled around and the sun peeked out behind the clouds. Our beloved sitter came in about 6:30 that morning and as she always did, began her meticulous care of Mom. That day was filled with workers, sitters, friends and family stopping by to pay their respects. Oh, the lives that mother of mine had touched. We had several people who wanted to pray for Mom, so each time we stood around her bed, held hands and prayed. It was a beautiful day filled with love, hugs, and wonderful memories shared. In the midst of that day, I had also gotten word that my son had gone into surgery to have drains placed in his left lung. Every single person who asked how about Mom immediately followed it by “I’m praying for your son.” So many prayers were being said.

That afternoon, Mom gave us quite a scare and we (my sisters and I) gathered around her bed and started singing songs. We sang for over an hour and she completely calmed down and was resting. It was an anointed time. It was calming for all of us. I could feel the angels hovering above us. I knew the time was drawing near. About 9 p.m. I could no longer function having been up for almost three days, and I decided to drive 10 minutes to my house to rest. My sister called shortly after 10 and woke me from a deep sleep and told me “it” was happening. I quickly ran through the house, woke my girls up and we headed back to Mom’s.

We arrived to people standing in the hall, and once inside her room, I saw Mom was lying in her bed, at peace. I no longer heard the “rattle.” My weeping sisters rushed to my side. Please don’t think what I’m fixing to say is mean, I say it because I had played out this scenario in my mind thousands of times the past 10 years when Mom’s situation was grave and every single time, Mom would rebound. I just simply looked at Mom and asked, “Is she REALLY dead?” Then the reality hit me. It hit me HARD. I remembering weeping and saying, “My life just changed dramatically!” The reality that God heard my prayers. The reality that she didn’t suffer long. The reality that her battle with Alzheimer’s was finally over. The reality that she was not even there but already in heaven, healed and whole. The reality my sweet Mama was gone.

At that moment, I knew coming back was the right thing to do. It was the absolute HARDEST thing to do, but it was right. I am so thankful for my husband who stood in the gap for me and for my son understanding and encouraging me to come back.

The next morning my son had begun to make progress and had one chest tube taken out. Everyone was happy with how things were heading in the right direction. He remained in the hospital for another week with his Dad by his side and unfortunately, but understandably, had to miss his Mamaw’s funeral.

One scenario that had never entered my mind in all these years, was the one where my husband, my best friend, my strongman, would not be there with me when Mom passed. I depend on him so much. He had stepped in so many times and cared for Mom. He was amazing with her. He was a son to her. She absolutely lit up around him and would do anything he asked her to do. The workers were always so happy when my husband would sit with Mom. It made their day easier. I found myself going one, two, three, four, then five days without him while the family gathered and we prepared for the funeral. I was so relieved when he arrived for the visitation the night before Mom’s funeral. Again, in his absence, God was holding me up, literally.

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I am happy to report my son has made a 75%-80% recovery and we are so thankful for all the prayers. I am convinced on January 2, God could have taken either one of my loves or both for that matter, but I am eternally grateful He chose Mom. She lived a beautiful, fulfilled ninety-one years. I know her first order of business when she reached those pearly gates was to tell God to heal her grandson. And HE did.

Thank you for reading this rather long post. If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment and subscribe so you don’t miss any of my posts.

With a smile and a happy heart,