“Is she really dead?” “Wow! My life just drastically changed!” “Girls, you get to have your Mama back.” These are the three statements I remember the moment my mother died.

On the evening of January 2, 2019, my ten-year journey of caring for my sweet Mother came to an end when she took her last breath. Just seeing those words in print as I write them still evokes such emotion, down to my core. The last 48 hours of her life would wreck me and, in the same sense, release me from the position of caregiver. What a tidal wave of emotions. At 91 years old, she was no longer trapped inside her frame,  a far cry from the beautiful, brilliant, hard-working, active woman we had known and loved.

Forty-eight hours before Mom passed, I had received a call from my daughter-in-law asking if I could come to Texas. My son had been hospitalized and was critically ill. I checked the schedule of the 24-hour sitters I had lined up for Mom and let each of them know I would be out of town indefinitely and would not be able to continue with my 7 a.m. and 7 p.m. shift change check-ins.  They understood and offered their prayers for my son.

I sat with Mom all day Saturday and Sunday prior to New Years’ which, in hindsight, was an extra measure of blessing from God.  I noticed she had begun wheezing and made a judgment call to put her on oxygen.  I was not alarmed or worried, I just wanted to help her struggle less.  On my way out of town on December 31, I stopped by Mama’ s apartment to check on her and the sitter for the day.  Mom was still on oxygen, not better or worse from the day before and I knew she was in great hands.  I visited for a half-hour, loved on her, kissed on her, and left in tears.  The emotions were more for my son at this point.  There was no indication Mama’s health would decline.

I had a five-hour drive ahead of me and half-way through the journey, I called the sitter to check on Mom and her wheezing.  Imagine my shock when she told me that Mom had started the “death rattle.”  I asked her to put the phone to her mouth so I could hear it.  I pulled to the shoulder, my head spinning and my heart breaking and I wept.  I was so torn.  My son was critically ill and now my Mother too.  In all the times I imagined the scenario in my mind of exactly how Mom’s death would play out, this, my friend, was never one I could have dreamt of.  I immediately called my sister and told her about my son and to drop everything and get to Mama.  In the previous twelve months, Mom had experienced several unresponsive events and serious falls so I was beginning to sound like the little boy that cried wolf!  My sister could not get a flight until the next morning.  Mom was in God’s hands.

I made it to my son’s bedside in the hospital and was not prepared for how bad he looked and sounded.  I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.  My thoughts were racing…my son or my Mom.  Would God take one or both of them?   I could not and would not choose who to be with.  It was an impossible choice.  I had been Mom’s caregiver for ten years.  I didn’t know how long she had, but I never dreamt I wouldn’t be by her side.  My son was young, active and healthy.  His prognosis was grim, it came suddenly and from out-of-the-blue.

As soon as I saw my son and heard the prognosis, I called my husband and my younger son and told them they needed to come immediately, which they did.  While I jumped in to help my daughter-in-law with the grandkids and sit with my son, I was getting news from home that Mom was not doing well.

My sister arrived midday in our hometown on January 1 and when she walked into Mom’s room, she heard the horrific sounds Mom was making.  It was indeed the death rattle and our precious Mom was struggling.  This was the beginning of her journey home.  She was given morphine and I felt my sister would take excellent care of Mom.  My oldest sister from Alabama also drove home to be with Mom.  I was constantly in contact with them, Hospice, the facility where Mom lived, and the sitter and I was, as they say, “Eat Up!”  I was a basket case.  So worried about two of the most precious people in my life.

When you’re crying your eyes out and can’t hardly breathe and your precious 4-year-old grandson hugs you, puts his head on your shoulder and says three things I hope I never forget: 1) grown-ups aren’t supposed to cry 2) Angels fly really fast (meaning to minister to Mamaw) 3) We should pray for people when they are dying and then he prayed for his Mamaw. Sweetest thing ever. He now knows grown-ups do indeed cry and his Meme cries a lot!!

My son seemed to begin turning a corner on the morning of January 2 and had procedures scheduled later that day.   Like I said before, I could not choose between my son and my mother, however, my son could.  Although he was still very weak and not out of the woods, with hardly an audible voice, he told me I needed to go home and finish the journey I had been on with Mamaw the past ten years.  He assured me he was going to be fine.  Have you ever had the feeling where a knife is stuck in your gut?  Magnify that times ten.  After much persuasion and assurance by my husband and son, I agreed to head home and so thankful my younger son agreed to drive me.  My husband stayed behind in my place.

My son and I  arrived back in our hometown and went straight to Moms.  As I entered the room I heard my Mom struggling to breathe and was introduced to the awful “death rattle”.    I went to her bedside in disbelief that this had transpired so quickly and yet so thankful I was able to be by her side.  Friends, family,  and workers all stopped by to visit throughout the day and say their goodbyes.  Word had spread quickly.  She had always been a favorite at the assisted living facility.  We prayed, we sang songs around her bedside, we told her she could go and we would be okay, we assured her we loved her and she was a wonderful mother and we waited.  

I had been awake for well over 24 hours at this point and as I sat by Mom’s side hour after hour, I was really feeling the effects.  About 9 p.m., I looked at my sisters and my daughters and told them I was going home to get a quick nap.  I was exhausted and we had no idea how much longer this would go on.  I asked them to be sure and call me if anything changed.  I only lived 10 minutes away, five minutes if I broke the speed limit.

Shortly after 10 p.m. my sister called to tell me “it was happening.”  I ran through the house waking the girls up and we hustled out the door.  We ran through the halls of the complex and reached Mom’s room.  I walked in and went to her bedside.  No more rattling sounds.  My sisters were weeping as was everyone in the room. I kissed Mama and asked my sister, “Is she really dead?”  I mean I had thought about this moment so many times, dreamt about it and could not believe I was standing by her side and she was gone.  No more waking her up, holding hands, getting her dressed for the day and then again for bedtime, feeding her, standing in the gap for her being her adversary.  No more songs, no more silliness, no more out-of-the-blue poignant and profound statements.  She was gone.  My sister confirmed she was gone.  Realizing the gravity of the situation, realizing that the prayer I had been praying for two months was answered, I let out a deep sigh and whispered, “My life has just drastically changed!”  Ten years seeing her nearly every day and the last year twice a day with much more intense care.  It was over.  God answered my prayer and took her swiftly and without having to suffer.  I am so thankful He honored my plea to do so.  He is a merciful God.

After things settled down a bit, I overheard my sister talking to my daughters that were standing in the hallway.  What she said hit me hard.   “Girls, you get to have your Mama back.”  Just let that sink in.    Not only did I make sacrifices while caring for Mom, but my entire family also did, especially my husband and children.

I want to believe I was an example to my children of how we should care for our parents and the elderly in general.  I hope I was an inspiration to them.  I trust over the years they learned about respecting and caring for the older generation and how to care for those who have memory loss in particular.  I pray I leave my children with a legacy of love for others, even those who make you uncomfortable.  Work through it.    Everyone needs to feel loved.  Stop and take the time to talk to them. Open doors. Sing songs.  Hold hands.  Push their wheelchairs.  Sit at their feet, who cares if they ramble, let them ramble.  I’ve learned through all of this not everyone is a caregiver but everyone can be kind and caring.  

I never expected my husband not to be with me when Mom passed.  He was as much a part of her care as I was.  My mom adored him.  It would be another five days before I would see him again.  I was on my own without the two most important people to help me… my Mom and my husband.  My son stayed in the hospital for a week, unable to attend Mom’s funeral.  We are so thankful he had a full recovery and is doing well.

A year later and we have walked through all the “firsts” and survived.  My sisters and I  walked out the first couple of months by multiple group calls almost daily, it was very therapeutic.  We are going to make it.

Walking with Mom as I’ve done so many times. This would be the last time.

Rest in peace Mama,

Elle