"Probably soon."
These were the words the hospice nurse spoke yesterday after assessing Mom's condition.
We aren't surprised, yet there is something jolting when your inner thoughts are confirmed and even stated by someone who has given care to terminally ill patients. She knows the signs to look for; the body posturing, the rate of the pulse, the sleeping cycles, and the 'turning inward' that happens, as relating to others lessens.
I was amazed when I showed up last night for an overnight-er with Mom. I had seen her 3 days ago, and couldn't believe the change in just those few days. She is having difficulty walking and supporting herself. She is also sleeping most of the time--something that has just occurred in the last 3 days. Even when she is "awake" and resting on her couch, her eyes are closed and she is withdrawn. She is needing oxygen more regularly, and is now requiring morphine almost daily, as she is beginning to have some severe pain in her abdomen. Thankfully, she gets quick relief with the morphine and we have kept her pain under control.
Mom's disposition continues to be good. Last week she was very melancholy, and even discouraged that things are taking so long to happen. She was awake often during the night and very restless and worrying about things being undone. This week, she seems to have turned a corner and is peaceful and reconciled with things. She seems "settled" and in many ways--ready. She commented to me last night that the last few days have been the most relaxing and peaceful that she's had in a long time.
So, with all these "signs", it will probably be "soon" that we'll be releasing Mom to Heaven. I wish I could say that the joy of this hope makes all this easier, and I guess it does to some degree--knowing Mom will be healthy and whole is such a wonderful thing, and I wouldn't want anything else for her--but this process and everything it entails is....heavy. It is a hard journey.
My siblings and I (and Mom) have received wonderful encouragement and support from hospice and my mother's church family and friends. Personally, I'm so thankful for the sweet cards and emails of encouragement from my own girlfriends. We all know we are being covered in prayer, which is felt and appreciated. Thank you, to each of you, for ministering to us and walking alongside us!
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
The Twilight Zone
Life takes on an "other world" feel when caring for a dying parent. You know you have entered another dimension when morphine is delivered to your doorstep or when knowing how to work a concentrated oxygen machine becomes second nature; or the care you now provide to your mother, is strangely familiar and even reminiscent of the care you provided to your infant children not so many years ago. Life now has a new "normal". Welcome to life in the Twilight Zone.
There is a strangeness that comes with each new day. Even the rhythm of familiar routines has now changed, and there is no "rhythm", but rather a disjointed beat that drives each day. I am increasingly weighed down by the requirements of this zone--the demands it makes of my attention and energy--pressing in on me harder and with more force. I find myself longing for "leisure time", "down time" or even out-right boredom but instead I'm confronted with more lists, more emotions to digest, and working out with my siblings, the nights and days I'll be staying with mom so she won't be alone.
The emotional tug-o-war in this twilight zone is fatiguing and I relish any little bit of joy and levity I can find. Battling feelings that are similar to what I experienced the first time I was in childbirth--those feelings of being trapped and without options other than to commit to the process and seeing things through to the end--I know there is no room for wimp-ing out now.
As much as I'd like to just deny the twilight zone's existence and run away from its tractor-beam pull, I can't. I have to acknowledge it, daily, and make a choice--A willful choice--to show up, enter the zone and live in the zone, fully, knowing this is where I choose to be--living in an "other world" because I love my mom.
There is a strangeness that comes with each new day. Even the rhythm of familiar routines has now changed, and there is no "rhythm", but rather a disjointed beat that drives each day. I am increasingly weighed down by the requirements of this zone--the demands it makes of my attention and energy--pressing in on me harder and with more force. I find myself longing for "leisure time", "down time" or even out-right boredom but instead I'm confronted with more lists, more emotions to digest, and working out with my siblings, the nights and days I'll be staying with mom so she won't be alone.
The emotional tug-o-war in this twilight zone is fatiguing and I relish any little bit of joy and levity I can find. Battling feelings that are similar to what I experienced the first time I was in childbirth--those feelings of being trapped and without options other than to commit to the process and seeing things through to the end--I know there is no room for wimp-ing out now.
As much as I'd like to just deny the twilight zone's existence and run away from its tractor-beam pull, I can't. I have to acknowledge it, daily, and make a choice--A willful choice--to show up, enter the zone and live in the zone, fully, knowing this is where I choose to be--living in an "other world" because I love my mom.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Brief Update
It has been difficult finding time to post this week. Lots going on, and the need to spend more time with mom is increasing.
Just for the sake of time at this late hour of the day, here is the latest:
Mom has been sleeping more and more every day. Her greatest complaint is tiredness and weakness. Walking is now done with the assistance of a walker, and someone near by to steady her so she won't fall. She can barely put one foot in front of the other, where a week ago she was able to do so independently. We kids are going to be taking 24 hour shifts of staying with her--or something similar--which will mean missing some work and asking our families to adjust. But we all feel the need to have someone with her constantly now. The hospice nurse felt that at this point it may not be necessary to move her in with one of us, but rather, because of the progression of things, it may just be a short while anyway that we'll be staying with her.
As she declines, her confusion is getting more elaborate, with very detailed and sometimes comical stories. But she has times of great lucidity as well, so one has to constantly be on their toes. The most recent change is that she doesn't feel that her surroundings are familiar to her. She still knows people with no problem , which is a great relief. A huge blessing is that she is not frustrated by her confusion, but rather she has gotten to a place where many of her thoughts are memories, or strands of real events in the past--like when we were children-- that in some way seem to bring some comfort and joy to her.
The stress of everything is getting pretty heavy on us all. Mom did not make any preparation or plans while she was healthy, for funeral arrangements and expenses, so this has fallen to us to take care of, including the full financial responsibility that accompanies this. Needless to say, this is an additional financial burden on each of our families that we had not anticipated. The funeral home has set up a trust that others can contribute to help defray costs. This has been a blessing to us as some of Mom's friends and church family have contributed to help carry this load with us. We are under pressure knowing that all services have to be paid for in full prior to them providing services! So many things we didn't know about before that we are getting a quick eduction in now!
So many details, and so many relatives and friends who love mom and are wanting to see her one last time. This past weekend we actually scheduled visits so that more people could see mom. We "supervised" and kept things short so as not to tire her out. Mom also feels more relaxed when one of us kids are with her. Since it is becoming harder for her to really engage in conversation, it helps to have one of us there to field questions or talk about things for Mom. I think we've figured out our routine pretty well. It actually was a privilege to spend time with more of Mom's friends and church family members during these visits. We laughed, we all cried together, we told stories and we all rejoiced in having hope and assurance of knowing Mom will be in Heaven. Mom even chimed in at one point and said, "I just know I'll want to tell you what it is like as soon as I'm there!"
Tonight as I tucked Mom into bed and kissed her goodnight, I couldn't hold back the tears. I seem to be crying a lot these days. The reality of it all is setting in and nearness of her departure to Heaven is coming quickly. I'm so glad she'll be whole and healthy, but the weight of sadness is bearing down hard on all of us.
Just for the sake of time at this late hour of the day, here is the latest:
Mom has been sleeping more and more every day. Her greatest complaint is tiredness and weakness. Walking is now done with the assistance of a walker, and someone near by to steady her so she won't fall. She can barely put one foot in front of the other, where a week ago she was able to do so independently. We kids are going to be taking 24 hour shifts of staying with her--or something similar--which will mean missing some work and asking our families to adjust. But we all feel the need to have someone with her constantly now. The hospice nurse felt that at this point it may not be necessary to move her in with one of us, but rather, because of the progression of things, it may just be a short while anyway that we'll be staying with her.
As she declines, her confusion is getting more elaborate, with very detailed and sometimes comical stories. But she has times of great lucidity as well, so one has to constantly be on their toes. The most recent change is that she doesn't feel that her surroundings are familiar to her. She still knows people with no problem , which is a great relief. A huge blessing is that she is not frustrated by her confusion, but rather she has gotten to a place where many of her thoughts are memories, or strands of real events in the past--like when we were children-- that in some way seem to bring some comfort and joy to her.
The stress of everything is getting pretty heavy on us all. Mom did not make any preparation or plans while she was healthy, for funeral arrangements and expenses, so this has fallen to us to take care of, including the full financial responsibility that accompanies this. Needless to say, this is an additional financial burden on each of our families that we had not anticipated. The funeral home has set up a trust that others can contribute to help defray costs. This has been a blessing to us as some of Mom's friends and church family have contributed to help carry this load with us. We are under pressure knowing that all services have to be paid for in full prior to them providing services! So many things we didn't know about before that we are getting a quick eduction in now!
So many details, and so many relatives and friends who love mom and are wanting to see her one last time. This past weekend we actually scheduled visits so that more people could see mom. We "supervised" and kept things short so as not to tire her out. Mom also feels more relaxed when one of us kids are with her. Since it is becoming harder for her to really engage in conversation, it helps to have one of us there to field questions or talk about things for Mom. I think we've figured out our routine pretty well. It actually was a privilege to spend time with more of Mom's friends and church family members during these visits. We laughed, we all cried together, we told stories and we all rejoiced in having hope and assurance of knowing Mom will be in Heaven. Mom even chimed in at one point and said, "I just know I'll want to tell you what it is like as soon as I'm there!"
Tonight as I tucked Mom into bed and kissed her goodnight, I couldn't hold back the tears. I seem to be crying a lot these days. The reality of it all is setting in and nearness of her departure to Heaven is coming quickly. I'm so glad she'll be whole and healthy, but the weight of sadness is bearing down hard on all of us.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Family Album
I spent the evening going through a large box of photos that I retrieved from my Mom's apartment last week. My sisters, brother and I are gathering pictures, momentos and memorabilia that we think we may want to use at Mom's memorial service.
My mother's high school
Plowing through the box of pictures, I felt as if I was on an archeological dig of some sort. The top layer of photos were from the past 20 years, the middle section contained pictures of my mom, dad and us kids in the 1960's. The bottom layer was filled with pictures of my grandparents, great aunts and uncles and pictures of world war II soldiers that I think I'm related to in some obscure way.
I had fun sharing these photos with my children as they became engrossed at viewing members of their family tree. I was able to introduce them to their great grandparents and even their Grandpa Low -- my dad -- whom they hadn't seen a picture of before, or at least not one that really looked like him and captured who I remembered him to be.
At times my eyes welled up with tears as I traveled through the years gone by, remembering days and events as a little girl, seeing pictures of Grandma Hyche in her kitchen and swearing I could smell the pot roast cooking and remembering how grown up I felt on my sister's big bicycle as I attempted to ride it with training wheels.
I've shared just a few photos below. Enjoy!
My mother's high schoolsenior picture, 1955
My dad, in mid to late 1960's
My sisters and I in 1963
in front of the house I grew up in.
(l to r: Betsy, Janis, Cheryl)
My brother was born that summer.
Me! 3-1/2 years old, Summer, 1963
Look at those chubby cheeks!
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Field Trip
This past Friday, my sister and I made a visit to the funeral home. We jokingly referred to this impending appointment as a "field trip". Of course we knew it would be nothing like the wonderfully anticipated field trips we took in grade school, but rather, we were finding some enjoyment in the sarcasm of the label.
My sister "J" and I were the only ones able to go on this field trip since my other sister and my brother were both sick with the flu this past week. J and I were given full permission to do what we thought was best and make any decisions necessary. As a side note, I have to say that it has been such a blessing that all of us siblings are right in step with one another. We all are pretty like-minded and approach things very similarly, so there haven't really been any disagreements, or head-butting to this point. At a time when things are so emotionally charged, it is really an act of grace that, if anything, we are all closer.
J and I met at the Little Chapel of the Chimes, with "Mike". It was odd going to a funeral home not for the sake of attending a funeral. While it was a welcomed change, I still had that heaviness and feeling of dread as I crossed over the threshold.
The Lord was again so present during our 2-1/2 hour meeting, bringing a real peace and calmness. We were able to talk candidly about pretty much everything, asking awkward questions about "how", "what if" and "what about." Mike put us right at ease and we felt comfortable to ask any and every question. From time to time during our meeting, my sister or I would announce, "well, here we are!" making an attempt to really connect with what we were doing. It was a very surreal situation. We made some arrangements, decided on a some specifics and had a good sense of how things will be handled when hospice calls them.
My stomach did flip flops as we entered the casket room to pick one out for our mother. It was at this point that I began to fight back the emotion of it all. "How can this really be?" Thankfully we didn't have to linger long as my sister and I both went directly to a lovely blue model that made us think of our mom. We knew our other sister and brother would approve as well.
Our parting gifts from this field trip were a folder filled with pamphlets, checklists, prices, and 'things to consider'; and a large canvas bag that contained a garment bag and a couple of other smaller bags for jewelry, special momentos, and so forth, that we will fill and bring to the funeral home when we are needing their services.
Walking out of the funeral home we felt exhausted and depleted, yet comforted and assured. We appreciated Mike's willingness to walk us through this process and answer every question, no matter how tacky it might have been. He truly is gifted at what he does, and his compassion for grieving families is evident. Very much like the support we are receiving from hospice, we now feel supported by the other entity that will be very much apart of this journey.
After our field trip, my sister and I consoled ourselves by going out to lunch, knowing we had faced a giant that had been looming large over the path. All in all, it was a "good" and necessary field trip, but not one that I'd like to do again any time soon.
My sister "J" and I were the only ones able to go on this field trip since my other sister and my brother were both sick with the flu this past week. J and I were given full permission to do what we thought was best and make any decisions necessary. As a side note, I have to say that it has been such a blessing that all of us siblings are right in step with one another. We all are pretty like-minded and approach things very similarly, so there haven't really been any disagreements, or head-butting to this point. At a time when things are so emotionally charged, it is really an act of grace that, if anything, we are all closer.
J and I met at the Little Chapel of the Chimes, with "Mike". It was odd going to a funeral home not for the sake of attending a funeral. While it was a welcomed change, I still had that heaviness and feeling of dread as I crossed over the threshold.
The Lord was again so present during our 2-1/2 hour meeting, bringing a real peace and calmness. We were able to talk candidly about pretty much everything, asking awkward questions about "how", "what if" and "what about." Mike put us right at ease and we felt comfortable to ask any and every question. From time to time during our meeting, my sister or I would announce, "well, here we are!" making an attempt to really connect with what we were doing. It was a very surreal situation. We made some arrangements, decided on a some specifics and had a good sense of how things will be handled when hospice calls them.
My stomach did flip flops as we entered the casket room to pick one out for our mother. It was at this point that I began to fight back the emotion of it all. "How can this really be?" Thankfully we didn't have to linger long as my sister and I both went directly to a lovely blue model that made us think of our mom. We knew our other sister and brother would approve as well.
Our parting gifts from this field trip were a folder filled with pamphlets, checklists, prices, and 'things to consider'; and a large canvas bag that contained a garment bag and a couple of other smaller bags for jewelry, special momentos, and so forth, that we will fill and bring to the funeral home when we are needing their services.
Walking out of the funeral home we felt exhausted and depleted, yet comforted and assured. We appreciated Mike's willingness to walk us through this process and answer every question, no matter how tacky it might have been. He truly is gifted at what he does, and his compassion for grieving families is evident. Very much like the support we are receiving from hospice, we now feel supported by the other entity that will be very much apart of this journey.
After our field trip, my sister and I consoled ourselves by going out to lunch, knowing we had faced a giant that had been looming large over the path. All in all, it was a "good" and necessary field trip, but not one that I'd like to do again any time soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)