Aftermath

Here at Funeral Central the emails have been rocketing back and forth at the speed of thought. The Sisters have gone home for a few days to preserve their jobs, silly girls, and I've been distracting them all day with all we have to do -- plan a funeral, write an obit, figure out the catering, sort the pictures.

It's the pictures that get to me. In almost every one, Mom seems more beautiful and happier than I ever saw her as a child. It's quite something. It's like the joke told by David Foster Wallace in a commencement speech: The big fish says to the little fish, "The water sure is nice today," and the little fish says, "What's water?" I was in perfect water and didn't even know it.

For three days now I have felt like an amputee with phantom limb syndrome. The obligation, or habit, or even, let's say, urge to visit her, to carry out my duties of care, arises several times a day, completely unconnected to the fact that she is gone.

In the months, weeks, days and even just hours before her death, I thought I would feel nothing when it was over. Much of her was gone already, it seemed. But sitting beside her bed after she died, I sobbed. At the loss of my mother, of course, but also at the improbable miracle of life -- that it happens at all, and that it ends.

What's next?

1955

They looked like they would live forever. 

*

INVITATION:

Dear friends and family,

Our mother died peacefully on October 23 at Saint John’s on the Lake. We were at her bedside and are so grateful for her full, rich, friend- and family-filled life.

Please join us on Saturday, November 4, at 1:30 PM for a memorial service in the chapel at Saint John’s, 1840 North Prospect Avenue, Milwaukee.

The service will be followed by a sweet and savory reception.

All are welcome and please feel free to pass the word among those who knew her.

A second memorial will take place in Ann Arbor, Michigan, in January. More information to follow.

Much love,

Jon, Lydie, Siri, Kari

Gone

Mom took her last breath at 12:55 a.m Monday. 

Culling

Sister K, sorting

We are in a holding pattern. Mom's breathing has slowed, sometimes to as little as one breath a minute. Still, she persists. The body wants to live. The nurses say she could die at any moment or this could go on for days. The Sisters have been taking turns sleeping in the room overnight while the rest of us sleep elsewhere and wait for a call.

Meanwhile, we are sorting cards and letters, following Sister L's "system." In addition to the cards and letters, we have a full storage locker to look forward to.

Fun. 

Vigil

Knocking on heaven's door

Mom has been sleeping just like this for two days. She doesn't eat and takes only a little water through a sponge on a stick. We have sung, prayed and talked to her through the hours, and she responds sometimes by raising a hand or moving her lips but not quite speaking. Her eyes never open.

We had a conference this morning with Jess the hospice nurse and Paul the social worker. They answered the few questions we had. I called a funeral home and it will be ready when we need it. We've had visits from the hospice chaplain, another social worker, Pastor Rob, Pastor Susi, and Mary the singer. Mom responds to the singing and The Lord's Prayer, and we have kept doing the things she seems to like.

Saint John's on the Lake has treated us well, providing food and drink, and in ones and twos we have taken breaks. It has been nice to be together, jabbering like macaws -- and it is funny how you can talk and laugh in the face of death.

When this is over we'll have a service here at Saint John's, and a memorial service in Ann Arbor at a date to be determined. She'll be buried at Forest Hill Cemetery next to my dad.

Advocate for your mother

Mom's three-day stay in the hospital ended about 5 p.m. last night when an ambulance delivered her back to her place. It has never looked so good.

I got to the hospital about 9 a.m., and the day didn't end for me until 8 that night. Mom had slept most of Sunday and Monday, and was sleeping when I got there Tuesday. They woke her to turn her, and then breakfast came -- scrambled eggs, oatmeal with brown sugar, a blueberry muffin, fruit. I started to spoon-feed her, then an aide came in and said she'd take over. She distractedly gave Mom about five bites, then hurried off without explanation and never returned. A perfect example of care at St. Mary's.

I finished the feeding and spent the rest of the day pushing and pulling, pushing and pulling. The hospital is really a warehouse for people in need, who might get seen, or not, whatever the system willed. We had a nurse, Judy, who came and went almost randomly, and whenever we actually needed help, she was nowhere to be seen. Dr. Hirpara was the one sympathetic presence.

Mom, as she slept, kept raising her arms and waving them like a choir conductor. The nurses said this is the influence of the drugs -- maybe she's hallucinating. She seemed to grab at things.

At one point she woke and said, "Philip." Her brother. I said, do you remember Philip? "Yes."

Do you remember Melford? "Yes."

Orla? "Yes."

Paul? "Yes."

Mark? "Yes."

Ann Arbor? "Yes."

Leech Lake? No answer.

Then she said, "Where is Ahna?"

"She's coming at Christmas."

"I wanna go home now," she said.

Judy the nurse was my conduit to the case manager, Jennifer, who would set up hospice. When I'd specifically asked for Allay to provide hospice -- which Mom's place requested -- Jennifer went ahead and appointed Horizon, the hospital's system. I insisted on Allay, through Judy, and that took about two hours to turn around. Then I got a call from Allay, asking me -- me -- to tell Jennifer to fax over Mom's records. I had no way to reach Jennifer, so I tried and failed to find Judy. I asked another nurse, Julianne, if she could locate Judy, which she couldn't. Finally -- quite a while later -- Julianne came to the room and said, "... and then I thought I could call Jennifer myself!" Brilliant!

Finally, Jennifer was reached, faxed the documents, and came down to meet us --  like God appearing. Hirpara and Allay, after seeing Mom's documents, certified she qualified for hospice, and then we were kind of stalled. Finally I asked Hirpara if we could move her today (Tuesday), and he said yes, she would be moved today. Some unseen powers made arrangements for an ambulance.

I left before the ambulance came to meet with Julie M -- yet another "J" name -- from Allay at Mom's place. I signed a stack of papers saying this was our choice, and that Mom's care would be in the service of comfort, not, basically, improvement of her condition -- that there is no cure. That felt, um, heavy, and I had to think about it for a minute.

Mom arrived and the EMTs got her into her bed, and she looked relieved to be there. It is a place we know, where we have some say. I fed her baked fish and spinach in her room, and she ate well, followed by a big dish of ice cream. She looked better, her color returned. She was a little chatty, and quite choosy about what food she would accept. Then she fell off to sleep.

I was glad I was there with her at the hospital. You really have to push for what you want, or your mother will get lost.

Julie came and introduced choral music. 

End stages

Singing in the penalty box.
Mom in blue, second from left.

Mom had a couple great days last week. She ate two servings of fish on Thursday, two desserts, and made cupcakes and did a storytelling session.

I was gone to Michigan from Friday to early Sunday morning, and had calls and messages when I got back that Mom was at the hospital. I found her in the ER, and spent the day with her as they moved her up to a regular room. She had a broken femur --  a displacement of the femur from the hip, with fractures in the bone going down toward the knee.

Nobody at her place was able to tell me how this happened, but they are doing an "investigation" and we'll see what they come up with. She has significant osteoporosis, and Dr. Riordan said her injury was consistent with a fall or a hard bump, but that it might not take a lot of force to cause it.

The doctors gave us the options of repairing the fracture with surgery, which, if she survives it, would necessitate a long, painful rehabilitation process just to get her back to her wheelchair, where she doesn't even use her legs, or not repairing it and just managing the pain. Dr. Hirpara said if it was his mother, he wouldn't choose surgery. Good enough for us.

Hirpara said a fracture like this, after her earlier broken hip, is often a turning point toward the "end stage." I asked "A year?" He said two months, and that was generous.

A case worker will meet with me today to discuss hospice, which will start here and move with her back to her place.

Yesterday mom lay in the ER in bed, asleep, but reaching up and moving her arms like she was directing a choir. Music is where she started, and maybe that was it.

She's sleeping this morning, and I think slept all night, the pain medication keeping her at ease.

She weighs 108 pounds.