Life Moving Uncomfortably Forward
When we met with the doctor last Monday, he told us that he had asked my Mom if she still wanted the tracheostomy, and she had answered no, but it was, in his opinion, an "uncertain" no. He felt she needed to communicate with us first. I told my siblings that I believed she was waiting for our permission to let go, and they agreed. So we went into her room and asked if she wanted to go through with the trache. She emphatically shook her head "no." We then asked her if she wanted to be removed from the ventilator, and, equally as emphatic, she nodded "yes." We told her we promised her we wouldn't leave her hooked up to machines, and we went to page the doctor.
When confronted with the information, the doctor asked to speak to my Mom alone, ostensibly to verify that these were indeed her wishes and that she understood she would not survive long off the vent. When he brought us back into the room with her to remove the tubes, she waved good-bye to all of us, happy, I believe, to be letting go after struggling for so long. At 1:55 p.m. she was removed from the respirator, and at 6:25 p.m. she died, fearlessly, peacefully, with supreme dignity and great good grace.
A friend of mine commented that her's was "a most remarkable ending," and I had to agree. Death places a frame around a person's life, and Tiny's portrait is as amazing and luminous as anyone could ever hope for.
Now that the ritual hoo-hahs have all been observed, we begin our life without our Mom. She never wanted a wake, a fact we have all known since we were little children, but in the last couple of years she conceded that if her family felt like they just had to see her -- and she really, REALLY wished they wouldn't -- or if we felt we would want to see her, that would be okay, but absolutely no one else. So we held a private wake on Thursday: open casket from 3:30 - 4:00 for those in the family who wanted to see her, and then closed casket from 4:00 - 5:00 for those who did not. The only non-relative in attendance was Jake, who had an overwhelming need to see her. Although we were there for the open casket portion, my sister and I did not go up to the coffin, and I have no regret about that. We were with her when she died, after all. Poor Jake was an absolute blubbering mess, looming like a gigantic broken-hearted child over her, stroking her forehead and weeping over and over, "Tiny, oh Tiny ..." Her sisters wailed quite loudly as well, but we expected that. She was extremely close to her brother and two sisters. A lovely memorial service was held yesterday, open to the public, and I was struck by how many people came up to us and said with great sincerity, "I loved your mother so much." Dozens and dozens of people, some I knew only casually. It was quite a testament to her as a person.
Last night I awoke in the middle of the night bawling my eyes out.
And here we go ...
(P.S. Thanks to all of you who have shown your support for me over the last few weeks, both publicly and privately. It was not only appreciated, but it really helped me a lot.)