It's one we all face, and one we will all accomplish by ourselves - no company even if they're holding our hand. It's intensely personal, unique, and must be done by ourselves, inside our deepest places.
MIL passed last Thursday morning - alone as we all are at that time, even when surrounded by loved ones, friends, family or caregivers. She went peacefully after being ill for a long time. We had a chance to say "I'm sorry" and "I love you", the closing things we all wish to say but sometimes don't get the chance to express. There were "I'm sorry" statements, too, which is as it should be since none of us are perfect and all of us trip over another's feelings from time-to-time.
Three times I've been through this immediately, and each has been different, unique.
First with my Dad, whose hand I held until he made it clear he wanted to be left to finish by himself. He was surrounded by family: my mom, his wife of just three weeks shy of fifty years, two daughters, grandchildren and a future son-in-law and a then daughter-in-law. He fought until he couldn't any more, but he was comfortable and assured by each of us, 'it's okay, you can let go'.
The second time was with my father-in-law, who died in the arms of my MIL of a massive heart attack - dead almost before he hit the floor. No one was there but the two of them. By the time I got there the EMTs had left, the Sheriff's deputies were still there, milling around while forensics made sure nothing unusual had happened. MIL was deeply shocked - pale-faced and watching in numb horror while they did what they had to.
When it was all over, I got her to bed and set to working out my frustration with the situation by scrubbing their house.
The third time was last Thursday.
For months, she couldn't get up on her own, walk on her own. Hubby waited on her, literally, hand and foot. Always at her beck and call, up at all hours of the night to check on her, help her, change her, wash her, feed her. Over time she lost interest. First the radio, then the television. Her appetite changed until she was barely eating and had to be hand fed. Finally, she stopped eating and resisted drinking.
In the end she slipped away peacefully, alone while I was on my way back from work where I had gone to pick up some things to do if the wait was longer than a few hours, and while hubby was outside, hanging laundry on the line. He came in and found her, then called me.
The requirements, the small necessary ceremonies of removal, the quiet moments while we absorbed the sudden change in our lives. Phone calls and e-mails to family and friends, closing those doors on a life. That led into the frenetic, almost manic release of anger and fear and grief.
For the past four days, from almost as soon as the funeral home took her body away until yesterday afternoon we cleaned. First, the living room that had been her bedroom for the past four years, then spreading out from there. The downstairs of our house hasn't been this clean since before we moved in, and there's still the upstairs to do. But that's for next weekend.
A chance to work out the anger and fear, a chance to purge ourselves of things she had brought that we never wanted. Along the way we discovered things we didn't even know we had - glassware and some appliances. Things were donated, others were tossed, none will be missed because they were never "ours". They belonged to Charlotte.
There, her name: Charlotte. Not MIL anymore since she has achieved the anonymity of death.
There is no true grieving for me. We weren't close. We lived together, ate meals together, spoke together for the better part of ten years, more than thirty-five as part of an in-law family, but we never bonded, even though we shared a house.
She was too private, too closed-in to let me get to know her inner-self. Conversation was question and answer - she asking and taking while I answered and gave. There was no back-and-forth, no meeting of the minds or expressions of self. After a time, I gave up, settling for doing for her as much as I could, as much as she would allow.
Hubby has mixed feelings. Sadness that released in wild bouts of grief before the fact, when he saw and knew what was coming. More grief and shock after she was gone. Then came a relief, a knowing she wasn't needing his help any more, that she is more comfortable now than she was just a few days ago. No more pain, no more blindness, no more waiting for what we all knew was coming.
Friday we visited the funeral home, another ceremony of signing off on her last wishes - a private ripple that won't include anyone not required. I don't even know what she wanted, except for cremation and not being on the shelf next to her hubby's box. Which we still need to figure out what to do with.
There were periods of quiet, peaceful moments, too. Times for hubby and me to sit and speak, to look around and sigh.
The medical equipment was picked up. Her bed and other furniture are in the garage until we decide what to do with them. More doors closing on what was.
We have our house back. It no longer contains all the things - big and small - that she "had" to have around her when she moved in. For ten years it looked like a Victorian parlour - overcrowded and cluttered. Now, for a change, we can decide for ourselves how we want things to be.
One of the first things we did was to restart the clocks - the grandfather clocks (two of them - one was hers and her husbands, one is ours), the pendulum clocks that give our house its heartbeat but that had been stilled because it was too loud at night for her to sleep. It's back, ticking and tocking, giving life to rooms that had been too still since Thursday morning.
For myself, I feel quiet, accepting. I think of Charlotte as a young woman, dancing, light and free of all that weighed her down on Earth. I wish that for her because it's her due.
Best~
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Monday, May 9, 2016
Monday, May 2, 2016
End of Life is a Cast-Iron Bitch
The past few weeks have been horrible, and they're about to get worse.
My MIL, as I've mentioned before, is eighty-seven - a bad eighty-seven because she didn't take care of herself when she was younger. Her body has been holding on even though her mind has been pretty much gone for years. Now her body is failing and we're facing the hard decisions children have to make for people for whom we care. It sucks, big time.
I was lucky because I grew up in a household where no one pretended that death didn't happen. We didn't discuss it, but it wasn't hushed up or glossed over either.
There were the family pets buried in the backyard with due ceremony.
Early memories that I have are of my grandmother sitting in a chair in what became my brother's room and, sometime later, standing at my bedroom window (where, I'm sure, my mom had told me to stay) watching an ambulance pull away from the house with her on a stretcher. I never saw her again but I remember the morning of the funeral - I was playing on the floor of my parent's bedroom with blocks and they were talking about whether I was old enough to go to the service. I didn't go to the service, so I was young enough not to be reasonable.
When I was in grade school, the older brother of a classmate died of an aneurysm.
It was there, around us, and recognized so while I feared it when I was younger, I understood that it happens to everyone. I've come to terms with it and, while it's not fun or pleasant, it also doesn't have to be dramatic.
I was there when my dad passed. He was surrounded by loving family - my mom, three of his four children and grandchildren.
My mom passed surrounded by most of the family when I was trying out for a new job - I couldn't be there but knowing my mom I knew precisely what she would say: "You do what you need to do. I'll be fine." Which is why I can write that, four years after her death, and not feel anything but the smallest pang of remorse. The remorse being because I feel as if I let her down, even though I know in my heart that she understood.
Hubby, however, is an only child. He never had to deal directly with the end-of-life stuff. One grandmother died in Oklahoma when he was here, in California. The other died in Los Angeles while he was in the northern part of the state. His father died, unexpectedly, when he was out of town.
Now he is facing the reality directly because MIL is dying right in front of his eyes.
Since she was released from the hospital in early April we've had nurses coming every-other-day to check on her, make sure she's improving. For three weeks I've seen what's happening - the lack of any improvement, a decline in function and ability to speak, but kept my mouth shut.
Today, the nurse said what I've recognized - we're in the end-game. Of course hubby is having a hard time coping. It's his mom and he's never had to deal with anything like this before. I also know that it's going to get harder once the initial shock passes him by. For now, though, he's going through the motions.
We had a conference call - hubby, the nurse (who is a marvel - someone who I met just the other day and instantly knew I would like to get to know as a friend) and me. The nurse recommended Hospice and I seconded it because they do such stellar work. I saw it with my Dad and recommend it to everyone and anyone dealing with a family member's End of Days. Hubby acceded to the idea - for the moment.
By the time I get home tonight I know what's going to have happened. He'll have passed through shock and probably through anger (although that's not a guarantee). Then I'll have to cope with denial. But, as I said to him on the phone, she is far enough gone that she is not going to improve, let alone get wholly better. There has been a steady decline in her physical and mental functions for weeks - and now it's time to make her comfortable, to give her the care that will ease her into that next stage.
Not fun, not pleasant, but the only thing we can all expect in this life and it sucks.
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
My MIL, as I've mentioned before, is eighty-seven - a bad eighty-seven because she didn't take care of herself when she was younger. Her body has been holding on even though her mind has been pretty much gone for years. Now her body is failing and we're facing the hard decisions children have to make for people for whom we care. It sucks, big time.
I was lucky because I grew up in a household where no one pretended that death didn't happen. We didn't discuss it, but it wasn't hushed up or glossed over either.
There were the family pets buried in the backyard with due ceremony.
Early memories that I have are of my grandmother sitting in a chair in what became my brother's room and, sometime later, standing at my bedroom window (where, I'm sure, my mom had told me to stay) watching an ambulance pull away from the house with her on a stretcher. I never saw her again but I remember the morning of the funeral - I was playing on the floor of my parent's bedroom with blocks and they were talking about whether I was old enough to go to the service. I didn't go to the service, so I was young enough not to be reasonable.
When I was in grade school, the older brother of a classmate died of an aneurysm.
It was there, around us, and recognized so while I feared it when I was younger, I understood that it happens to everyone. I've come to terms with it and, while it's not fun or pleasant, it also doesn't have to be dramatic.
I was there when my dad passed. He was surrounded by loving family - my mom, three of his four children and grandchildren.
My mom passed surrounded by most of the family when I was trying out for a new job - I couldn't be there but knowing my mom I knew precisely what she would say: "You do what you need to do. I'll be fine." Which is why I can write that, four years after her death, and not feel anything but the smallest pang of remorse. The remorse being because I feel as if I let her down, even though I know in my heart that she understood.
Hubby, however, is an only child. He never had to deal directly with the end-of-life stuff. One grandmother died in Oklahoma when he was here, in California. The other died in Los Angeles while he was in the northern part of the state. His father died, unexpectedly, when he was out of town.
Now he is facing the reality directly because MIL is dying right in front of his eyes.
Since she was released from the hospital in early April we've had nurses coming every-other-day to check on her, make sure she's improving. For three weeks I've seen what's happening - the lack of any improvement, a decline in function and ability to speak, but kept my mouth shut.
Today, the nurse said what I've recognized - we're in the end-game. Of course hubby is having a hard time coping. It's his mom and he's never had to deal with anything like this before. I also know that it's going to get harder once the initial shock passes him by. For now, though, he's going through the motions.
We had a conference call - hubby, the nurse (who is a marvel - someone who I met just the other day and instantly knew I would like to get to know as a friend) and me. The nurse recommended Hospice and I seconded it because they do such stellar work. I saw it with my Dad and recommend it to everyone and anyone dealing with a family member's End of Days. Hubby acceded to the idea - for the moment.
By the time I get home tonight I know what's going to have happened. He'll have passed through shock and probably through anger (although that's not a guarantee). Then I'll have to cope with denial. But, as I said to him on the phone, she is far enough gone that she is not going to improve, let alone get wholly better. There has been a steady decline in her physical and mental functions for weeks - and now it's time to make her comfortable, to give her the care that will ease her into that next stage.
Not fun, not pleasant, but the only thing we can all expect in this life and it sucks.
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
'tis The Season - Grumbling & Philosophy
Oh, yippitee skippitee, Scrooge is here.
The company holiday party (nope, not allowed to call it Christmas since someone might be offended) is coming up this Friday. I've had offers of hand-holding from a number of people so even though I don't really want to, I'm going. I'll sit with my hand-holding buds and shoot the breeze and will probably end up having a good time. There's going to be line dancing and, knowing me, I'll probably jump into that.
Heck - that'll be a trip down Memory Lane.
When I was about four my mom enrolled me in ballet classes not knowing that I'm a follow my own drummer personality. Or maybe she did and didn't care? I don't know. All I know is that at four years old any stage career I might have developed disappeared in the middle of a dance recital.
Black leotard with a short red tutu, a black overskirt with red polkadots. I remember that. I also remember being the one kid in the line of however many there were reaching to the ceiling while everyone else was bending to the floor and vice versa. It didn't go well. But I did get a bouquet of red roses from my favorite Aunt when it was all over.
This should be more fun though since I doubt anyone else, except maybe one or two hardcore country western listeners, will have a clue what they're doing either. In the end, it'll be fun and funny and a laugh and that's what it's all about.
With my buds and music I can pretend I'm sitting in a bar someplace. Although the room will no doubt be more brightly lit than the local bar.
Since I was in charge of the music I dove deep into my past and requested 'Twisting By The Pool' and 'The Sultans of Swing', both from Dire Straits.
Hopefully when it's all over everyone will look at everyone else and say, 'that was fun! Let's do it again next year!'
At home, we won't be celebrating the season because there's both too much and not enough going on.
MIL is becoming incontinent. Twice in the past few days hubby has been down on the floor scrubbing stains. I just hope, callously perhaps, for all of us that this phase doesn't last too long.
I spent an hour of my evening last night Googling about incontinence and its various forms. Imagine spending an evening Googling about excrement. Not pleasant. Not how I wanted to spend my evening, but what I did because we're looking for solutions. Is it dietary? Probably not, although it could be. We'll remove what we think is problematic - sodas, milk and dairy - and see what happens. Is it related to her diabetes? Probably. Nerves don't work so she doesn't necessarily know when it's time. It's also simply a part of aging. And this is where it gets into things I really didn't know about, and won't share because, who knows, maybe you'd like to spend a couple of hours Googling about incontinence in the elderly and its causes.
Unfortunately, there don't seem to be any solutions. This is end-stage and it's only a question of how much longer. Weeks, perhaps months but no longer based on what I read. This isn't something that goes for years, so there is a bright spot - caused by bleach on the carpet in the living room.
Maybe I shouldn't say this here, but I am determined, after seeing how my parents went out and seeing how MIL is going out, not to do it as she's doing it.
Dad died of cancer at home, surrounded by family. It was hard to watch but it was over in a matter of months. No dragging it out.
Mom, sadly, died of a long-term infection, but she retained her dignity up to the last several months when the pain for her and the burden of caring for the infection got to be too much for my SIL and brother. Up until the end she had her marbles. She could speak and decide for herself, and she decided when the time had come to move into assisted living. She did, and a few months later was gone, but there was none of the stress of caretaking a senile person who has trouble formulating sentences and thoughts, who struggles to get to the bathroom on time and who has trouble swallowing and throwing up half of what she eats on a regular basis.
If I reach that stage, I'm outta here. I will not burden my family with this kind of thing. I will not spend months or a year or more living like half-a-vegetable which is where we are with MIL. There are ways and I'll find one.
I think that's a major difference too. She fears death and I don't. I don't want to die, don't get me wrong, but thinking about it doesn't scare me. It's inevitable and is as much a part of living as being born.
I also wonder what's next because I don't believe it's a one-and-done. If it is, I won't know it anyway so I won't have a chance to be disappointed. If it's not, the next phase is something to look forward to. I think. Unless it's like Dante's Inferno and this is Level Three and I'm heading for Level Four or something. But, again, if it is, if I am, there's nothing I can do about it.
So the Holidays will come and go and January 1st will start our next calendar trip around the Sun. Things will change and others won't and it will be interesting to see what happens.
In the meantime, I hope you have a wonderful day and month and year and... Whatever the future brings your way.
Best~
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
The company holiday party (nope, not allowed to call it Christmas since someone might be offended) is coming up this Friday. I've had offers of hand-holding from a number of people so even though I don't really want to, I'm going. I'll sit with my hand-holding buds and shoot the breeze and will probably end up having a good time. There's going to be line dancing and, knowing me, I'll probably jump into that.
Heck - that'll be a trip down Memory Lane.
When I was about four my mom enrolled me in ballet classes not knowing that I'm a follow my own drummer personality. Or maybe she did and didn't care? I don't know. All I know is that at four years old any stage career I might have developed disappeared in the middle of a dance recital.
Black leotard with a short red tutu, a black overskirt with red polkadots. I remember that. I also remember being the one kid in the line of however many there were reaching to the ceiling while everyone else was bending to the floor and vice versa. It didn't go well. But I did get a bouquet of red roses from my favorite Aunt when it was all over.
This should be more fun though since I doubt anyone else, except maybe one or two hardcore country western listeners, will have a clue what they're doing either. In the end, it'll be fun and funny and a laugh and that's what it's all about.
With my buds and music I can pretend I'm sitting in a bar someplace. Although the room will no doubt be more brightly lit than the local bar.
Since I was in charge of the music I dove deep into my past and requested 'Twisting By The Pool' and 'The Sultans of Swing', both from Dire Straits.
Hopefully when it's all over everyone will look at everyone else and say, 'that was fun! Let's do it again next year!'
At home, we won't be celebrating the season because there's both too much and not enough going on.
MIL is becoming incontinent. Twice in the past few days hubby has been down on the floor scrubbing stains. I just hope, callously perhaps, for all of us that this phase doesn't last too long.
I spent an hour of my evening last night Googling about incontinence and its various forms. Imagine spending an evening Googling about excrement. Not pleasant. Not how I wanted to spend my evening, but what I did because we're looking for solutions. Is it dietary? Probably not, although it could be. We'll remove what we think is problematic - sodas, milk and dairy - and see what happens. Is it related to her diabetes? Probably. Nerves don't work so she doesn't necessarily know when it's time. It's also simply a part of aging. And this is where it gets into things I really didn't know about, and won't share because, who knows, maybe you'd like to spend a couple of hours Googling about incontinence in the elderly and its causes.
Unfortunately, there don't seem to be any solutions. This is end-stage and it's only a question of how much longer. Weeks, perhaps months but no longer based on what I read. This isn't something that goes for years, so there is a bright spot - caused by bleach on the carpet in the living room.
Maybe I shouldn't say this here, but I am determined, after seeing how my parents went out and seeing how MIL is going out, not to do it as she's doing it.
Dad died of cancer at home, surrounded by family. It was hard to watch but it was over in a matter of months. No dragging it out.
Mom, sadly, died of a long-term infection, but she retained her dignity up to the last several months when the pain for her and the burden of caring for the infection got to be too much for my SIL and brother. Up until the end she had her marbles. She could speak and decide for herself, and she decided when the time had come to move into assisted living. She did, and a few months later was gone, but there was none of the stress of caretaking a senile person who has trouble formulating sentences and thoughts, who struggles to get to the bathroom on time and who has trouble swallowing and throwing up half of what she eats on a regular basis.
If I reach that stage, I'm outta here. I will not burden my family with this kind of thing. I will not spend months or a year or more living like half-a-vegetable which is where we are with MIL. There are ways and I'll find one.
I think that's a major difference too. She fears death and I don't. I don't want to die, don't get me wrong, but thinking about it doesn't scare me. It's inevitable and is as much a part of living as being born.
I also wonder what's next because I don't believe it's a one-and-done. If it is, I won't know it anyway so I won't have a chance to be disappointed. If it's not, the next phase is something to look forward to. I think. Unless it's like Dante's Inferno and this is Level Three and I'm heading for Level Four or something. But, again, if it is, if I am, there's nothing I can do about it.
So the Holidays will come and go and January 1st will start our next calendar trip around the Sun. Things will change and others won't and it will be interesting to see what happens.
In the meantime, I hope you have a wonderful day and month and year and... Whatever the future brings your way.
Best~
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
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