"The Love of My Life" by Jan Stodte

As many of you know the last month of her life, I spent with my mother. Her first wish was to be pain free, her second that she be allowed to die as quickly and as naturally as possible. As the process evolved so did she. She died, as we all would like to, with dignity, peace and a sense of closure. Mom was always one to "sweat the small stuff". That disappeared first, and in its place an appreciation for the small stuff blossomed. The skill of a nurse's aid in assisting her out of bed, the brightness of someone's smile, the color and texture of the flowers she received, the pain free injections. She could use her wonderful way with words to turn a difficult ordeal into a hilarious situation. We actually spent the first week of her hospitalization mostly laughing so much our stomach muscles would ache.

My mother was one to plan things out to the nth degree. That too dissolved along with the desire to keep in tight control. How graciously and gratefully she allowed her caregivers to problem solve with her and assist with the most personal of care. She managed to make the most outrageous jokes about having to give up her modesty and control. Each new person that came through her door she met with an open mind. And I witnessed how tears came to her eyes when an MD she had thought was cold and clinical, put his hand on her shoulder and give a squeeze of gentle encouragement - the tears of humbleness, accepting that ones opinion was wrong.

Most of the staff were so eager to spend time with her long after their shifts were over they would stay to chat and laugh and learn about the ideas and life of this dying woman- that she was in the midst of re-editing a novel she had hoped to get published, that she had done wonders for homeless children after WWII. So began the life review, and the move to Hospice house. Watching her navigate the turbulence of having her most adamant desire to die at home be taken from her was emotionally wrenching- and it all happened within only a few minutes. "The acceptance of that which we cannot change". What was still hidden from all of us, herself included was although she knew she was going to die, it had not yet registered in her soul.

Wondrous to witness was the process of truth moving deeper and deeper into her being. She became absolutely honest with herself and made amazing new discoveries about the influences in her life that led her to believe she was a bad person. The light that radiated from her face when she realized she was a good person who sometimes made choices that didn't fit her values. It was then that she decided " I am going to die a Lady" (In my language I translate that to mean: I have a choice, and I am choosing to actually live my values rather than simply believe in them) and she did. Mom began to make amends where amends were needed. We talked often about forgiveness. Her mind was open. She understood that forgiveness is not the same as agreeing with misbehavior or cruelty. Above all honesty prevailed. She told me that there were still people she could not forgive.

My mom used to tell me "I'm not afraid of dying, only of the pain that might accompany the cause of dying." So, it surprised me when she whispered in my ear one day "I am so afraid of dying." She asked all the nurses, the doctors, the social workers, the personal caregivers: "What happens when someone dies?" Coming from the medical perspective, each answered by describing what happens in the body. "But what will happen to me?" she insisted. "The body dies and a life disappears?" These questions were the source of her deep and powerful fear. Weeks had gone by since her last meal and she wasn't taking fluids but her spirit clung to her body as she puzzled through this fear of annihilation. Her voice was barely a whisper at this point.

One day sitting by her side holding her hand she was gazing off into the far far distance. Her eyes were wide and shinning. Her words: "how unbelievable, this seems so miraculous. What a beautiful wonder. It is just so beautiful." Even though I very much wanted to know what she was experiencing I kept quiet as she marveled. Finally, I asked "What do you see mom?" She was silent for a long moment and then said she was sorry but that she had no answer that words could convey. That there were no words for what she had seen.

Not long after this experience, she got quieter and quieter. The nurses said it could be hours or perhaps another day. One by one we began to say our goodbyes and finally she closed her eyes and spoke no more. Four more days went by as she got quieter and quieter. One evening, I knew - I just knew that this would be her last. I whispered in her ear that I loved her very much and would always love her and that this would be the last time I would say goodbye. At 3 am we got the call that she had died a peaceful, graceful, beautiful death.

This experience with her touched something deep inside me. Little things bother me less. I spend more time stopping to talk with people around me. I play with other people's pets when I am out walking. The color, texture and shapes of plants and objects catch my attention more. Life is lovelier. People seem friendlier. My cup is no longer half empty. I now have the courage to see that it is half full.

© 2005 Gayle Kirk. All Rights Reserved.