Fluffy vs Raw

I think of myself as fluffy. I like the fluff. Inspiring or funny quotes. Raindrops on Roses and whiskers on Kittens. You know the feel good stuff.

Stuff like this: In the dead of winter, I sit in my family room in the sunshine and drink a Mai Tai from a Tiki cup while listening to Bob Marley. I do, I have, I really do.

So for the most part I want this site to be well..... kinda fluffy. Not too deep. There are times like today however, when fluffy doesn't work for me. Above all else I want this to be real. Fluffy is often my reality but not today.

Today I am raw. Road burn raw. It's long and detailed and for me. So here it is.

Today is March 5, 2010.

My mom had MS for 30+ years. For many years the MS was not so bad that she couldn't live her life fairly normally. The last five years of her life the MS took everything from her. She suffered as her freedoms were taken away from her. No longer able to drive. No longer able to live in her home. Moved away from friends to live in assisted living. And finally moved from assisted living to a nursing home at the age of 64. Being of sound mind she knew exactly what was happening to her. She was living with people 20 years older than her who drooled and weren't of sound mind. Through these times my mom asked me several times why God didn't just take her. These were the darkest of days. Some days I asked God the same question. Some days I prayed God would take her.

To give this....I don't know what to call it.....story? To give this "writing" truth I need to add some things that are unpleasant. I loved my mother. But I didn't like her. She was not a truly nice person. She was demanding and selfish and often times rude ( there was no Please and Thank you). The older she became and more despondent over her situation the worse this became. She lost what little relationships she had with her children and almost everyone else. Except the unconditional love of her mother. Which is one reason I am so thankful they were able to live together the last year of my mom's life.

My mother never found joy in her entire life. I believe that because joy comes from your relationships....relationships with spouse, with family, with yourself and with God. Because of the person she was she never had these.

I was neglected as a child and still harbor sad feelings about this. Yes, I have been to therapy. My therapist told me three things that really helped me through these times. Some things are unforgivable. Only give to her what you can lovingly give. And because she continues to hurt you maybe you can't forgive her until she dies. Whew

I have been completely terrified all of my adult life, that I will become her. This fear transcends all other fears and continues to this day.

In January 2009, I suggested to my siblings maybe we should put our mom in hospice to help her get joy out of her remaining life. She could no longer see, wasn't eating, was aspirating liquids. She had just about lost her ability to move or control any part of her body. She was often confused. She didn't smile much. The only thing she had left was her hearing. Her quality of life was basically zero.

We all agreed. My understanding is when someone enters hospice you are pretty much saying we are only going to treat her for comfort. Any medications given are not to prolong life just make life more comfortable.

Heartland Hospice was great. They did for my mother what I could not give her lovingly. A music therapist came and sang to her. A preacher visited her. Extra nursing staff and volunteers came to see her. Admittedly my visits with her were short. I would stay as long as my mind and heart could take it. It was very comforting to know Heartland was there for her. I do think they brought her joy especially with the guitar and music.

About two weeks into hospice my mother started telling me about her visitors. Her husband, my father Joe, deceased for eight years. Her father, deceased for 20 years. Hospice told me this was not unusual. Who's to say? Maybe God sent them to comfort her and help her find acceptance.

In early March 2009 my mother developed a low fever. I remember sitting and answering the phone. My heart beat faster knowing this fever was probably caused by an infection. Could it clear without antibiotics? Was this the beginning of the end?

Within 48 hours it became clear. This was it. Her fever was very high. She was more confused and was refusing to eat. The date was March 4, 2009. I spent most of the day with my mother. I was asked if we wanted to do a chest x-ray and urinalysis to see where the infection was. I was told there was no reason to do this if we weren't going to treat with antibiotics. This is hard. At this point one of my sisters started to waiver. Urinary tract infections are so easy to treat. I was arrogantly steadfast in our decision for hospice (treat only for comfort). I think I even said to my own dismay, "What is the point?" I cringe at how insensitive I was to my sister and myself.

This day was March 5th, 2009. Exactly one year from today. By noon it was becoming apparent my sister from St Louis needed to come now. She was driving to Minnesota. This day is somewhat of a blur. I remember vividly some things. My mom trying to take a drink of water. She aspirated the water. It was awful to see her gasping and choking.

The most painful memory of that day was when the preacher came to pray with my mother and grandmother. My grandmother was watching her daughter die. I can't imagine that kind of pain when I think of my own children. She kept holding her daughters hand telling her to fight, fight this. The preacher asked my mom who was barely speaking if she was ready to go to heaven and see Jesus. My mother opened her eyes shaking her head and saying no. The preacher asking God to help my mom through this difficult journey to heaven.

I panicked. For all the times my mother had asked for God to take her. She wasn't ready to die. Had I asked my mom if she wanted to go into hospice? She wasn't ready to die. I was wrong. Was it too late to treat this? Could we save her now?

At one point she cried out, "Help Me. I need help." I will remember that until the day I die. It broke my heart. Then my Dr told me this. "Help doesn't mean medical cure. You were helping her." It still is a vision that gives me chills and breaks my heart all over again. It helps what Dr Oster said.

So one year ago Today I could have changed the outcome. At least temporarily.

But I didn't.

What I did do is I forgave her completely. The pain is still there. Everything still happened, I haven't forgotten. God bestowed upon me a magnificent gift. Without hesitation My heart forgave her. I don't know how but I do know why. I was able to love my mother unconditionally. The last day of her life I barely left her side. I laid on the bed with her. I provided every loving word and action in truth and honesty. This was genuine unconditional love.

One year later I still feel that forgiveness in my heart and it still rings true.
Joytobe