Communication

The days at the hospital were long. I arrived before 8 a.m. to get in line for the doors to open for visitors. Visiting hours ended at 7:30. My brother and I were sharing a room in a run-down Hampton, which offered a complimentary breakfast and little else; the benefits were that we weren't there much, it was minutes from the hospital, and it cost a minimum amount of reward points which stretched the stash we had saved from Ken's years of work travel. So when Ken and my sister-in-law offered to come we thanked them but said it wasn't the best idea; only 2 visitors were allowed at a time, and my brother and I were completely focused on our mom. I needed to stay present.

And that has made this practice of writing about that time last year so eye-opening. Last night my hands started shaking as I was typing that post. It's not that I haven't been sad and taken time to grieve. What's coming up now are the things I couldn't take time to think about while everything was unfolding. I am writing things down here that I haven't said out loud.

What I am most grateful for is that I have no regrets. I was able to listen to my mom and advocate for what she needed and wanted. That was a critical element as conversations took place on Sunday. 

At one point she and I were alone in the room. She was angry, frustrated, and blamed me. Why did she have to fall? Why wasn't she getting better? I stayed right there and listened. I answered that she had every right to all those feelings, that I was strong and could hear anything she wanted to say, I wasn't going anywhere, and I love her no matter what. I reminded her of the challenges she had within herself and with her aunt, the woman who rasised her, when it came time for Aunt Kate to go into a nursing home. She took a moment to think about that, and we went on to talk about that time and all that my mom was feeling now. There were important insights for both of us to consider.

Later that day my brother returned to the room, and my mom initiated a conversation about her medical treatment  and end of life decisions she wanted to make. It was a hard discussion, especially for my brother, but it was so necessary. Mom needed to talk about her wishes. My brother and I reassured her that she was in charge and the decisions were hers to make. We would support her. We all agreed that she needed to talk to the doctors during rounds the next morning.

My sister was coming in late Tuesday night. It had been difficult for her to schedule flights from Scotland to Pittsburgh, with a change in Canada. She would take a bus from Pittsburgh to a bus stop across from the hotel. I would get permission for us to visit Mom as soon as she arrived. I had tried to keep my sister updated but it was impossible to relay all that was happening with messages and the occasional video chat. I was glad she was coming.

We had all tried repeatedly to contact my younger brother since the day of Mom's surgery. He didn't have his own cell phone or computer, and he had changed jobs so we didn't have a work contact. We had left messages on his landline and his partner's cell phone, and she hadn't called back either. We were sure he had gotten word somehow and thought he must be having trouble figuring out how to travel the 200 miles from Virginia to Morgantown.

The unique aspect of the relationship among the four of us siblings is that we don't argue. It's not that we always agree. It's that we don't see each other very often and we value the time we do have together. My older brother is two years younger than I am, and we have had each other's back since we were little kids. My younger brother is seven years my junior. I was fifteen when my sister was born. We have different interests and occupations and family configurations. The thing we have in common is that we love our mom. That was going to be a saving grace in the coming days.