One year ago today the day started just after midnight when my sister and I got back to the hotel. My brother's son and his wife had arrived; they had called ahead to reserve a room and had driven the four hours from home after work. My brother had been in touch with his youngest son, much like I kept in touch with my kids, with daily texts and phone calls. We said our hellos and enjoyed light conversation for a bit; then my sister and I needed to get to bed. She had been up more than 24 hours and I had plans to officially start the day at 6 a.m.
Before I left the hospital late the night of June 7th I stopped at the nurse's station to ask if I could come before visiting hours the next morning. I was given permission and the same nurses would be on duty the next morning to answer the call from the visitor desk. I knew that the day would be busy with making arrangements for what came next for my mom. She was only allowed two visitors at a time so we would play change-the-nametag game throughout the day. I wanted a chance to talk to my mom alone in the calm of early morning, and I didn't know if I would get another chance.
When I arrived at 7 a.m. the parking lot was nearly empty at the large university hospital. The front desk called up to the SICU and I was given a name tag and permission to go upstairs. It was a relief to see my mom awake and looking like herself. She was still on oxygen and pain meds, but the other machines had been removed. I told her that her grandson had arrived with his wife and they would be over to visit. She smiled. We talked about my kids and grandkids, and she said that all her children and our families were her legacy. I reminded her that I had talked to my younger brother the night before and that he was on his way. Throughout the day she said more than once, "You know I love him." We all knew she loved all of us, but it was good to have her say it out loud about my brother who hadn't talked to our mom in months and hadn't yet arrived. Her mind was as sharp as ever. She talked about things that happened when she was a child, how much she loved her grandmother and aunt who took care of her after her mother died, and how she always felt loved and taken care of. My mom had regrets about how much responsibility fell to me as the oldest child; we talked about how hard life was in our household and how we survived. She was proud of the four of us, the lives we had made for ourselves, and the people we had made a part of our lives. It was one of the best conversations I had ever had with my mom.
Then it was visiting hours. I got the call to come downstairs so two others could come upstairs. I told Mom I would see her a bit later and the nametag rotation began. It gave me a chance to sit outside and catch up with my nephew and his wife. I told them how much it meant that they came. The suspicion I had about their trip was accurate: yes, they wanted to see Grandma Ellie, and they also wanted to check on my brother. They knew he was taking all of this very hard. It was important they were present to support him.
Around 11:00 we got word that Dr. Navia and his team were prepared to meet with Mom and then with my brother, sister, and me. It had been cleared that the three of us could be on the floor at the same time to meet in the waiting room. It was a very difficult meeting, especially for my sister. She had been in town for only 12 hours and she was hearing that our mom was ready to die. My brother and I had been witness to what Mom endured and how hard she tried to keep going. She couldn't do that any longer and she was ready to let go. We were each asked to voice our support for our mom's decision to enter hospice care. Then the Support Team went into action to have her moved to the hospice floor.
The day before my mom, my brother, and I had met with a social worker to go through the assignment of my brother as Mom's representative if she was unable to make health care decisions for herself. I was designated to step in if necessary. It was never necessary to have anyone but my mom make decisions.
The other thing the social worker was able to accomplish the day before was to track down the paperwork my mom had signed several years before to have her body donated to the medical school at WVU, on the very campus where she was hospitalized. She and the man she married in 2003 had set that up; Charlie, who died four years earlier, was from West Virginia and they both liked the idea of being of use in the training of medical students. The problem had been that my mom's wallet with the donor card had been lost between the ambulance ride to her local hospital and the trip to Morgantown. My brother had tried unsuccessfully to talk to the right person to find the document on file; the social worker was able to straighten that situation out with one phone call.
After the meeting with the Support Team, I went to get lunch, and my brother and sister went to be with my mom. She was moved to the hospice floor in the early afternoon, to a small room at the end of the hall. She was on oxygen and a small dose of morphine. That was all. There was not a light to be seen or a beep to be heard.
I went into the hall to call my younger brother with an update. I had not heard from him since he told me he was coming. There was a storm headed across the state and we didn't know how that would impact travel. I left a message.
Mom was settled in and resting. I called people to let them know. I left my number on the board in her room so the nurse could call if anything changed. I could call the nurses' station any time.
My sister and I were staying in town. In the evening my brother headed across the mountain to try to beat the storm, and my nephew headed home as well. We would stay in touch.
Later that night the storm hit with full force - thunder, lightening, wind, heavy rain, hail, and tornadoes. We learned the next day that there was a swath of damage and power outages across the state.
At 11:40 my brother texted that he had made it home despite the terrible weather. Shortly after there was a tremendous flash of lightening out our hotel window, and the cable went out. My sister and I looked at each other in awe at the sight of the storm outside.
I am convinced that that was the moment that my mom passed. I love the image of her riding out on a lightening bolt. She "knew" that my brother was home safe and it was okay to go.
My phone rang at 4:30 a.m. It was the charge nurse with news that my mother had died. She had called my brother but he didn't answer. It was not the kind of news you leave in a voicemail. She was delayed in calling because there were downed trees blocking her route to work. They were calling the time of death just after midnight because that was when Mom was found to be unresponsive. However, I count June 8 as her final day.
Then I called my brother. We would talk later in the light of day.
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