Dignity...

My mother is dying.

Sorry to be so blunt but there is no other way to put that which both gets right to the point and illustrates the abruptness of death, regardless of how long a person lives.

She is dying.

Over the past months, I've watched her struggle to come to terms with her own mortality. When she had her stroke, she fought with each breath her 93 year old body could muster. She worked hard through her therapy and always, always, always lamented each day she had to be in that nursing home. She was being tube fed and all she could think about was solid food. She's ask us, every single time we visited, what we had to eat that day. When the day came when she could eat solid food again, she told me to "go home" when I came to visit her at that first dinner hour. She wanted to savor that dinner roll all on her own without the interruption of having to also make small talk! When she finally came home, she continued to work through her therapies but it was difficult. She was tired. Her body couldn't take much more.

She became frustrated. This was taking too long, this recovery. And it was harder than she could imagine. And she was stuck in a body that wouldn't cooperate, wearing adult diapers, not able to make sense of her words but with a mind as sharp as a tack which made it all the more frustrating. She became sad. She never wanted to be a burden, to have someone have to do anything for her let alone now do literally everything. She suffered the embarrassment of having her son-in-law have to lift her to the toilet while someone else pulled her pants down exposing her just so she could eliminate herself. She choked, often. Her ability to swallow was compromised so even the slightest bit of food or water could set off terrifying bouts of coughing and gasping for air. She ate less and less and now eats so little she is barely getting any nutrition at all. She went from a robust 148 pounds to about 90 pounds, if that. She cannot heal. She has a sore on her bottom and backside that is eating into her muscle and bone and oozing all the time in spite of the nurses packing it daily. Her pain increased in spite of her trying to keep up with therapy and now she is on morphine all the time.

My mother is dying. But...

She is dying at home surrounded by her children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. She has at least one moment every day when she still gets a good laugh. She hears someone say "I love you" several times each day. She gets to sit and pet Bella, her best canine friend. She has time to sit outside with the sun warming her thin face. She has been able to smell the spring flowers and see the first summer veg come up in the garden. She has been able to watch and bemoan her beloved Chicago Cubs while gently sipping a Miller Genuine Draft that she is never able to finish. She can still play cards every weekend. And win. She quietly welcomed her sisters for a visit a few weeks ago and tolerated that as best she could. They were understanding and grateful of the time they had together. It will be there last. She prays everyday. She asks if she will get to heaven. If she doesn't, none of us have a chance! She wonders what heaven will be like and we assure her that it will be just as she always believed it to be with Dad and my Grandparents and Aunt Sophie all waiting to welcome her in.

One day soon, I know, my mother will stop breathing and go into that great last adventure. After watching her struggle and hurt and suffer and wane away to almost nothing, I know that day will be a blessing for her. I'm ready for that day. I think she is too. But what I am most grateful for is that my mother could spend these last months, weeks, days, in the bosom of her family. Family has always been the most important thing in her life. We grew up with nothing but she always made us understand that we have each other. And now she has us and this is the proof that there can and should be dignity in life and dignity in death. No one should die alone and unloved. My mother will be celebrated when she finally passes. She will be celebrated by her former students, her colleagues, her friends but most of all her family. We are all who we are today because of her. We owe her so much. And I know that my life, in some way, has been a testament to this amazing lady.

My mother is dying.
And we are all at peace with that.