Never Again

I got several hours of sleep last night. Mom’s asleep now, breathing slowly but evenly. That's good I think.

Today is the Feast of the Queenship of Mary, Mother of God and Queen of Heaven and Earth. Somehow I think it would be appropriate if God called Mom home today. But will He? I do not know. All is in His Hands.

The Hospice nurse came to do an “intake” on Mom yesterday. My Mom’s sister and I were both there; as was Mom, although she was, as she is almost all the time now, asleep. The nurse was really nice, but I was (once again) shocked when she said how little time Mom has left. She says a week at most; and she could go at any moment. She said her blood pressure is falling and she could simply stop breathing anytime. And she probably won’t regain consciousness.

I cried and cried again. My aunt and I hugged. I had laid out my mother’s favorite skirt, a denim skirt, and a favorite green blouse, along with her shoes and socks … I honestly thought she would be getting up with my assistance this morning. Her wheelchair was ready as usual; I had her hot water for her tea on, and a packet of Earl Grey sitting beside her tea cup. I had her meds ready. Everything was ready for our usual morning. A morning that will never come again.

In fact of course in a sense nothing every happens “again.” Every moment is new, unique, irreduceable. Everything that happens in each new moment is new, unique, irreduceable. “Ne plus jamais” is true of everything. Only now I’m forced to be more conscious of this fact. And O … how it hurts. Because of course there is also much blessed repetition in things and that blessed repetition is so often the vehicle of love in this world. Every day I would tell Mom I love her; every day she would say the same to me. Every morning I would ask her if she would like her tea now. Every morning she would say, “O I would love a cup of tea.” And now: never again. I can’t bear it; but I know One Who Can bear it. O but it hurts so much. Never to make Mom her tea again: I can’t even think of this without crying. But that’s the way it is. It’s over: never again.

All day Mom’s been in bed, sleeping, never regaining full consciousness although there’s been a word or two here and there. Every now and then she licks her lips that sometimes look so dry; and I say, “Mom, you want a drink of water?” And sometimes she nods or even says, very very softly, “Yes.” Then I hold a cup of water with a straw to her lips and she sucks the water and then raises a hand to push away the cup when she’s done.

After the hospice nurse and my aunt were gone, I kissed Mama and told her I loved her. She didn’t respond, and I asked her if she would like a foot ruby-down. This is what we always called a foot massage. I have given her foot massages all my life; as young as I can remember this is one of the little things I have been able to do for her. This and “back rubby downs”: back massages.

I pulled back the covers and took off her socks and put lotion on first one foot and then the other. I rubbed the lotion into her feet, and I thought I saw a faint smile on her lips. I rubbed the lotion up her lower legs as so often I would do since she developed her edema: her skin often gets so dry on her lower legs. I rubbed the lotion in and again thought I saw a faint smile.

I repositioned her and asked if she would like a back rubby down. She didn’t say anything but I massaged her back and again I thought I saw a faint smile. Her back has scoliosis and rubbing along her bent spine always seems to be so relaxing for her; and when I did this again, her face looked relaxed again.

All this was really part of our “normal morning routine.” For the rest: never again. This seems so very, very painful to me. All day I thought of things that Mama and I have done so many times before … but would never do together ever again. Never again will we go to the store together. Never again will we sit out front and watch the cars go by. Never again will we take the dog in the car to the park for a walk. Never again.

Or again I would see something to remind me of things that we were planning to do together … things we will never be able to do. I saw a brochure I had picked up for Woolaroc … a museum ranch Mom and I were planning to see together. But of course this will never happen now. I saw a puzzle that Mom and I had been working on together. We will never finish it now. I thought of the State Fair. Never again for us.

The Bible is surely right: all of our plans are dust and ashes. We can build up this or that. But now all I can think of is the Voice in the Gospel: “Thou fool: this night thy soul is required of thee.”

Mom looks like she’s resting peacefully now. Her eyes are closed and her breathing seems steady and even. She really looks very young now, with the wrinkles of her face almost gone. She is very beautiful … but she is always very beautiful to me … and I miss her wrinkles … but am glad to see her looking so lovely and peaceful.

A couple of times yesterday, I put a MASH DVD. This is from a collection of the MASH TV series. Mom and I loved to watch MASH together. I said to her, “Mom, is it OK if I put on MASH?” She gave a small smile and nodded but said nothing; her eyes were still closed. Then I held her hand while I (we?) watched a few MASH programs. She never opened her eyes and she didn’t say anything. Once I thought I felt slight squeeze of her hand, but this might be wishful thinking.

At another point, I had Bonanza on TV. We both loved to watch Bonanza. I don’t know if she was aware of it or not; but I held her hand while I played it for both of us.

Mostly though I could do so little for her. I sometimes wandered around the room, praying Please Please Please Lord. Sometimes I feel nothing at all and just want it to be over. How brutal. But it’s not always like that. Mostly I know that I don’t want it to be over until it’s the right time. And so often I just can’t stop crying and wishing that it never be over … that Mom and I could go back and be together the way we were. Oh Mama. Please, please don’t go. But I know that the time has come. She said so herself on Sunday.

At one point, in her delirium yesterday, Mom rasped out, “Let me go … let me go … let me go …” I said, “Go when you want, Mama. Go whenever you want. Go when you’re ready. I love you. I love you and I’m right here.” I don’t know if she heard me, or if she did, what she did or didn’t understand. Then she said, “Let me stay … let me stay … O please let me stay …” I said, “Stay as long as you want, Mama. Stay as long as you want. I’m here. I love you and I’m right here.”

A few times I heard her murmuring something to “Grandma.” I’ve heard her say things like this in her sleep before. When she does this she is talking to Grandma Rust, her maternal grandmother, my great-grandmother. Grandma Rust died many, many years ago; and Mom was very very close to her. “Grandma please …” Mom said a couple of times. I said, “Mom, I think you will be able to see Grandma very soon. I think very soon. I love you and I’m here …”

She became very agitated several times last night and complained of pain. I asked her if she wanted some medicine and she whispered “yes” and I gave her some more Morphine. It took a lot of Morphine before she was able to become calm; and then, of course, she droused off to sleep.

Yet … what a lady. A very ordinary woman and mother and homemaker at one level. At another level, this woman is a very extraordinary lady indeed. An ikon of Our Lady. A queen of this home, this hearth, this house, who reflects in very truth the Eve and the New Eve, both of whom are in her. The woman who lies here dying is a queen who at death’s door summons the homage of all who do honor to the Queen of Heaven and Earth. I know that the Saints and Angels of Holy Church are here present, weeping and wailing in this passing of this queen from this veil of tears. Jesus and Mary are here present as well, leading the mourning for this simple mother who reflects so much that is in all mothers, and in the Mother of God.

Hail Holy Queen
Mother of Mercy
Our life, our sweetness, and our hope.
To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve
To thee do we send up our sighs,
Mourning and weeping in this Valley of Tears.
Turn then most gracious advocate
Thine eyes of mercy upon us
And after this our exile
Show unto us the Blessed Fruit of thy womb
JESUS
O clement, O loving, O sweet virgin, Maria
Pray for us O Holy Mother of God
That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.