Is this considered the first day without my mom? We held her Celebration of Life a mere 20 hours ago, and this is the first sunrise for me - so would this be counted as the first day without her?
Yesterday's service was beautiful. Mom was beautiful.
My mom's last true concern during her last breath was how her sister would fare moving forward.
I feel like I checked off my mom's final concern. My aunt told me last night, "I can laugh now, my sister looked so peaceful, she is safe in God's hands."
Ecclesiastes 3 - A Time for Everything
3 There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
2 a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
6 a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7 a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8 a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
9 What do workers gain from their toil? 10 I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. 11 He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet[a] no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. 12 I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. 13 That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God. 14 I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that people will fear him.
15 Whatever is has already been,
and what will be has been before;
and God will call the past to account.[b]
16 And I saw something else under the sun:
In the place of judgment—wickedness was there,
in the place of justice—wickedness was there.
17 I said to myself,
“God will bring into judgment
both the righteous and the wicked,
for there will be a time for every activity,
a time to judge every deed.”
18 I also said to myself, “As for humans, God tests them so that they may see that they are like the animals. 19 Surely the fate of human beings is like that of the animals; the same fate awaits them both: As one dies, so dies the other. All have the same breath[c]; humans have no advantage over animals. Everything is meaningless. 20 All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust all return. 21 Who knows if the human spirit rises upward and if the spirit of the animal goes down into the earth?”
22 So I saw that there is nothing better for a person than to enjoy their work, because that is their lot. For who can bring them to see what will happen after them?
Saturday, December 30, 2023
Wednesday, December 27, 2023
Nod yes, blink yes.
Here I am, sitting by my mom's bedside again. Watching her take her breaths, deep, relaxed, and sleep-like.
This is surreal.
But want to know something wild? On Christmas Day, or technically Boxing Day midnight. I was woken with a start by the medical team, all fussing over mom because she was crashing. The odd or not so odd sense of calm I felt was comforting. It's now 48 hours later, since mom decided she wanted to fight on, so I have hindsight now.
I felt incredibly calm about mom crashing that night, because 1. this was not even close to the worst crash I experienced over the week I've been by her bedside, and 2. I had been working on accepting her death was going to happen. Not that I had already completed the 5 stages of grief by any means.
And the decisions that night happened so naturally, we pulled mom's life support (all medications to support her heart, reduced her breathing support), and ensured she was pain-free.
We were told her body wouldn't make it very far without the support.
As the minutes ticked by, her breath got shallower and shallower. We held her, we loved on her, we praised God for her, and we said our "see you laters".
Minutes turned into half hour, which turned into an hour, and she just kept her shallow breaths going. She was responding to our love, our words, our songs, our cries. Every so often throughout the night, the nurses would knock to see if everyone was okay or how mom was doing.
The hour turned turned into 2 hours, then I joked about how if mom's still here in a couple more hours, the docs and I are going to have a real talking-to and conversation.
And 4 hours later, mom was still breathing on her own with minimal support, warm bodied, and still responding to our lively banter about our favorite mom and Costco memories. We laughed, we cried, we shared.
Then something told me, "ASK HER!" I jumped out of my seat, brought my face close to face her and ask, "Mom, do you want to fight?" She nodded. "Mom, if you want to keep fighting, blink". She blinked. "Mom, do you want me to get the doctors and get you back? Blink if yes." She blinked hard.
I promised her in that moment I would do everything to give her time, and ran out to the nurses station. I pleaded, "I don't unserstand how this is happening, but my mom is still here and she says she wants to keep fighting and I need your help."
The team at the nurses station rallied quickly and told me they needed more time. "How much?" I asked. "40 minutes"
I ran back to mom's side, "Mom, they're coming. We know what you want and we are on your side. You've been doing this for 4 hours, we need another 40 minutes. Try ok? but if you can't, it's OK. You are loved and you are safe, and He is with you."
The hospital team moved in a flurry and got mom setup the best way they could, back on the medication and her air support, stabilizing her. But reality is, she's on borrowed time.
When she was woke up and was lucid, she asked how much time does she have left, we said, "As much as you fight for, we are on your side."
My mom showed me how the strength of one's will can overcome and God's will be done. She showed me that she is control of her own time.
This is surreal.
But want to know something wild? On Christmas Day, or technically Boxing Day midnight. I was woken with a start by the medical team, all fussing over mom because she was crashing. The odd or not so odd sense of calm I felt was comforting. It's now 48 hours later, since mom decided she wanted to fight on, so I have hindsight now.
I felt incredibly calm about mom crashing that night, because 1. this was not even close to the worst crash I experienced over the week I've been by her bedside, and 2. I had been working on accepting her death was going to happen. Not that I had already completed the 5 stages of grief by any means.
And the decisions that night happened so naturally, we pulled mom's life support (all medications to support her heart, reduced her breathing support), and ensured she was pain-free.
We were told her body wouldn't make it very far without the support.
As the minutes ticked by, her breath got shallower and shallower. We held her, we loved on her, we praised God for her, and we said our "see you laters".
Minutes turned into half hour, which turned into an hour, and she just kept her shallow breaths going. She was responding to our love, our words, our songs, our cries. Every so often throughout the night, the nurses would knock to see if everyone was okay or how mom was doing.
The hour turned turned into 2 hours, then I joked about how if mom's still here in a couple more hours, the docs and I are going to have a real talking-to and conversation.
And 4 hours later, mom was still breathing on her own with minimal support, warm bodied, and still responding to our lively banter about our favorite mom and Costco memories. We laughed, we cried, we shared.
Then something told me, "ASK HER!" I jumped out of my seat, brought my face close to face her and ask, "Mom, do you want to fight?" She nodded. "Mom, if you want to keep fighting, blink". She blinked. "Mom, do you want me to get the doctors and get you back? Blink if yes." She blinked hard.
I promised her in that moment I would do everything to give her time, and ran out to the nurses station. I pleaded, "I don't unserstand how this is happening, but my mom is still here and she says she wants to keep fighting and I need your help."
The team at the nurses station rallied quickly and told me they needed more time. "How much?" I asked. "40 minutes"
I ran back to mom's side, "Mom, they're coming. We know what you want and we are on your side. You've been doing this for 4 hours, we need another 40 minutes. Try ok? but if you can't, it's OK. You are loved and you are safe, and He is with you."
The hospital team moved in a flurry and got mom setup the best way they could, back on the medication and her air support, stabilizing her. But reality is, she's on borrowed time.
When she was woke up and was lucid, she asked how much time does she have left, we said, "As much as you fight for, we are on your side."
My mom showed me how the strength of one's will can overcome and God's will be done. She showed me that she is control of her own time.
Monday, December 25, 2023
Could it be real? This moment
I'm here. Merry Christmas.
I'm by no means feeling alone despite being solo here by my mom's bedside, as her respirator goes off incessantly.
The constant drone and steady inhale and exhale of my mom's breath tells me she's still here.
She's moans and groans as if in pain, but I'm aware that she isn't. "Yes mommy, I'm right here. You're safe. I'm right here." I feel the current occasional word she says it's her semi delirious state it's just her working through every memory she wants to revisit. Right now, she's in Hawaii, Oahu specifically - which I know was where she spent her honeymoon, decades ago with my dad who's no longer in her life.
I feel blessed enough to be by her bedside right this second, but I also struggle with the realization that I'm losing her.
This woman who showed me how to be faithful, to be honest to myself, to own every mistake I make, to be there for others because that is what gives us purpose, and to be my own person because God made me wonderfully.
I have had days, right here, freaking out, accepting, and working through what must be the stages of grief.
For every person I've met, named and unnamed, this week - I'm grateful, thankful, innumerably hopeful for the world because despite you not knowing me, you have taken me into your fold, and held me when I didn't know I needed it. Looking back, it could be God's way of sending his angels. You were showing up.
"For we are never alone, and you are always with us." I was made to be here. I dreamt it decades ago, and it terrifies and settles me at the same time. Beyond the veil, we see what we were made for. We are fearfully and wonderfully made, in His image. He has a plan, and I trust it - even though in this very moment, I feel like it sucks. balls. ass. whatever. haha.
I'm taking a moment, right now, for... me. To tell myself, you are going to be OK. For you are strong, you have support, you are never alone, you have an army, and you are loved. The same words I'm telling my mom. Maybe I'm talking myself through this by talking to mom. It's OK, mom. I love you.
For every tear I cry, I hydrate. Because I want to keep crying, and feel every moment of this. I am not afraid. Because my mom is an angel, just walking this earth - for now.
I'm by no means feeling alone despite being solo here by my mom's bedside, as her respirator goes off incessantly.
The constant drone and steady inhale and exhale of my mom's breath tells me she's still here.
She's moans and groans as if in pain, but I'm aware that she isn't. "Yes mommy, I'm right here. You're safe. I'm right here." I feel the current occasional word she says it's her semi delirious state it's just her working through every memory she wants to revisit. Right now, she's in Hawaii, Oahu specifically - which I know was where she spent her honeymoon, decades ago with my dad who's no longer in her life.
I feel blessed enough to be by her bedside right this second, but I also struggle with the realization that I'm losing her.
This woman who showed me how to be faithful, to be honest to myself, to own every mistake I make, to be there for others because that is what gives us purpose, and to be my own person because God made me wonderfully.
I have had days, right here, freaking out, accepting, and working through what must be the stages of grief.
For every person I've met, named and unnamed, this week - I'm grateful, thankful, innumerably hopeful for the world because despite you not knowing me, you have taken me into your fold, and held me when I didn't know I needed it. Looking back, it could be God's way of sending his angels. You were showing up.
"For we are never alone, and you are always with us." I was made to be here. I dreamt it decades ago, and it terrifies and settles me at the same time. Beyond the veil, we see what we were made for. We are fearfully and wonderfully made, in His image. He has a plan, and I trust it - even though in this very moment, I feel like it sucks. balls. ass. whatever. haha.
I'm taking a moment, right now, for... me. To tell myself, you are going to be OK. For you are strong, you have support, you are never alone, you have an army, and you are loved. The same words I'm telling my mom. Maybe I'm talking myself through this by talking to mom. It's OK, mom. I love you.
For every tear I cry, I hydrate. Because I want to keep crying, and feel every moment of this. I am not afraid. Because my mom is an angel, just walking this earth - for now.
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