Her & Mom & Me

 7.27.25  This morning, I woke abruptly to a phone call at 3am from Gilchrist. It was Olivia, Mom peacefully passed away at 2:45am.  After visiting last night, I had a feeling we were in the final hours. Her breathing sounded painful but the nurse reassured me she's not in pain. They gave her a bath in case "she leaves us tonight." Fiona and I stayed up late watching "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close." An incredible story of a boy who loses his father (physically) in 9/11 but gains an adventure that would have made him proud and learning that everyone carries so much weight. It's lighter when we realize that and embrace one another. I called Dad as I left the house to head to Gilchrist. I texted Cathy, also.  Walking into Mom's Room No. 7, the air felt different, calm, sterile, lifeless. Her spirit had moved on. The physical being in front of me was not the wholeness of her, of Momma. Her eyes were slightly open, her lips turning pale, and her chest ....

 7.26.25 I'm here with Mom this morning. It's 6:42 am. She was bathed overnight and is moaning a lot. At first, I thought that she was trying to communicate but Sondra said she thinks "it's just her dying." I think they call it the "death rattle."  This is so heartbreaking - the loss of connection and communication with this and those in this world. I know this is part of the process but I didn't expect it to feel this gradual and this rapid at the same time. From her "Putting Your Faith Into Action Today!" book: July 26 FAITH IS... Keeping on-anyway "...he who endures to the end will be saved."  -Matthew 10:22 Today it's time to hang on to one powerful, positive word - endure! To endure means: "Inch by inch, anything is a cinch." To endure means: "There is no gain without pain." To endure mans: "I have to look at what I have, not what I've lost." Never make a negative decision in a down time....

 7.25.25 I am patiently waiting for the AC company to arrive to replace our HVAC system that broke last weekend. It's supposed to be 97 degrees and real feel of 110 degrees. So that's fun. Yesterday, I went back to visit mom just before dinner time. The books had been spread around the first floor. Nurses were holding a few, a few others by their mobile desks. Mom was alert and kept moving her left arm, so I moved to that side. We talked and something was telling me she may be using her arm to signal she wanted to give me a hug. So I asked, "are you trying to give me a hug?" Her eyebrows lifted, like she was saying "YES!" I carefully put my right arm under her neck and pressed my chest against hers and right cheek against her right cheek. I couldn't see the expression on her face, but she didn't make a sound. I was worried she had stopped breathing. I looked up and her right eye was teary, and she looked like that was just what she needed. We did alw...

 7.24.25 It feels like a full day already and it's only noon. I didn't run this morning. Instead, I visited Mom early at 6:15 am. She was alert, eyes open, making noise, and moving her hands. I talked to her gently. Rachel reminded me to say what I need to every time I see her. She could be waiting or spiritually know I haven't said my peace. I'm so grateful for these amazing people. I told mom I love her and that she will always be with me. I also very explicitly said, "You will not be forgotten." One of her fears she shared with me early on in this journey. I told her she was beautiful and it reminded me of Joe Cocker's "You Are So Beautiful" and so I sang it. She winced a little in the face when I began to croon. And I said, "you did not pass down your singing voice." We laughed together. it was short, but it was most definitely a "you got that right" kind of laugh. Then I put on "Always On My Mind" by Willie Nels...

 7.23.25 9am - I'm with Mom now. It's my second time today. Earlier I ran here to talk to Rachel, the night nurse. At 6:20 am, when I walked in her eyes popped open almost immediately. She was alert, restless, and trying to communicate with me and maybe others. She said "Mom" a few times. Also, I think I heard her say "it's my fault." Maybe? I don't know. I gave her some water. She kept moving her hands, tried sit up a couple of times, and eventually her right hand clutched her heart. I asked if she was in pain and she moaned. Rachel came in and she smiled. An extra dose of pain meds, for both physical and anxiety, and she was snoring within minutes. I've been asked several times, "how are you doing?"  Tired. I've never tried to grapple with so many emotions and for so many people at once. Blaire, one of the social workers, said something to me that resonated. The death process is a lot like giving birth. Unexpected. Painful. Unique...

 7.22.25  On my morning run, I saw several friends. Two, with separate groups, gave me a hug. Ironically, these two do not quite see eye-to-eye on tough, political, cultural issues. It made me feel like some sort of bridge. I called Gilchrist around 6:50am to talk to the night nurse before the shift change. She told me that they administered an enema overnight and it helped. Mom appeared to be relieved. when the nurse went in around 3am to give her dose of Dilaudid, her eyes opened and she made some sounds, including what she thought was "Mom." They nurse said to her, "yes, you can go be with your mom when you're ready." My first thought was I hope this is what she would want to see - her mom. Despite her traumatic childhood involving enemas, she did love her mom. As a "people please," my mom never wanted confrontation. My grandmother definitely had signs of depression and rightfully so with all she had been through and had to deal with through the Dep...

 7.21.25 It's Mary Lou's birthday (my dad's mom). It's also Mary Lou's final days. She made it to her 73rd birthday on Friday and I do believe she felt that was a major milestone along her final journey. The past few days have been the hardest so far - although I find myself saying that over and over again. Her health and/or ability to hide her pain - physical, emotional, mental, psychological, and existential - has ended. She has repeatedly told me and the nurses she's ready to die. On Saturday night, she texted me after not being able to use her phone to call. She was hungry, confused, didn't understand why "it" was taking so long. I brought her french fries even though she couldn't eat. She hasn't had a bowel movement in 12 days. I think she just wanted me to be there, and I sensed it. The night nurses have her something to help move things along and gave her a bed bath. Before I left, I told her I loved her, she did a great job raising ...