Jeannie - Mortality
With a few more words to Mom who was quickly fading, Leslie turned around and motioned to her husband. She looked over at me with a tired look. Her age was more evident around her eyes.
“I’ve been here the last two nights. I’m going home to sleep. I’ll be back in the morning. Will bring something for breakfast.” She hugged me. “Good to see you.”
Her husband gave me another hug. It took all my strength not to jerk away from the slimy feeling that washed over me. Thank goodness the feeling was short-lived as Leslie tugged at his arm.
As I watched them leave, I couldn’t help but think how much she looked like Mom. Yes, we all had features of her, including myself. But it was Leslie who looked the most like her. I nearly laughed at the irony of that.
When they had left, Mary breathed deeply. She suddenly looked ten years older than she was. She rubbed her eyes. “We have a bed they can bring in later. It’s big enough that we can both sleep on it though I tend to stay up watching her as much as possible.”
“I’m tired but not sure I can sleep.” I watched as Mom’s breathing deepened. She had fallen back asleep within minutes of receiving the pain medication. I envied her ability to just drift off and rest.
I glanced back to Mary who took her shoes off and rubbed her feet. “What was up with that deep sigh just now?”
Mary shrugged. “You know how it all is.” Her voice got quiet.
Oh, I knew how it all was. I knew all too well. “Leslie?”
Mary nodded with a grimace.
I wasn’t surprised at all. I could sense some tension in the room and wasn’t sure about what it was all about. Leslie had the tendency to cause tension in the family quite often. I was just a little surprised that it was so strong during this time.
“What happened?” Yes, I was slightly nosey, but I also knew what pent up emotions did to one. I had dealt with it my whole life.
Mary hesitated. She wasn’t one to talk about others. In fact, she bent over backwards to keep peace where she could. In that aspect, she was a lot like Dad. It didn’t matter if talking about it would help. You just didn’t talk about it. That was where I stepped out of the family mold. I believed in exposing issues and discussing them in hopes of fixing them going forward. I found it easy to be the black sheep of the family.
“She’s been rather…” Mary broke off as though struggling to pull the right word through her reluctant mouth.
“Mean?” I suggested.
Mary gave me a reluctant smile. “Pretty much.”
“What’s she doing now?” It could be anything. Leslie tended to be mean in order to make herself look better, or it was in her thinking. I knew exactly what was going on. Okay, maybe not exactly, but I had a very good idea.
“I really don’t want to talk bad of her.” Mary pulled her legs up under her and kept her eyes on Mom.
“You’re not talking bad about her. You’re getting it off your chest so you don’t stoop to her level.” I really believed that. Not getting what bothers you off your chest, you allow it to fester and then later explode with not so good results. I had watched that for years in the family. We never talked about things that irritated us or hurt us. We swept it all under a rug where it molded and fermented and never went away.
That comment released the dam that held her pain back. I think she needed confirmation that she wasn’t breaking a severe commandment.
“She is always making comments that make it sound like I’m incompetent at taking care of Mama. Not like I’ve been a nurse longer than her. Not like I have worked for over forty years in the profession.” Mary sighed. “Just tired of hearing her going on as though she is the only one who can ever do anything right.”
I let her go on and release the pent-up frustration. Yep, that sounded like Leslie. My entire life had been dealing with her pointing out how much prettier she was than me and much thinner.
Mary paused. “I shouldn’t say all this.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. “Why not? It’s not like you are lying.”
“I know, but…”
I cut her off. “Please, there is nothing wrong with venting or telling the truth. We all know how she is. I got it as soon as I landed.”
Mary frowned. “What happened?”
I chuckled. “I was informed how overactive you were being as Mom wasn’t that bad.”
“What?” Mary sat up straight. “She’s in hospice. She’s…” Mary trailed off.
“Yep. Then on the drive here, she demanded I tell her if I was Republican or Democrat.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Her and politics.”
I just nodded.
“How did you answer?”
Laughing, I said, “I told her I didn’t associate with either party. Then she launched into how Hillary was the best choice and Trump was of the devil.”
Mary joined me in laughing.
It sounded good in the room awaiting death. Laughter was good. It relaxed us. It pushed tension away. It fought the darkness.
As it became apparent that Mom was sound asleep, we each took turns in the bathroom getting ready for bed. When Mary was in the bathroom, I arranged my suitcase to be out of the way and got my bags gathered next to it.
Mary came out and quietly put away her clothes. She seemed a little more relaxed now that she had dressed down to her pajamas and washed her face.
“I need a drink and a snack. Do they have any vending machines?” I felt her eyes narrow as I searched for money in purse.
“When did you last eat?”
I tilted my head as I thought about it. “That was several hours ago, in the airport. Grabbed a value meal. Not healthy I know.”
Mary shook her head. “You need more than a vending machine. They have some sandwiches we can get. Come, I’ll show you where it is at the nurse’s station.”
On the way down the hall after closing the door quietly, Mary explained how the nursing home had been taking care of them. Each morning they brought in coffee, juice and water for the family. There were sandwiches and jello cups in the nurses’ station that they could access.
As it was so late, there were only three nurses on hand and only one of them was in the station. The others appeared to be checking on patients. The one on the desk gave us a quick smile as she worked on her computer, entering the notes from the day.
In a small refrigerator, we found half a dozen wrapped sandwiches. I choose a turkey one and a small red jello cup. A spoon was located in a cup on top of the unit. With food in hand and Mary holding a jello cup as well, we made our way back to the room.
Silently, we entered the room. We hadn’t even talked in the hallway. Mom was still asleep and appeared to be resting. Mary took up her place in the chair next to the bed. I grabbed a bottle of water that was on the small table and sat down on the couch.
We were silent for several moments. I began to eat the sandwich which was adequate. It all felt...strange. It wasn’t that it was because Mom was in a hospital bed. She had had many surgeries over the years for various reasons. Yet she always rebounded and was back to normal soon.
It was odd to sit there, knowing she was dying. I wasn’t so disillusioned that I thought she would never die. She was mortal. We all aged and passed on. I knew the day would come. I just didn’t want to face that day.
This reluctance was more than just losing her. It was also a realization of my own mortality. When one’s parents have left this earth, then one moves up to be theoretically the next in line. We step up to the plate. This would be my last parent to leave me. There was no other generation above me. At forty-five, I was ready to face my mortality.
Well, maybe I wasn’t being that morbid, but it was an awakening for me. Life was changing. Family was changing. My two sisters were already grandparents. My own children were becoming adults and making lives of their own. With Dad gone and Mom leaving soon, there was no imagining of still being a child or young enough to lean on one’s parents. They would not be around for that. No longer could I be in that position and call on Mom for help.
The comfort was that I had done little of that over the last few years. We had grown distant. Whose fault was that? Mostly Mom’s. Now here I sat wanting to spend the last moments with her. Maybe I was hypocritical. That would be something for me to think about.