Tags
Caretakers, Caretaking, death, Hospice, Mother's death, Mothers, poetry, prose poem, Relationships
My mother died seven years ago this month, which is also the month I was born. I wrote a short story, which reads like a prose poem, a few years ago about the experience, caring for her during those last months. I thought I would reblog it here in memory of her. We had a difficult relationship at times, but it was buoyed by the deep love and commitment we had for each other. She is dearly missed.
Here’s how the story begins. You can read the rest of it at the link below.
I
She streaks past me naked in the dark hall. Light from the bathroom flashes upon her face, her thin shoulders, her sharp knees. Her head turns toward me, her dark eyes angry stabs. As if daring me to see her, stop her, help her. Or demanding I don’t.
I struggle up from the cot where I’ve been sleeping. Through the open doorway, she’s a slice of bright light, slumped on the toilet, the white tiles gleaming behind her.
She kicks the door shut in my face.
Source: 13 Ways of Looking at Dying, Just Before, and the Moment After
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You capture well the conflicted experience of being with one’s parents at this time in their life. I’ve never been there at the exact moment of dying for the 3 out of 4 (my 2 parents and my 2 in-laws) that I experienced last days with but it is that intense and complicated, difficult and full of love even so – somehow. An experience I’ve not regretted having. My mom died too suddenly to experience this which leaves a kind of hole by the unexpected nature and timing. HUGS. Today would have been my 2 parents’ wedding anniversary. They had to wed at a very young age when they discovered that I was on my way regardless. Thank you for making the effort to capture what is difficult to put into words.
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I so appreciate your comment here. I wish my mother’s experience had been “sudden,” to spare her the pain and humiliation I know she felt going through the dying process, what she said was “the worst experience of my life.” On the other hand, having not been able to say good-bye to her or be with her during the final moments, would be a different kind of loss, equally painful. So my hugs to you too.
I’ve only experienced the death of a loved one like this once. My father was never in my life, and my step-father, who died young in a tragic drowning accident, I was never close to. So it was a very different, although also difficult death experience. I wrote about that when I was a teen, visiting the mortuary and going into the room with my mother where he lay on a steel table naked and bruised from being dashed against the rocks. A different kind of horror story..
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Deborah, you are a gifted writer; but this is story is also personal, affectionate and bittersweet. Deeply moving. Thank you for sharing it again with us, more recent readers
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Thank you, I really appreciate that. Yes, it was very personal, and bittersweet as you say, I’m glad that came across, the love on both sides despite the difficulty of the situation, the dying.
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What a lovely picture 😍😍😍
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Thank you. She was a beautiful woman.
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She is 😍😍
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A perfectly executed piece of writing, Deborah. Not sentimental or cloying or sugar-coated. This is gritty and real and full of feeling, tender and true. Losing a loved one, especially a parent one has had a mixed or strained relationship with, is this kind of battle within and without just as you described, much like the dying process itself. So well written, universal and deeply personal. Well done on this lovely tribute to your mother. Sending gentle hugs to you, my friend. ❤
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Thank you so much, Joy. Your kind words and understanding means so much to me. It’s something we all go through at some time or another in various ways, always unique, and as you say, universal.
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Made me cry. You captured it perfectly. Wanting to help, wanting to give dignity to one who’s fading away. This will resonate with a lot of caretakers.
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Ah, Andrea, I hadn’t meant to do that, but I do thank you for your comments here, your understanding and caring.
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I have been wanting to stop by all week Deborah and I am so glad I did. The clarity of the complexity in your end of life caring and loving – like a roadmap for road I have yet to travel.
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Thank you, Terrill. I wish none of us had to go through this.
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