I'm in MN for my mother's funeral

[TygrBright]

She passed in the early hours of December 5th, she was 94 years old.

It was a rocky end after a long misery of dementia and increasing incapacity. On Oct. 7th she fell and fractured her hip, and that was the beginning of the end. The hospitalization, the surgery, the pain, the strangers all around her, the unfamiliar place. My sister spent as much time with her as she could, but Mom's dementia was such that as soon as someone she still knew left her, it was as though they'd never been there at all. and she was again alone among strangers. And in pain. Unable to remember why or what happened, aware only of the pain and scariness of being in a strange place with only strangers around her.

The surgery was "successful" - according to the surgeon, an excellent repair and if she had been able to cooperate with the rehab program Mom could have regained almost all of the mobility she had before the fall. But Mom wasn't having any. She'd been wanting to check out for several years and I guess this was her chance. She had a rough recovery, was in the hospital almost two weeks after the surgery, and then in a skilled nursing facility for another 2-3 weeks. Then 'home' to her apartment in the memory care unit where she had been living, to be evaluated by hospice.

Hospice had turned her down earlier this year when my sister had asked if she qualified. Hospice is the best assurance of quality of life for very elderly people with considerable impairments, even if they are not very close to dying; my sister had hoped to establish a less miserable life for her. But she was too robust in general health, then - the Medicaid restrictions on hospice meant she didn't qualify. When she came back from the hospital, she qualified. In fact, the hospice nurse who did the assessment said she would be surprised if Mom lasted longer than 3-4 weeks.

So I made arrangements to get to the Twin Cities, hoping to at least say good-bye, but she slipped away almost immediately, before I could get here. Instead, we scheduled her funeral for my visit.

I don't know what all I am feeling... happy for her, on one level - she was SO weary of what she was experiencing. A tangled up mess of loss and sorrow, guilt for not making it in time to say good-bye, guilt for not having been able to do something, anything, to make her last few years less miserable, numbness from the strain of travel and the funeral and trying to help my sister with the various chores like doing thank-you notes and sorting memorabilia and moving things.

More than anything, I guess I want to be able to stop time for a while, and sit in some void-like state without a schedule or agenda or people around me offering the kindest and most well-intentioned of consolations. A total stoppage that will let me take time to think and process and cry a little and come to terms and craft some kind and appreciative responses to all the well-meant condolences.

Mom had a small family remaining, just her three older daughters and a few nephews and nieces. Her youngest daughter, parents, and siblings had all gone before, along with both of her husbands, the love of her life, her lifelong best friend, and almost all her other friends.

Except that there was her OTHER family - the Twelve Step fellowships she spent more than 50 years among, working to help others to recovery. Her sponsees showed up, members of her home group, younger colleagues she'd trained and mentored. It is good to know that her legacy reached so broadly and her memory will be held green in so many hearts.

But I have so many unfinished conversations that will never be taken up again, so many hugs undelivered. I feel as though someone reached down and cut my deepest root from me, yanking it out of the ground and leaving me swaying precariously in cold winds.

I am trying not to be angry about the many political, economic and social factors that shaped and contributed to her pain. That's hardly going to do any good now.

But I feel like a motherless child...

and I am.

Thanks for being here, my DU community. I know you'll 'get it'. And I can rant a bit, and snorgle a bit, and even ugly-cry a bit, and I'm not alone.

sadly,
Bright