My mother passed away a
couple of months ago. She was advanced
in years – 96 of them actually. While
sound of body, she was not sound of mind having been troubled with Alzheimer’s
disease for a very long period. My reckoning
makes it almost 20 years. This is a very
long time to suffer from any disease.
This blog is not about the ravages of dementia, the lives it affects or
the stress placed on the caregivers. Instead
it is about the end of life itself.
For Caroline Metzger Kulzer
Sladek, the end itself was peaceful enough.
It was the getting there that troubles me still. For the past two years, she smiled when
spoken to. She opened her mouth when
food or drink was presented. Sounds were
omitted – words certainly but without context.
Some friends went so far as to say she was happy.
The woman who was my mother was a private
person. To know that she was the subject
of such conjecture would have been anathema to her. The woman who was my mother actually passed
from this world into another one years before her body died. And yet, allowing that body to join her
spirit, electrical energy, soul, whatever you are happy to call our mental essence,
was difficult.
Her physical care for about
3 years was tended to by a nursing facility.
Able, caring and even loving people worked there. It was always clean and smelling as fresh as
is possible in such surroundings. As far
as such places go, this was top of the list. And yet, with life functions dwindling there
was persistence, almost insistence that food and drink be administered, that
blood tests be conducted, medication administered and that a trip to a hospital
might be a good thing. At all costs, the
body alone should remain alive seemed to be the message. When I asked why, they simply smiled and said
that she was such a lovely patient. End
of life care was never mentioned even though the end of her life was imminent.
Previously created documents concerning end
of life care were produced. But she’s
such a lovely patient, shouldn’t we administer oxygen, antibiotics, x-rays or
whatever was the reply. No, let’s let
her go as softly as possible. But she’s
such a lovely patient. Enter the doctor
who agreed that it was indeed the beginning of the end, wrote some things on a
paper and left. Food and medication arrived and
something in my head said hospice.
A hospice organization was
selected and within only minutes the administrator arrived to take down
details, review papers, and assess the situation. Within minutes, my mother was in the hands of
people who understood that the end of life is as much a part of living as being
born. Thank you for allowing her to
glide gently from our presence and to continue her existence in our hearts and
memories.
The services offered by the
many hospice organizations in place today are there for the survivors as much
and maybe even more than for those who pass on.
They are a loving family, helping where and how they can, well-trained,
practical and forthright. They offered
help with paperwork – that bane of our daily lives. They offered spiritual aid. They offered succor and council for those who
grieve. Asking for help can be difficult
and for some, like me, almost impossible. I learned that not asking for help does not
mean you are stronger than Samson or smarter than Solomon. It means you didn’t ask – nothing more –
nothing less. If your loved one is truly
nearing the end, seek the help being offered by hospice. If you wish that such a loving family were
there for you in such circumstances, write it down – now. How you get here is not up to you, but how
you leave can and should be your decision.
