An end of an era

My mother passed away unexpectedly 2/4/26 at 10:30pm. She was about to enter hospice care, but didn't even make it to that point.

It began innocently enough. She had the flu, and so did my dad. This all was happening while we were winding up our 25th anniversary trip to Hawaii on Kawaii. We flew to CA, and were supposed to spend 2 more weeks there, but received that dreaded phone call no one want to hear:" Hop on the next plane and come home immediately," my poor Dad gargled long distance. We flew back the next day, and just in time for a huge snowstorm making its way across the US. Our plane was the last one to depart from Phoenix, our stop, and our pilot bravely navigated our tin can above the storm. We landed safely and everyone on the plane clapped with relief. It was a miracle that we got there. Loads of planes were cancelled and we were lucky to make it out of there without any problems.

The problems, of course, were waiting for us. Mom had been in the hospital in NJ for 2 weeks already and we ran up there after the storm dumped tons of snow in the Northeast. I got there in time to speak to her, and while very unwell, she was able to talk to me for some time, and had a lucid conversation with us. Despite the doctor's best efforts, she contracted an infection had pancreatitis, several strokes, and 2 heart attacks. At this point, she was discharged into the nursing wing of my Dad's new spot in an assisted living location. She hung on for a few more days, fading away, and at a certain point, while she was barely conscious, I had to have her agree to a DNR, which she did. She did have her marbles, but was ready to go. My daughter managed to make a phone call to her from college, telling her how much she was loved and how she was going to work very hard to become a doctor. My son, lost somewhere in Sweden, was unreachable at that point. We did not tell him until later.  

She was worn out, and death came quickly and quietly. I was there holding her hand with my hubby, until about 8:30pm when we told her we would see her tomorrow first thing. We were exhausted, and had no idea that she would be gone after we spent all day with her. i was grateful for that amount of time, and she knew that we were there. They say the last thing to go is hearing, so I am sure she knew how sad we were to see her go. I said that if her sister, my Aunt Bobbie, was there, to go with her. She would see her mom and dad, her cousins, her uncle and aunt, all beloved family members. I know that some traditions call this time, a"home-going", and this is quite accurate. I hoped that they welcomed her some good scotch, burnt hot dogs, and melted ice cream, her favorite things in the world.

At 10:30, we received the call from the staff nurse that mom had died. She was having a lot of trouble breathing, and I was honestly relived that she was at peace. I just wished I was with her at that moment. The nurse weirdly announced that we had to "get the body (!) in 4 hours". I was so offended and upset, but held my breath. I called the funeral home, and they were so kind. They took mom and asked us to bring a quilt and put the word out. They called the cemetery, and everything was set in motion. In the Jewish faith, you are supposed to have a burial in 48 hours or less, but due to the snow and the weekend, we had to wait until the following Tuesday. Mom was buried 2/11 on a grey day with sleet at the mausoleum. I said my first Kaddish, the prayer for mourning. I could barely get through it. Dad and I called everyone we could and I put it out there bold as brass on my Facebook page. Word spread and we had a lovely turnout. Relatives that I had not seen in 30 years were there. Coworkers from my mom's NYC Ad Agency days, temple folks, neighbors, friends, and others came to support. My cousins held the Shiva (like a Jewish wake), and several people from my temple in PA came up to support, and eat good Jewish deli, a rare thing in the wilds of PA.

Once we returned back home to PA, we had to deal with my dad who was barely functioning as his partner of over 60 years was gone. They new apartment they had chosen together felt hollow and empty. It was beautiful with the snow on the ground and the leaded windows, but empty without her smiling presence. My dad decorated with huge amounts of paperwork and notepads and half empty ink pens. He accented this with paper coffee cups and a donut box. I was tasked with getting my mothers clothing sorted and given away, a mammoth task. I was amazed that despite my mother's taste for chic simple clothing, her clothing that I gathered was mostly worn, pilled, stained, and 30 years old. I was shocked that she never threw anything away. Her makeup was there and was from the 1970s. I took anything that I knew could use a home and the rest I gave away to charity. Putting things of my mom's that I remember her wearing into a charity bin was a feat of emotional endurance. At that moment, I could see how people become hoarders: Never letting go of emotions that are tied up in worldly things.

This month has been the most difficult of my life. Between my parents' move, my mother's death, and the chaos that ensues over a complicated life taken away suddenly, I am looking forward to turning the page and seeing the daffodils and forsythia bloom in a show of healing and joy.