Angels in the room

My Mom's last day in her physical body here on Earth. Sounds better than, the day she died, right? I suppose it is all in how you look at things. It has been ten years since my Mom left her shell and I have faith, partly because she did, that she is in a better place. She should be, she deserved to be. In terms of her "last day" it is vivid in my mind in so many ways. It was really warm, it was sunny, she was lucid for a long time, we were able to actually have a few giggles. Mostly I remember her; how she looked, the feel of her hand in mine, the touch of her little bald head as I stroked it occasionally during the day, the sound of her breathing and how it changed as the day wore on. Perhaps most important, though, I remember what she said.

My mom had been ill again, when the oncologist said the cancer had returned, since about May. She had since made her decision to stop treatment and die at home, family by her side. Since May she gained a son-in-law who she adored and listened to me as I talked about the life David and I had started to build. But on this last day, a warm day in early August, I didn't do much talking. Not many of us did. What do you say? How do you say goodbye to a life who has been with you since the beginning? How do you tie everything up in a neat little package and store it in your heart as if it was just another day? My Mom actually helped us with this process; whether she knew she was doing so or not.

At one point during the day my aunt put on some lovely classical music and it played for a while and then when it seemed my mum was napping, it was turned off. Later when she woke up again, they asked if she liked the music. "Oh yes, it is lovely, I am enjoying it so much." So my aunt went to turn on the music again when my mom said, "Oh no, not that music." Moment number one. My aunt is not religious at all. In fact she is nearly anti-religious when it comes to her own beliefs. My grandmother, however, was deeply religious in a Presbyterian sort of way for her entire life. But when my mom said what she did, they both stopped and just looked at each other in amazement. I smiled to myself and held back the tears.

At this point I expect the science-or-nothing peeps out there to tell me how the brain reacts when the body is dying and how random electrical impulses can produce seemingly meaningful statements, gestures, etc., that in fact mean nothing except that the brain is in free-fall. Well, this is where the faith part of this situation comes in to play. I am not someone who subscribes to "organized" religion (which, now that I write it down, doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me anyway). In short, let me say that I am devout, but I do not believe one must go to "church" to demonstrate and experience faith. Rather, I look around and see the presence of God, Allah, the Goddess, a Higher Power, the Great Mystery, every single day. Whether I see that presence in the bloom of a flower coming up from asphalt, or the kindness of a man who pays for someone's groceries in front of him in line, or the incredible force of a storm like Hurricane Sandy, I see that presence everywhere, and in most everyone. I don't recognize a hierarchy of religious beliefs where one is somehow less than another. I see many "religions" as equally violent and also capable of facilitating great mercy. So of course on that terrible, awful and yet beautiful day when I said goodbye to my Mom, I truly believe the things she said were not random and even if her body was dying, her spirit was wholly alive.

My mom was also spiritually devout and leaned toward her upbringing as a Presbyterian. In South Pasadena she attended Calgary Pres. sporadically but religiously (sorry, the pun was there, I had to use it) at Christmas and Easter. She was also extremely open-minded and when I started questioning some of the basic tenets laid out in the bible at an early age, she supported me. Actually, I just asked "Why?" so much that I was encouraged not to return to Sunday school until I had a firmer foundation of faith (yup, I was kicked out of Sunday school before Kindergarten).

Anyway, as the day progressed, people came by, some to say goodbye to her and others to check on the family. Some couldn't bring themselves to even see her during the last few weeks of her life. At first I was hurt and angered by this apparent abandonment. As time went by, however, I decided that we all have our critical mass of pain. For some it is seeing death in the room, but for others it is seeing death in the corner of the eye. Each of us must decide how much we can take and how best to remember those we love when they die.

At one point mom asked my aunt and grandmother to recite Psalm 23, The Psalm of David. The two ladies gamely tried to do it from memory (remember my aunt's views on religion?), "The Lord is my shepherd.I shall not want." OK, good start. "He maketh me lie down in green pastures, he has me drink from still waters, He cleanses/restores? my soul." Umm, losing it here..."Even though I walk in the shadow of the...the valley of the shadow of...." and then, all tears broke loose. My mom took a deep breath and said "Close enough." I just laughed and held both women for a moment when Gramma broke away, went and got the bible and they then read it through to my mom. I honestly think she appreciated their first attempt better, because it came  from their hearts. Moment number two.

Very shortly after composure was regained, mom asked that she be allowed to speak with me in private.My grandmother, who, we would learn later, was succumbing to both fatigue and grief, left the room and my aunt followed. My mom then pointed straight up to the ceiling above her and said quite firmly and clearly, "You too!". She then waited a moment, and turned to talk to me. Moment number three. Her discussion with me remains private, but suffice it to say that even then, she was worried about me. Mostly, we just hugged.

One of the last things my mom said to me was that she wasn't afraid, that she "could see" her dad and grandparents and they were waiting for her. Moment number four.Then she said she loved me. One of the last things I said to her, was that it was "OK", that I was going to be fine and she didn't need to worry about me; that if she was ready, she should let go. Then I told her I loved her and she lightly squeezed my hand. She was, however, no longer verbally responsive and within two hours she was gone. IT was, in so many ways the most horrible of days. On the other hand, I felt deeply blessed that I could be with her after she had been there for me my entire life. How lucky I was to be able to say goodbye.

Was it her brain executing random electrical signals that made her see angels in her room? Could be, but I rather like the idea of her being greeted by those she loved (including every pet she ever had).

Besides, it also means that, if all goes well, she will be there to greet me when the time comes.

uncredited photo