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Saying
Goodbye Peacefully
by
Brenda
A Morris
|
My mother passed away over two years
ago. She had been ill for nearly five years. During that time, I tried
to prepare for her departure. As her illness progressed, and her physical
abilities and mental capacities deteriorated, it became clear that
she was moving toward her transition. Even knowing death is a part
of life, as I watched my mother slip away and was unable to do anything
to stop it, it was the most painful thing I have ever done. Just as
I was preparing for a life without my mother’s physical presence,
she was also preparing for her transition in her own way.
About a year before she died, I saw an article about a book that had
been written to help families recognize the steps in their transition
when someone they loved was preparing for the end. I ordered and read
Final Gifts: Understanding The Special Awareness, Needs, and Communications
Of The Dying by Maggie Callanan and Patricia Kelly. As Mom’s
physical and mental state weakened, I was so thankful for that wonderful
book; for it allowed me to share consciously in my mother’s
spiritual preparation, and to respond in ways that would facilitate
her journey.
The book told of messages that a dying person may give when they are
preparing for the end. Mom was already doing this, and when I read
the book, I recognized those messages. There was the day she told
me she had lost the keys, and couldn’t go to bed until she found
them. She needed the keys to unlock the door. She insisted we go back
to the TV room to search for them. Of course, we didn’t find
the keys because there were no physical keys to be found. Finally,
I was able to placate her by giving her my keys and saying they were
hers. I understood that she was seeking a way to unlock the door between
this world and the Spirit world.
One night when I came to put her to bed, Mom told me that “they”
had planned her funeral and were writing her eulogy as we spoke! That
message was clear as a bell. I was shocked that she was able to put
her fear of being pushed toward a decision that she wasn’t yet
ready to make into coherent words. We talked at length about all of
our fears of the unknowns of death. I assured her that I would speak
to the person who was writing the eulogy and tell them she wasn’t
quite ready for the funeral at this time. I reminded her that she
had written her funeral service many years ago, and that I would follow
her wishes when that time came. I was able to calm her down, and assuage
her fears. If I hadn’t been conscious of the underlying message
of her words, I would have brushed them aside and told her to stop
being silly, as no one would prepare someone’s eulogy until
they were dead. That would have in no way reassured her that all would
be taken care of, in the proper time.
Another time Mom was distraught because she had missed the train.
It took me a few minutes and several questions to elicit from her
that she was supposed to be on a train to go meet her Aunt Ettie.
Mom was so worried that Aunt Ettie would wait and wait for her, without
knowing what had happened. The tears Mom cried were from her struggle
to hold to this life and the need to move over to the next one. You
see, Aunt Ettie died in 1952. I knew that Aunt Ettie was probably
really waiting for her beloved niece to come through, but I also knew
that Aunt Ettie would know why Mom wasn’t on the train. I comforted
Mom, telling her that Aunt Ettie would know she wasn’t coming
when the train arrived and she wasn’t on it and that Aunt Ettie
would be there waiting if she took the train the next night.
When Mom was at one of her lowest points emotionally, I visited the
graveyard where our family is buried. I went to each grave of a loved
one and spoke to them of the difficulty Mom was having with the transition.
I reminisced of the experiences and relationships they each had with
my mother in this plane. I asked them to please be there to help her,
to let her know it was okay to let go, and to welcome her when she
arrived. So I wasn’t surprised when Mom’s brother and
father came to visit her shortly after that. I knew her loved ones
were letting her know they were on the other side waiting, and it
would be okay once she let go. Their visits made her so happy. I was
honored that they answered my request and came to comfort Mom.
I have known other instances where a loved one’s departure was
much different than what I experienced. The dying process was painful
and troubled. A friend’s mother had terminal cancer, but my
friend’s sister refused to accept that the illness would end
with her mother dying. Even as her mother drank morphine cocktails
every couple hours for the pain, this woman talked of what they would
do when her mother was well again.
She fought the loss of her mother and did not honor her mother’s
wishes for a peaceful and loving departure.
A woman who is a hospice nurse told me of her patient, who was dying.
The daughter with whom he lived had not spoken with her sister for
years, and refused to let the sister know that their father was dying.
So the man lingered for months, at first asking when his other daughter
was coming, and then in a coma still waiting. In both instances, the
decisions made by the child caused the transition to be terrible for
the dying parent.
Mom had a stroke as she was eating dinner one night. The rescue squad
rushed her to the emergency room. I was with her at the hospital most
of the night because her blood pressure dropped so low that the doctor
told me that it wouldn’t be long. But then it began to rise
again. This up and down of her pressure went on for hours. Most of
the time Mom was incoherent, but there were periods when she was lucid
that night. The most precious memory I have of Mom’s passing
is something she did for me that night. She was very agitated; pulling
at the IV, her covers, and her clothes. I spent much of my time trying
to hold her hands to calm her down. I told her it was okay to let
go. I told her I loved her repeatedly. “You have raised me well,
Mom,” I told her. “I will miss you so much when you are
gone, but you taught me how to take care of myself, and I’ll
be okay.” Then Mom caught my hand in hers, not pushing it away
as she had before, but holding it with sureness. She took my hand
and put it over her heart, and looked at me. At first I thought she
wanted me to feel her racing heart, but then I realized that she was
telling me, in the only way she could then, that she loved me. What
a precious gift with
which to leave me! In her last few moments of consciousness, my mother
decided to reassure me one last time that she loved me, even at the
door of death.
Mom lived another six days but she never regained consciousness again.
I sat by her side for hours-- talking to her, singing her favorite
hymns, crying, praying, saying good-bye in a hundred ways. I treasure
the memories of those days: the sound of her breathing, the feel of
her skin under my fingers, the smell of her freshly washed skin, fragrant
with lotion that her nurses and I had rubbed on her body and her last
“I love you.” I am thankful I had that time to honor this
woman’s spirit by caring for her body. I know Mom was watching
me from somewhere just beyond that struggling body.
Since my mother’s death, I savor the memories of being her daughter.
I revel in the life we had together. My friends and family and I speak
often of the wonderful gifts my mother gave to us. We choose to keep
her alive in our memory by speaking of her. My new life as a motherless
child has not been easy. There have been days when I hurt so much
that I think I too, will surely die. When that happens, I think back
to the wonderful gifts Mom gave me. Our loved ones’ going should
be a peaceful, loving experience, not a horror show as it often is.
I’ve decided to share the experience with my mother in the hopes
that it will enable others to create a passing that is beautiful for
their loved ones, and them.
Brenda A. Morris can be reached by
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