I feel as if I have just returned from a long journey even though I did not leave town.
My Mom-in-law had a stroke Saturday Jan. third. Before her stroke she was living at an Independent Home for seniors. At 93 yrs old, she only needed a cane to get around. She slept a lot, but still was very active and enjoying life.
Because of the stroke, she lost the use of her right arm and leg, lost the ability to swallow and speak, and was not really present anymore. After various tests and realizing that she would spend her remaining days in a nursing home hooked up to machines to get food, and get rid of the food, the doctors suggested hospice.
Our local hospital has its own form of hospice. They call it palliative care. They had a special room tucked away on a corner with a big window that we were able to watch the sun rise, move across the sky all day and set in the evening. It had this state of the art bed that moved around Stella to help prevent bed sores, and has 2 comfy chairs to help keep my butt from going numb from sitting so much. Because of my husband Peter’s chemical sensitivity he could only be here for 4 hour stretches of time. Then he needed to get out! There was a pull-out couch for sleeping…and I thus moved in to be her Death Dula.
Kinda felt like I was on this meditative journey of death and dying. I learned a great deal about how one dies on hospice, and felt that assisting in Stella’s death was a real gift I could give her.
She was given no IV for fluids or food. No one says it out loud, but in reality we were starving her and gradually letting her kidneys shut down until she died. It was slow and painful at times to watch. It took 7 days for her kidneys to fail, her heart to stop and for her to take her last breath. These bodies of ours are truly amazing in many ways.
Feeling blessed and thankful that I could take the time needed to be able to witness, lend strength and advocate for her. I felt in-tune with her and understood what she needed to be able to lay peacefully with no pain. Her needs were simple: Quiet room with peaceful music. Lot’s of foot and hand rubs and she seemed to like it when I read to her. She needed to lay a certain way to be comfortable, and because she needed to be moved every 4-5 hours to prevent bed sores by a different nurse each time, it was my most important job to make them realize how she needed to be turned and what position she needed to be in to prevent her from grimacing, moaning and gasping for air.
As she was wasting away we added morphine and this drug called Adivan that helped with anxiety to her tools of pain prevention. Daily we upped the amount she was given to maintain her peace.
All this so she can sleep away her death. Why not just give her the shot we are allowed to give our beloved dogs or cats if they were in a similar situation so she would have only had a short sleep to death without all the pain and discomfort.
My life slowed down to moment to moment. It was a similar feeling to when I did a series of healing fast many years ago. When I left to run errands or go home to shower and get clean clothes the rest of the world seemed to be going way too fast and I experienced sensory overload.
On Saturday Jan. 12th the morning she passed away, one of my favorite nurses offered to wash and turn Stella herself while I went down to the cafeteria to get a small break and to get some breakfast.
Before I left I whispered to Stella that we were all just fine. That she had live a good life, We all appreciated everything she had done for us and that it was fine for her to move on.
When I walked back into the room it felt different. Really quiet and like something was missing. I went over and sat by Stella. She looked different… smaller, emptier.
“Stella,” I called, “are you still in there?”
She gave a small moan, exhaled a deep breath and was gone.
When Stella first came to Vermont at the age of seventy-five; we took her on a hike up Owls Head Mountain. There is a road that you can drive most of the way up and then a short steep climb up stone steps. I pulled from the front, and Peter pushed from the rear. The view behind her was breath taking. Ponds, woods and mountains for as far as the eye could see. We took a bunch of pictures of her on the mountain. She looked like she was in the middle of nowhere. The pictures captured the essence of Stella. She was very quirky, ferociously independent and incredibly generous. We made copies and sent them to all her friends and relative back in Chicago labeling them, “Enjoying my retirement in Vermont. Now I have time to do some mountain climbing.”
Once she was dead, I felt a flood of emotions surging through my body: Shock, sadness, loss and relief.
My vigil was over. It was time to return home.
I come back to my world more aware of how fragile life is and a huge appreciation for all the wonderful people in my life. There is still so much I want to accomplish and experience.
Have you had a life changing experience? Please share to inspire others!