Mother: 8 Nov 1936-16 Nov 2006
My mother died quietly in her sleep around 1:20am on Thursday, while my father and I slept near her in her hospital room. Wednesday was a particularly difficult day for all of us, my mother especially. Of all the recent days, she was least responsive and awake on Wednesday. Her breathing became much worse, so we called as many family members as possible to come to the hospital and see her. As she was falling into sleep, she struggled to remain awake and continued talking, most of which was unintelligible to any of our ears.
After an hour and a half of struggling, she fell asleep, breathing very audibly as the fluids built up in her lungs. She remained asleep with her eyes wide open until late into the evening when she was shifted into a more comfortable position. She looked almost like she was curled up in a nap, and thankfully, her eyes finally shut, so she appeared much more at peace to us.
We went to sleep around 11:00 and heard nothing to disturb us until the nurse woke me to let me know she had stopped breathing and had died.
It still hasn't sunk in, so of course it's a weird feeling to be in the house where I grew up with my mom and dad, and not see her. I don't think there's been an occasion in my adult life when I've visited and she hasn't been here.
My husband was able to get a flight in from Copenhagen, so he's here to keep me company, and keep me centered and sane while we say good-bye. As I feared, my dad was unwilling to allow my oldest aunt mentioned in my mother's obituary among the survivors, which is upsetting to me. I'd hoped we could end this on a higher note, and not make this slight so public. To anyone who knew the family reading the obituary, it must seem incongruous or jarring, but it wasn't a battle I was willing to fight, not with my father in the fragile state that he is in. I can only hope that my aunt realizes how little say I had.
There will be plenty of time for my worries later, and for plans to help all of her family remaining in Indiana. I am so thankful that I got here in time, and even more thankful that some of my mother's last days were lucid, and that she knew I was here for her. I can always console myself with the knowledge that she needed me there in her final days, to keep things less chaotic, and I hope less worrying for her as she died. My youngest aunt has been a rock throughout this, offering monetary support to my father while he cared for my mom and couldn't work at his shop, paying for her cremation and memorial service, and so much more.
Tomorrow is her memorial service, scheduled so her friends can say good-bye before leaving for their Thanksgiving holidays.
Thank you for your kind comments and emails, and your good wishes.
After an hour and a half of struggling, she fell asleep, breathing very audibly as the fluids built up in her lungs. She remained asleep with her eyes wide open until late into the evening when she was shifted into a more comfortable position. She looked almost like she was curled up in a nap, and thankfully, her eyes finally shut, so she appeared much more at peace to us.
We went to sleep around 11:00 and heard nothing to disturb us until the nurse woke me to let me know she had stopped breathing and had died.
It still hasn't sunk in, so of course it's a weird feeling to be in the house where I grew up with my mom and dad, and not see her. I don't think there's been an occasion in my adult life when I've visited and she hasn't been here.
My husband was able to get a flight in from Copenhagen, so he's here to keep me company, and keep me centered and sane while we say good-bye. As I feared, my dad was unwilling to allow my oldest aunt mentioned in my mother's obituary among the survivors, which is upsetting to me. I'd hoped we could end this on a higher note, and not make this slight so public. To anyone who knew the family reading the obituary, it must seem incongruous or jarring, but it wasn't a battle I was willing to fight, not with my father in the fragile state that he is in. I can only hope that my aunt realizes how little say I had.
There will be plenty of time for my worries later, and for plans to help all of her family remaining in Indiana. I am so thankful that I got here in time, and even more thankful that some of my mother's last days were lucid, and that she knew I was here for her. I can always console myself with the knowledge that she needed me there in her final days, to keep things less chaotic, and I hope less worrying for her as she died. My youngest aunt has been a rock throughout this, offering monetary support to my father while he cared for my mom and couldn't work at his shop, paying for her cremation and memorial service, and so much more.
Tomorrow is her memorial service, scheduled so her friends can say good-bye before leaving for their Thanksgiving holidays.
Thank you for your kind comments and emails, and your good wishes.