Thoughts after the Final Hour
As some of you may have heard, my great aunt Pat has been in poor health for quite some time. Last week she was admitted to the hospital and my mother flew down to be with my aunt Jessie. Pat is Jessie's mother. Pat was diagnosed terminal. There was blockage to her right leg and left, and both feet were beginning to go gangrenous. She refused amputation, dialysis and treatment beyond pain medication and oxygen. Surgery was possible to save her life, but her kidneys were failing, one was the size of a raisin, the other was diseased.
Four days ago my father and I arrived to care for my mother and our other relatives, and to tend to Jessie and Pat. Three days ago Pat entered Hospice. Today she died.
I never really knew her, but her daughter, my aunt Jessie, is a wonderful, caring individual who I love dearly. I regret not getting to know Pat, though I understand I may not have liked her had we actually met while she was in better health.
I was there when she died. I spent the last two days at her side along with my mother and Jessie, sleeping in her room and leaving only to run errands and allow the nurses some privacy with her. Jessie is taking it hard, as any daughter loosing her mother would. There was no ceremony, Pat went straight to the crematorium, and her ashes will be scattered in the following days. There was only a simple wake held at the local Applebee's.
Tonight I may or may not be scheduling a flight back home. Classes start Monday, and I may or may not miss a few, depending on how I travel. What comes to mind for me now is the nature of life, family and friendship. Throughout the time I sat death watch on a woman who wanted to die, I was surrounded by family of both blood and choosing. My friends reached out to me and my mother and father, through the internet, phone calls, and simply walking across the street to inquire if we needed anything. We were there for Pat at her last hours, as these people would be for us in ours.
And there are those who were not there, for reasons too numerous to count, who's thoughts and prayers were with us, and to them I am eternally thankful and moved.
Tonight I raise a glass to friendship and life. For we are the living, may our days be full of laughter and our nights full of peaceful dreams, may we know not hunger or anger, and may our hearts go out to those less fortunate than ourselves.
Four days ago my father and I arrived to care for my mother and our other relatives, and to tend to Jessie and Pat. Three days ago Pat entered Hospice. Today she died.
I never really knew her, but her daughter, my aunt Jessie, is a wonderful, caring individual who I love dearly. I regret not getting to know Pat, though I understand I may not have liked her had we actually met while she was in better health.
I was there when she died. I spent the last two days at her side along with my mother and Jessie, sleeping in her room and leaving only to run errands and allow the nurses some privacy with her. Jessie is taking it hard, as any daughter loosing her mother would. There was no ceremony, Pat went straight to the crematorium, and her ashes will be scattered in the following days. There was only a simple wake held at the local Applebee's.
Tonight I may or may not be scheduling a flight back home. Classes start Monday, and I may or may not miss a few, depending on how I travel. What comes to mind for me now is the nature of life, family and friendship. Throughout the time I sat death watch on a woman who wanted to die, I was surrounded by family of both blood and choosing. My friends reached out to me and my mother and father, through the internet, phone calls, and simply walking across the street to inquire if we needed anything. We were there for Pat at her last hours, as these people would be for us in ours.
And there are those who were not there, for reasons too numerous to count, who's thoughts and prayers were with us, and to them I am eternally thankful and moved.
Tonight I raise a glass to friendship and life. For we are the living, may our days be full of laughter and our nights full of peaceful dreams, may we know not hunger or anger, and may our hearts go out to those less fortunate than ourselves.