The Elder Report: Memama Left Us

[Read prior Elder Reports: One, Two, Three, Four, Five]

My mom died last week. She was getting up to go to the bathroom in the middle of her favorite show, The Price Is Right, when she abruptly dropped to the floor. The sitter was with her at the time. My mom weakly told her that she did not hurt anywhere. When the sitter tried to get her up, she discovered she needed help. She called me. But I was walking Kudo and did not have my phone with me. She called my sister, who called our neighbor, who came over to help.

By this time mom had told the sitter not to call me. She didn't want to trouble me, she whispered. Then she started breathing with difficulty. By the time our neighbor got there she wasn't breathing at all. Together, the sitter and the neighbor (who is an EMT) began CPR on mom. By this time, I saw that I missed a call from the sitter and my sister had texted me that mom had fallen and they couldn't get her up. An ambulance had been called, apparently. I immediately headed over there.

Mom lived only about 3.5 miles away. About halfway there I got a call from the neighbor who told me she was “gone.” I asked where? I thought he meant the ambulance had already taken her to the hospital. I was thinking maybe a broken hip or something. But the neighbor simply replied: “We are trying to bring her back.” I was shocked. “Oh, my god.” Was my instinctual response. Then I gathered my senses and told him to stop the CPR. My mom was legally a “do not resuscitate” person, as is my dad.

I got there a few minutes later. My mom was laying lifelessly in the middle of the living room floor. The neighbor and the sitter said nothing. I approached the body, got on my knees and looked at her peaceful face. I leaned down and kissed her forehead and told her I loved her. The neighbor started crying. I called my sister first but she was in a meeting so I left a message. I called my brother next. He immediately left work and was about 20 minutes away.

The emergency people came and verified that mom had flat-lined. Since she was DNR there was nothing to be done and they quickly left. The coroner was on his way. Things became a blur at this point. The neighbor said he was sorry, he had done all he could do. I choked up and started crying myself. I placed my hand on his shoulder and considered the whole of the last 14 months that I had been looking after mom. I thanked him and managed to choke out “We all did all we could do.”

And that is true. Since March 2023 my mom and dad have been more or less the center of my life, not just in terms of care-giving, but legally and financially too. Maintenance of the house and swimming pool and lawn were also part of the equation. There was a lot of effort expended. It was an almost overwhelming moment, to unexpectedly have it all end this way. My sister arrived and fell completely apart. Other close family members appeared as if from nowhere. It was a surreal experience to me.

We were about to put mom in an assisted living facility. Since she recovered from COVID in March, she experienced a precipitous decline with her dementia. She fell from Stage Five to Stage Six. She became partially incontinent. She exhibited a host of strange behaviors. She got to where she could no longer do our daily walks. It was requiring more effort. The last walk I took her on was simply to the neighbor's mailbox and back. Only a few hundred feet. She was worn out by the time we got back home. I knew that was the last time I'd attempt one with her. Amazing. This time last year she was walking by herself in great, persistent strides.

The shock of her death was nothing compared to the shock of the last 8 – 10 weeks of watching my mom disintegrate as a human being. Her behavior had been slowly changing for months. She no longer wanted her coffee in the morning. She no longer wanted chips with her sandwich at lunch. She became more easily confused. She could no longer dress and undress herself without assistance.

That was all manageable. She continued to go on her walks with me. She continued to praise the sunny days and admire the birds chirping. But her enthusiasm was waning. She began to audibly talk to herself about me in front of me. This self-talk, which was also experienced by my sister and brother, was like an evil alter-ego. Her self-talk self didn't want anybody around. Wanted to be left alone. Wanted to just watch television.

But in the past few weeks things went from strange to weird to crazy. My mom went over a cliff mentally. Food interested her less and less. Once when she refused lunch I gave her a piece of homemade chocolate cake. We both had a piece while sitting in her living room. When she finished she promptly turned her plate sideways and jammed it down into her chair between the arm rest and her hip. She got the remains of chocolate on her pants and crumbs all down the chair. I pointed to the plate resting in that odd place and asked why she did that. She just looked down at the plate and did not respond. Maybe she already forgot what she did. Maybe she just didn't care. I had to change her pants so I could wash them and clean up the mess. How could anyone even predict such a thing?!

She no longer recognized her own grandchildren. She knew I was her son but she could not recall my name. In fact, the only name she remembered at all was my dad's. She was dropping pieces of food on the floor around her chair, hiding her water cup in odd places and strewing other items in bizarre places. Every day was an Easter egg hunt trying to find everything. We had to hide the TV remote from her for fear she would lose it. You had to check the trash cans each day to see what she had thrown away. I found a bracelet and earrings in the trash. A portable speaker. Other odds and ends. She lost both pair of reading glasses and three pair of sunglasses. All in one day!

She became belligerent when it came time to put on her clothes for the day and then again at the end of the day when it was time to change into her gown. I had to trick her into changing clothes, at times it didn't work and she argued with me. I had to get very stern with her and basically force her to change clothes. This was exhausting. My sister and I agreed that we should just let her stay in her gown and robe since she was no longer able to do her walks.

I took her in for an evaluation for an assisted living facility offering a memory care area. She was declining so rapidly we were afraid she would lose her ability to pivot out of bed, which would disqualify her for admittance to assisted living. Everything was becoming such a struggle for her. She was accepted to the facility but we never gave them a deposit. I was greatly conflicted about admitting her. I knew she would not like it and would be confused and afraid without the cognitive abilities to cope. Of course, these were skilled people there to help with that but still, I knew it would be tough for her. On the other hand, she would get better care than we could now provide.

But that decision was made for us.

Dealing with her rapid behavioral and memory disintegration was probably the biggest challenge I've faced in recent years. Some days I hated my life. You had to work with what she had left but, each day, there was less and less remaining. Over the past year, I had come to know what to expect. It was strange, especially after 3pm when the sundowning started, but it was also predictable. This rapid decline phase was completely unpredictable. I could not get my footing to deal with it optimally. A lot of days I felt incredibly frustrated and exhausted at the end of the day.

We brought in a sitter two days a week and every other weekend to give everybody a break. She was terrific and mom took right to her. But mom soon became almost impossible for her to handle. She would try to stay in the bed all day. Whenever she left to “go to the bathroom” she would end up in bed, fully clothed and with her walking shoes on. It was a challenge to keep her up and awake. Perhaps she was in the dying process even then.

The afternoon of her death, my sister and I went to the nursing home to tell dad. He took it stoically, which was what I expected. He didn't say anything for a couple of minutes. He teared up but did not cry. He just stared out of the window for a bit. Then he looked at me and asked simply “Who's got her?” I told him the funeral home that he had requested. This was followed by another long silence. Then “Well, I'm sorry” was all he said, pinching tears from his eyes.

Mom always said that she wanted to die on a sunny day. That's what happened. But, when she said that (repeatedly) through the months I would always humorously respond, “I don't care what its doing when you die but it better not rain at your funeral. I won't be there.” She laughed. But then, as with everything else, she stopped mentioning it. And it was, in fact, raining on the day of her funeral, though it was morning showers and the sun was out by the time the funeral started and for the graveside service. A sign maybe? I think it was probably just good luck.

The funeral itself was simple and featured a lot of singing. It was held in “my little church” as she used to call it, a small country church that I was raised in and that she and dad had attended for almost 70 years. They were married in that church.  Avery wanted to speak on behalf of the grandchildren. She did a fine job. Then I spoke. I talked about the “three shocks” I experienced while attending to her. There were the two I've already mentioned plus one positive shock that I have mentioned before.

I have never met anyone in my life who had more gratitude than my mom did before this abrupt decline. She was thankful for everything. The sky, the rain, the sun, the birds, the trees, the road pavement, the visits made by others, the food she ate, the house she still lived in. You cannot think of anything my mother was not grateful for. The shock here was that the last thing I expected when I started caring for her was that her presence would be a blessing to me. She was so filled with gratitude that it was easy (comparatively) to take care of her, to put out the ever-increasing effort it took to make sure she was properly cared for.

But that gratitude all left her just the way most everything else did. It was replaced by this evil alter-ego that would say things like “I'll be glad when he leaves” or “I don't know what he's doing here, I wasn't expecting this” when I was sitting next to her. But her self-talk never resulted in any actual violence or agitation on her part. She remained very compliant, except for dressing and undressing at the beginning and end of the day.

I shared these three “shocks” with the congregation of my mom's little church, which was nearly filled. If those who had come by earlier just to offer condolences had stayed we would not have had enough seating for everyone. I shared with everyone what I consider to be the four traits that most defined my mother. This came from the amount of time she spent repeating herself over these things. I had mentioned this to her many times and she always got a bit of a laugh out of it, which the congregation did too.

The four pillars of my mom's existence were in the following order (which my mom agreed with though she quickly added that the order would idealistically be different). Far and away number one was...mechanical cottonpickers. My mom picked cotton until she was about 14 or 15. Then along came a machine to do that for her, which amazed her and freed her from the toil of doing that sort of back-breaking work. “A machine can pick cotton?” She was astonished.

Number two was paved roads. Before she went over the cliff, my mom would mention how she loved paved roads several times a day. The road by our family house was unpaved until I was about 11 or 12 years old. So I could clearly remember the dirt road and the resulting dust from the occasional (then) traffic on the road. That was when our house was in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but fields and woods all around. If you had the windows up to allow fresh air in the house (this was before air conditioning was an option) then you had to run around and lower them quickly or dust would get inside. So she loved road pavement for that reason. It was a big improvement that she was ridiculously grateful about.

The congregation laughed that these were the top two things on my mom's list of important parts of life. Number three was something you'd expect might make a list like this – the Golden Rule. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” was the way she always said it. She said her mother, my grandmother obviously, had drilled those words into her when she was growing up. She would follow it up with “it doesn't cost a dime to be courteous and kind to others.” And my mom, in her right mind, lived all her life that way.

The funny thing is if you look at that verse which is in Matthew, Chapter 7, no English translation renders it in those words. I searched various websites that offer multiple English translations of the Bible and nowhere does that verse appear with that verbiage. Now, the verse means exactly the same thing as what my mom recited but it uses various different wordings. This leads me to believe that mom was simply repeating what her mother had told her, which was uttered out of conviction but without familiarity with the actual text.

Regardless, the Golden Rule meant everything to my mom and she instilled it into me and my siblings, with exactly that phrasing. She would repeat those words many times every day and would tell them to anyone visiting her as well. Treat others the way you want to be treated. Notice the verse does not state that you will be treated nicely by others if you treat them with kindness. It says treat them kindly no matter how they behave toward you. Your behavior is supposed to be unconditional, you offer kindness to others without expectation of it being returned in kind. Actually, a rather profound truth.

Number four was “laughter is the best medicine.” My mom loved to laugh and it was easy to get a chuckle out of her, especially during all those months before her sudden decline. She loved to laugh and to hear laughter from others. She drew inspiration from it. It made her feel good, hence my mom's “best medicine” prescription to the world. Everyone needs to laugh more. Another profound truth.

These four things, in that order, were the foundation for who my mother was as a person. They sum up her gratitude and attitude nicely. After sharing these with the congregation I mentioned that my mom and I sang a lot during the past months when she was in my care. She loved “Hey, Good Lookin'” by Hank Williams and would sing it whenever someone came into the house for a visit. She loved any song about sunshine or blue skies. We sang a lot of different things together. She would always tell me afterwards, “We need to be on the radio.” I would laugh.

Then there was what was for me a special song that we sang a lot. Growing up in that little church, my grandmother would often request that I sing it solo during church services, which I did several times. So, mom and I sang it out of remembrance for her mother. It was “I Know Who Holds Tomorrow” an old gospel song that hardly anyone remembers anymore. I began by simply quoting the words. Then, without anyone expecting it, I broke into the tune and sang the rest of it accopello during her funeral service. I don't do that sort of thing anymore so it surprised everyone. Several were crying after hearing it, having explained its personal significance beforehand. The congregation applauded.

Then I finished my eulogy with another bit of wisdom which my mother repeated countless times up until her decline. “Life is good, even in your eighties.” My mother was an eternal optimist and rarely worried about anything as far as I know. She definitely didn't concern herself with any problems during the last year of her life. She was contented to be who she was and where she was. She was happy with her station in life. It was all good for her, despite her age.

There was plenty of singing at the service because, as you now know, my mother loved to sing, especially in church. The pastor of the church told me that she was basically the unofficial song leader. She sang louder than anyone and with more enthusiasm than most. The service's song leader testified to my mother's singing to everyone. Then he suggested we all do something that was wonderful but I never would have thought of it. He wanted us all to rise for the final song but as we rose he invited us to applaud my mother for all those years of singing in church.

She never received any applause or special accolades for her singing. So, he told us, now was a great time to honor her in this manner. We rose as one and applauded the closed casket both before and after the final hymn. That was the most thoughtful and special part of the service for me personally. Who claps for the dead person in the casket during their funeral? It was a unique moment to say the least. But it was fitting for a service that was respectful yet casual at the same time.

Now, I am left with the details and the debris of a life. All the legal and financial matters are still being worked on. There are other details like watching over the property and ensuring that the house is maintained. I have to set up her estate and get the transition of money and assets going. A headstone has to be ordered. The will has to be probated. An estate bank account needs to be opened. Lots of details like that, many of them waiting until I have the death certificate in hand.

Everyone wants to know how I'm holding up. I'm fine. My mother, as I knew her, was gone long before her heart stopped beating. Most of her was gone when I took over her weekly care in March 2023. I projected her death and grieved through it long ago. People think it will hit me and I will break down at some point in the future. Maybe so but I doubt it. They don't understand me. I saw this coming and experienced it long before it happened. It is another small example of prescient readiness.

Her death was sad, of course. And I did have a good cry with the whole family at the private viewing of mom's body. But I don't dwell on it. I don't have to believe that she is “in a better place” to be at peace with her passing. She lived a full, fun life and, in the end, she confidently proclaimed (until she forgot it) that life is good – even in your eighties. I hope I can say the same thing when I get there. And I hope to make it way beyond her age but you never know about tomorrow.