Mama Marian started Hospice a week ago at McLean. Since Friday night she has been getting regular doses of liquid Morphine by mouth via a syringe. Even with the Morphine, Mom is in pain. She grabs at her leg and winces when it worsens; just moving in bed is difficult for her, so she is not getting up much at all anymore. Her eyes are closed much of the time these days and it has been several days since she has had more than a few sips of a supplement or a small spoonful of ice cream. It is nothing short of excruciating to see how much things have changed in the last week or so.
I drove home this afternoon and met Dad and May at McLean around 8pm. Mama Marian opened one of her eyes and, with her right arm, pulled me close to her cheek and chin. It was the most wonderful, painful welcome she has ever given me, as I realize how much of an effort it was for her to even acknowledge me at all. She moans a bit and cries out when she is in pain, but otherwise is unable to talk at all. Her eyes sometimes do the talking, though not like they have ever done in the past. I would like to say that we are doing well and that things are getting a bit easier, but I cannot.
The nursing staff, aides, doctors, and Hospice workers are taking very good care of Mama Marian. They try and provide as much comfort and support as they can for all of us. Mom's room smells sweet and she is always so clean, dressed in her own clothing, pajamas, etc... Her hair has grown back quite a bit since the radiation and she has lost so much weight all over, especially in her face, now that the treatments have stopped. She looks beautiful in a way I cannot describe. And yet, she is dying.
I cannot make sense of what is happening or the way that things are today, but I know somewhere, in someplace, it is this impossible only because it of how good it is and has been. And that will someday make things okay again, I suppose. For now it is gut-wrenching and makes me feel a sense of desperation so deep that it physically hurts sometimes. In some respects, it is helplessness... like absolute, inconsolable terror and sadness I can only relate with feeling similar as a hysterical child caught up in the drama of a temper tantrum. Except my mom is not able to soothe my heaving sobs this time, at least not as she has done for the last 29 years. I take comfort in all that I am and all that I have because of who my mom is and who she has been to me. And I want nothing more than to give her back some of that comfort, peace, and strength now, when she needs it most. I guess this is more of that growing up stuff...
