This photo came up as a memory on Facebook a couple of days ago. It was bittersweet to see it. I remember that day clearly. It was only a year ago. Gary and I were in Florida for our annual pilgrimage to see the Mets during spring training. We took a short drive from our hotel to take a walk by the beach. Gary did his thing – he likes to show he can still climb a tree – and I snapped the photo to document it and sent it to our children, who, in turn, would hopefully show our granddaughters.
At the same time that we were enjoying this ordinary moment of levity, I was struggling with a difficult and painful decision. My mother, whose health had been failing, took a dramatic turn for the worse the night before. We had only just arrived in Florida. Though Mom had not been doing well, I had spoken with my brothers, the hospice nurse and her aide before leaving and we thought she was stable. We were wrong. Thus the question: Should I return and go to New Jersey, or should I stay?
Gary and I contemplated that as we walked along the beach. I had several conversations with my brothers before our walk. Both of them encouraged me to stay in Florida. Mark was heading down to Jersey from Albany with his wife, Pam, so he would be there. Steven and his wife, Cindy, lived 15 minutes away from Mom so he visited regularly. Steven was quite insistent that I stay in Florida; they would handle things. I had been very involved with Mom’s care up to that point, they didn’t want me to cut short our brief vacation. We were scheduled to be away for a total of five days, and we were on our second day when things went south.
After much contemplation, we decided to stay, believing that there wasn’t much I could add. My brothers are capable people. Mom was sleeping most of the time. Despite that, I was still torn. Did I need to see her? I decided I didn’t. I remembered how painful it was to see my father during his last days. Those images stayed with me for years, crowding out memories of him as a healthy person. It was also possible that I would get back in time to see her since our trip was so brief. Though I was deeply conflicted, I didn’t have a strong gut feeling, so we decided to stay in Florida.
I was able to enjoy the sunshine and warm air. I had the welcome distraction of the baseball games and dinners with friends. We visited Gary’s mother. In between, I talked to my brothers and thought about Mom and continued wondering whether I was doing the right thing. My brothers and sisters-in-law were handling some rough stuff – administering morphine, watching Mom to see if she was uncomfortable while she mostly slept. I felt guilty leaving this final stage to them, but I was also relieved.
Gary and I flew back north on Monday. Mom was still hanging in there. Before we left for the airport, I called my sister-in-law Pam’s cell phone, knowing she was sitting with Mom. Pam told me Mom’s eyes were closed, and she seemed comfortable. I asked her to hold the phone next to Mom’s ear. I told Mom I was coming to see her the next day but if she was ready to go, it was okay. I told her I loved her, that she was a great mother and that she earned her rest.
We arrived back in Albany late on Monday. Mom was still breathing. I got up early Tuesday morning and was packing my things to drive down to New Jersey when my phone rang. Mom’s aide, Ama, said she believed Mom had passed. She was waiting for the nurse to come to confirm it. I was surprised and I wasn’t. I thanked Ama for all she had done for Mom. I felt lost – now what should I do? After calling Gary, who was at work already, I wandered around my bedroom deciding if I still wanted to go down to New Jersey. For reasons that aren’t entirely clear to me, even now, I wanted to go. Maybe to see visual proof that Mom was gone, maybe to help Steve and Cindy with the details….
Ama was indeed correct. The next few days are a blur, planning the funeral, sorting through her things.
It was Mom’s time – I knew that. I wondered whether what I said to her on the phone made a difference. I didn’t exactly feel guilty about not being there, though I wondered if I would have offered her some additional comfort. I had been with Mom through most of her medical issues over the last years. I think I offered her comfort then. A year later I am still not sure how I feel. I am not riddled with regret, and I have been spared thinking of Mom as the sick version of herself. When I remember her, I think of her vibrant self. I am grateful for that. I still think of calling her to share good news.
I am also grateful to my brothers for protecting me – I think that is what they were doing by encouraging me to stay in Florida. I believe that they thought I had pulled my weight in caring for Mom, and they stepped up to see her through to the end, painful as it must have been.
Aside from knowing that it was Mom’s time, I know one other thing: there is no “right” answer as to how to handle the end of life. There is only doing the best you can and making decisions with love and compassion. After that, if you are a believer, you give it up to God. If you aren’t, and I am not, you give it up to the great unknown.
Note: Mom passed one year ago today – February 27, 2024. We miss her but take comfort in the long, happy life she had.
Stories I Tell Myself 
When we see our elderly, weakened, diminished parents, the people who raised us and did so much for us, I wonder if we are capable of seeing objective reality. I think we see them through a lens that distorts them based on our own feelings and psyches and needs.
Some of us see them through rose colored glasses and see them as stronger, healthier than they actually are. Some of us see little things-the movement of a facial feature, an expression-and see much more than what is really apparent.
And some of us see the opposite: pain, loss, sadness.
I cast no judgement on any of this. It is just the reality that our emotions are powerful and we cannot help but be moved one way or another by them. Somehow, we must struggle to look past our own distorted views as best we can and do the best we can.
I know that you, your brothers and sisters in law surely did that with great love for her and for each other. That is a blessing. It does not undo the loss. But it is of great credit to all of you.
Thank you for the very moving and well written post. What you are sharing is something I suspect we can all relate to.
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Gary (what a strange email address they assigned you, but I know its you), We were very fortunate, my brothers and me, in that we were able to agree on the course to take. Sometimes it took some compromise, sometimes it took some discussion, but we arrived at a place we all could live with. Not all families are so fortunate. And, of course, you are right – we each see things through our own experience. It isn’t possible to do otherwise. It can be very fraught – that’s where the respect for each other and common goals have to rise above anything else. Thank you for being there with me through the losses and the wins.
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So well written. You certainly carried more than your weight in overseeing mom’s many health issues through the years both while she lived in Florida and then New Jersey. Speaking for myself I most definitely did not want you to return early from your brief vacation. Mom was in and out of consciousness during those final days. Although I do remember one evening Rachel came by and upon hearing Rachel’s voice opened her eyes and said my “little red head”. In those last days she knew she was not alone.
You mentioned how seeing Dad in his last days left you somewhat scarred for quite some time afterwards. I’m happy to say for myself although those last days sitting hours on end in her apartment was very depressing it has not had a long lasting affect on me. I have focused on the happier days and mom’s positive outlook on life. Today I choose to remember those good days.
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Thank you for being there with Mom. I love that she responded to Ray! Brings a smile to my face. She loved her nieces and nephews so very much. I’m also grateful that you think of the good times with Mom. It is a gift and she would be happy that we think of her that way.
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