MOM

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It seems I keep coming back to Mom lately. It is because I am amazed about her constitution and how brave she is. She doesn’t wish to die, but she is not afraid.

As she lies there in the bed, the remnants of the previous hours seem to punctuate the room with harsh reminders of how much she is losing the battle but holding a brave front in the face of certainty, a certainty of finality. There are creams, and medications, pads and drinks with straws, there is very little else, except a comb and maybe rubber gloves.

I look into her eyes and see a vacancy where once there was attention and voice.

All my life as a little boy, I had this fear that one day I would lose my mom, and how horrific it would feel. I remember her telling me how she lost her mother, how cold she felt and as she described how she watched as a young woman as they lowered the casket of Mary her mother into the ground one October day, I tried to relate and feel that pain. I was too young to fully comprehend it, and every time I smell flowers, I get that funereal feel that gives me a sense of sadness, and fear of the unknown.

My wish for her is to die. I know now that will be the result no matter what, and her quality of life as they say is nil, non-existent. It would be selfish of me to wish otherwise, as I watch her not move or be able to enjoy anything. Oh, she is waiting to die, like a commuter waiting for a train, sitting alone in the station looking down the track for her ride.

Something curious is happening to me, I understand the process of dying better, with a healthy attitude and realize the state is not scary after all, but just another act in the drama we call life. It is the final act, and it should have a happy ending, one in a way like Mom’s, with dignity, love and people who care for her and want only the best for her. She is fortunate in that she is in no pain, just lying there waiting, her mind sharp as ever and in some instances better than mine. But that has always been the case, as she corrected and taught me. And yes, even in death she will teach me one more valuable lesson, how to die with dignity.

“Death,” Rainer Maria Rilke

Before us great Death stands
Our fate held close within his quiet hands.
When with proud joy we lift Life’s red wine
To drink deep of the mystic shining cup
And ecstasy through all our being leaps—
Death bows his head and weeps.