When Mom was in the hospice center for the first time, she started to show signs of the cancer moving to her brain. Perhaps in was the disease progressing, or all the medicine she was on. I think it was the disease progression because she would have moments of lucidity, and moments of absolute confusion. On the days of confusion, I would sit at her bedside and hold her hand until my sister came to trade off with me.
She had me help her order her meal one of those days she was there and feeling more with it. She wanted roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, and cobbler. By that point she had lost the use of her right arm and hand to feed herself. She would try with her left, but would get frustrated and tired so she finally let me help her by bringing the fork to her mouth so she could eat.
The weather was hot, but she wanted the window open to hear the birds sing. It was just some obnoxious magpie squawking. I had to look out the window and that huge squawking bird so she didn't see my tears fall as I let her chew her food. The doctor had talked with us earlier that day, giving the timeline of a few weeks left. She wanted me to eat with her. I really, really did not want to eat that glumpy roast beef with mashed potatoes and thick brown sludgy gravy. But she took her right hand, put a bite of food on it and put it up to my mouth with all her concentration and effort, like she was feeding her baby. And I took a bite, and agreed with her it was really good, even though it was probably the worst I had ever eaten.
We always shared a love for good food together. We had our favorites, and they often were the same things. That bite of food with her will always be one of the most special meals we ever shared together. From that point on, I made an effort to share every meal with her until she stopped eating. Her last meal was pasta and a side of cottage cheese. She stopped eating after that meal, and a couple of days later stopped asking for drinks of anything.
As the holidays come, I've tried to avoid the things that remind me of meals with her. I don't want to make her favorite things yet. I don't feel ready to enjoy those things without her yet. So, we're making other plans for Thanksgiving than the usual big meal. It was her favorite holiday, and her absence is going to be profoundly felt.
I wanted to get my Christmas tree out and put up this weekend. I am usually one who is very adamant about Christmas starting the day after Thanksgiving. This year, I am throwing all my preconceived ideas out and just hoping for some happiness. Christmas lights make me happy, the lights make me happy, and I just want to be happy.....because I know this holiday season is going to be so difficult without her.
We pulled the tree out and went to plug it in yesterday. I was excited to get a head start on the happiness. Then, it didn't work. I texted my sister, "I put the tree up and plugged it in. It's dead." She understood what that meant and gave me the appropriate response of how miserable it was.
All the pretty lights, and cookies and pies and bows and presents will not be the same without her. I'm sitting wrapped up as I type this in a blanket she made for me a couple of Christmases ago, and one I gave her last Christmas. They're all just things from the past now, everything going forward is a new memory without her.
I don't know how the holidays are going to end up being. I'm sure there will be plenty of tears. I am not the only one who sheds tears for her. We all miss her so much. I told my other sister the other day it feels like I'm walking around with a huge hole right through the middle of me. Like a huge hunk is missing.
I am trying to busy myself with things that make myself and others happy, and do things with her in mind too. I let myself feel the tears as they come too. Because I can't ignore that she's gone, or pretend it's all okay, all the time. And this holiday season, I just hope some of the new memories will be ones that help fill in the massive space she's left behind.
2 comments:
I am thinking of you all, this first holiday season. ((hugs))
You're doing great. There is no answer or way forward. You just have to feel each step along the way, no matter what direction (forward, sideways or backward). We're here and she knows and we all love you.
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