In My Loving Arms

In My Loving Arms

I was at work at the call center for about an hour, when I received a message that my seventy-four year old mother had been rushed to the hospital. In the past she had suffered a heart attack as well as mini strokes, while also being a diabetic. I immediately informed my supervisor I would be leaving, and she wished me the best. I was so distraught I couldn’t remember where I had parked my car, so without wasting more time I called a taxi. The driver was so compassionate about my situation, that he didn’t charge me for the fare and took the fastest route to the hospital. I thanked him quickly for paying it forward as I rushed through the emergency room doors.

They had taken my mother in right away and she was laying on the table with an intravenous drip trickling life saving medicine into her body. She looked so pallid and fragile as she smiled at me weakly. After entering the room, I kissed her forehead as I held her hand, telling her that I loved her. Then the doctor asked me to please wait in the family room while he finished examining her. To me there was something so final in the word family room and my instincts were right.

I joined my four siblings in that room and waited for what seemed like forever for the doctor to come and tell us what he knew medically. Finally he came and looked at me directly, told us what to expect in the next few days, and then said it was only a matter of time. There were tears and our hearts ached, then we took turns staying with her at her bedside. We almost lost her twice in that first week of April 2002, but she pulled through both times. She seemed to be getting better and everyone’s spirit was lifted and they thought she had beat the odds, but I felt differently. To me it was the calm before the storm, but I never dash their hopes.

When my mother had gathered enough strength to be moved, the doctor decided to move her to another hospital for more intense comfort and care. The hospital was a place to spend their last days, for people who were dying. I knew this, but my brother and sisters didn’t want to hear that, because through their eyes she was improving. The first week there she actually got out of bed, dressed with some assistance, and went to the day room to eat her meals. Although she picked at her food and ate like a bird, she was doing it. They praised her and encouraged her; it almost had me convinced, but I gave myself a reality check and kept it to myself.

Going into the third week of April, I learned that my mother had made me power of attorney, executrix of her will and due to the mini stokes she had forgotten to tell me. When I read what was in her will, I knew she had put her death in my hands. She firmly and without a doubt was of sound mind when she requested no life supports. I already knew this from previous discussions I had had with her, and she was very solid with that decision. I also had to decide when enough was enough and when her veins collapsed and the I.V. that fed her medication to help support her heart beating had to be inserted again, I said no. I did have dealings with my siblings, but in the end they knew it was the right call.

It was the month of May and mom was still holding on, although she was becoming more frail and was to the point of remaining in bed, barely sipping the can of Ensure. From the time she first entered the hospital, I had been by her side. My husband would bring my essentials and changes of clothing, but everyone was telling me that I should go home and get some rest and they would call me if there were any changes. I told them I wanted to be with her, that this was something I had to do, thinking to myself she shouldn’t die alone. Everyone else continued on with their lives, coming to visit when they could and I didn’t expect anything different; life had to go on.

I was the oldest and my second oldest sister had decide to stay at the hospital with me and give me a break now and then when I needed it. She slept on a day cot and I slept in a recliner right beside our mother’s bed. I had spoke to the night nurse and she told me that my mother had come to terms that she was dying and had excepted it. That made me feel much better knowing that she wasn’t afraid.

As the days moved into the second week of May, spring was in the air, the snow was gone  and flowers were blooming and coming to life. The trees modeled their new dressings of different shades of green and new life had begun again as the circle of life continued. The morning of the 20th of May 2002, my mother woke from her slumber around 9 a.m. I washed her face with a warm face cloth and she smiled at me. She turned her head toward the window and whispered, “It’s spring. Aren’t those flowers beautiful.” I agreed with her and as she turned her head back toward me, a tear was rolling down her left cheek. I asked her, “ Mom are you tired?”, and she nodded her head yes. I then asked her as I crawled into her bed and held her in my arms, “Are you ready to go now?”, and she whispered her answer, “Yes.”  I held her in my arms with all the love I had for her and thanked her for being my mother, because she had adopted me when I was seven days old. I said, “ I love you so very much mom.” She mouthed, “I love you too.” She then took her last breath and with a small smile on her face, she crossed over. The time was 9:17 a.m. My sister woke a minute or two later and she laid beside mom and cried her heart out, while I went to the nurse’s desk to inform them my mother had passed.

Most people would have expected  the time I spent with my mother to have been crushing, draining  and heartbreaking. Yes, I felt saddened, but I have to describe that it was the most wonderful feeling, being there with her in her final moment and experiencing the warmth and love we shared with each other to the very end. That moment stays etched in my mind and heart
forever.
Ameasha Brown