Punished By Death

Punished by Death

         The stillness of sleep was broken by the screaming of the telephone. It was 2:13 a.m., Thursday, July 6, 1985. My eyes flew open, but I lay paralyzed in the bed beside my husband of two months. My heart was pounding. At seventeen years old, and only two weeks into living with my in-laws in an unfamiliar town, five hours away from home, everything scared me! The bedroom door opened, and my mother-in-law told me that the phone was for me. I jumped up, my husband on my heels, and hurried to the phone. Before I could even say hello, I heard my mother sobbing. I felt my blood run cold all over my body as I asked, “Mom, what is it? What’s wrong?”  In a shaking voice, she struggled to tell me that my daddy had just died from a massive heart attack in his sleep. I was shaking so hard that my knees buckled; I fell to the floor screaming and crying, “Not my daddy……not my daddy!!!”  There are no words to explain the explosion of emotions that followed that phone call, but one thought rang clear, “What kind of God would take away my daddy, my best friend, the one who loved me more than anything in the world, without letting me say goodbye, or tell him one more time how much I loved him?”  More than twenty-five years later, I remember every detail of that morning like it was yesterday; I can still hear the phone ringing, smell the dampness from the rain, and feel my heart pounding in my chest.

          It was 5:32 p.m., Sunday, December 4, 2011.  I answered the phone on the second ring. It was Diane, Mom’s hospice nurse. I was a little surprised to hear from her on Sunday, since Diane only saw Mom once a week on Tuesdays. I checked the caller ID and see that Diane was at the nursing home, where mom had been for the last 5 months after breaking her hip. When I heard the tone of her voice, the unwelcomed “blood running cold” feeling started enveloping my entire body. She explained that there has been a sudden decline in mom’s condition requiring them to start her “end of life” comfort medications. Diane talked and I listened, as the huge lump in my throat prevented me from speaking. We arrived within thirty minutes of the phone call, and without even having to ask, Diane had placed the request to have mom moved to a private room so my husband and I could stay with her until the end. I didn’t understand; I had spent all day with her yesterday and we had one of the best visits we had had in a long time. I had taken mom for a stroll around the building (in her wheelchair). We had gone up front to look at the beautiful Christmas tree and decorations that we both loved so much. I had taken her shopping for snacks at the snack machine at the end of her hall. We laughed and talked all afternoon. Even though I came to see mom every day, yesterday was different, better than usual. Mom had been a hospice patient for the last two months, after discovering during her last hospital stay that she had a very large blood clot in her lung and two blood clots in her leg. They suspected cancer somewhere, but in her fragile condition, treatment would not be an option, therefore there was no use in any further tests. Her condition, while serious, had not changed over the last two months, therefore we had let ourselves believe that she was not going anywhere anytime soon.

         I walked into the room and saw my mom lying there and my legs began to shake. I touched her face and she opened her eyes slightly and gave me a tiny smile. I toldl her that I loved her and in a weak voice, she told me she loves me too. She didn’t look like the same person I saw yesterday, she looked as if she had aged ten years overnight. I knew this was the beginning of the end and I didn’t know if I could do this. I had prayed so many times for God to let me be there with her when it was her time to go. I never wanted to go through what I went through with my daddy ever again! My husband stayed in the room with mom while I went to talk to Diane. She explained the dying process and how to recognize each stage along the way. She told me it could take two or three days for all of her organs to shut down. I listened to every word and nodded that I understood, but inside I was thinking “What the hell are we talking about here? This isn’t just a body shutting down…this is my momma… and she is dying.” but I thanked her for the information just the same. My husband and I spent the rest of the night sitting in the room with mom trying to comfort her.

         The next morning, they moved us to a private room with two beds, so we could be more comfortable. On this day, mom was less responsive, but when I told her that I loved her, she was able to mouth the words back to me even though no sound came out. That was the last time my mom ever said those words to me. The next few days were very painful, for mom, for me and my husband, and for the nurses and aids who all loved her. The nurses came in every hour to give Mom morphine, and suction her if needed. None of the staff could believe she was still hanging on. Every night I went and sat alone for a few minutes in the front lobby, lit only by the Christmas tree lights, and prayed for God to please take her so she wouldn’t have to suffer any more. On the last night I couldn’t move away from mom’s bed as I was so scared that she was going to go at any time and I wanted her to feel me holding her hand, stroking her hair, or touching her face. Mom made a quiet exit at 8:12 a.m. on Friday, December 9, 2011.

         It’s been one year since mom has passed, and I still struggle with those horrible images of her last few days. The details I remember from my dad’s death are nowhere near as painful as the heart-wrenching images that I know will be with me forever from my mom’s death. I still have thoughts of “What kind of God would let my momma suffer for so long? Why didn’t he just take her sooner?”