A "short" story and a life in pictures

My mom passed away this morning. It's a little surreal—one minute she was with me, and the next minute she was gone.

It's been a long time coming. She got pneumonia five years ago and never fully recovered. She was on oxygen 24x7, and because she wasn't able to do as many things, her strength diminished. The Alzheimer's disease that has taken most of her family was staring her in the face. Two years ago, my sister, Laura, and I had to take over things like paying her bills, filling her pill box and, after Mom gave up her car, driving her to the store and the doctor and the hair salon—everywhere she needed to go.

This last month was rough on Mom. She got pneumonia and spent three days in the hospital. She seemed to rally at the end and was discharged. But five days later, she was back in the hospital. Her pneumonia was better, but she was having difficulty breathing. (She had COPD—chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder—so her breathing was always a little dicey.) She didn't rally the way she had before. She was more confused, more agitated, more tired. She was not watching "Judge Judy." This was a sure sign of the apocalypse.

Talk turned away from discharge to home and toward discharge to a skilled nursing/rehab facility. While she was open to that idea during the first hospitalization, boy howdy she was not open to that idea during the second. We decided to broach the subject of what she wanted next, and after a long discussion with her primary care physician and my sister (who was representing both of us), she decided she would like to go home to hospice.

She was "excited" (as excited as a very sick person can be) that no one was going to make her do physical therapy. No one was going to make her do occupational therapy. No one was going to bug her about eating and drinking and taking her pills. If she wanted to do those things, we would support her, and if she didn't, we would support her.

She was discharged not quite two weeks ago, and to make a long story short, she ended up in a hospice facility just two days later on the brink of death. Once again she rallied and was fairly coherent-ish for about 48 hours, but by Wednesday of last week, she didn't understand why she was there, and she started asking Laura to take her home.

That's when the facility shut down to all visitors. Thank you, COVID-19. She really started to go downhill from there. There's no telling whether it was because we were gone or whether she was just deteriorating "on schedule," but by Monday of this week, the hospice nurse said Mom had some telltale symptoms of a person who is "transitioning" from actively living to actively dying. That's when the hospice allowed us back in.

She had one day of agony, where she was hallucinating and seemingly in pain, very restless and very agitated. Laura bore the brunt of that day because I was not able to get to her until late afternoon, just as she was getting some medicine that would calm her and stop her twitching.

The next day was agony-lite—all of the Monday symptoms but less severe—as the nurses from our hospice service and the nurses at the facility adjusted the meds and the timing of them. She was still restless, and she would often sit up and then lie back down because she didn't even have the strength to support her own weight. And yet, it was a good day. We would sit on the bed with her, and when she would sit up, she would often collapse into our arms—the way we probably did when we were kids. And when each of us whispered "I love you" in her ear, she said "I love you, too." They were the only coherent words she spoke all day—but they were also the most important words.

Wednesday and Thursday finally brought peace for Mom. We had her on a good cocktail of medications spaced just the right amount apart, and she rested comfortably all day. She rarely opened her eyes and never tried to speak, but she didn't seem to be in pain, and her hallucinations had subsided.

Early Friday morning (a little after 1 a.m.), I got the coded text from my sister, 🙁 , and I knew Mom's struggle had ended. My sister did not leave Mom's side from the time they let us back in, other than a short respite on Wednesday to remind her husband (a) that he had a wife and (b) what she looked like. I will always be grateful that she was willing and able to do that. As we both said many times over the course of this journey, it is an honor and a privilege to care for our mother.

Do not cry for me. My mom is free. No more being tethered to the oxygen tank! No more scolding by us about how much (or how little) she was eating, drinking, exercising, etc.! She can hear without her hearing aids! She can walk to the kitchen without getting so winded that she has to sit down halfway there! (Assuming they have a kitchen where she's going.) She can remember everything! (Take that, Alzheimer's!)

I'm sure there will be many tears shed on "firsts," but I'll have all my memories of her and the strength I gained from her to keep me going

Speaking of memories, here are a "few" of my favorite pictures of my mom.

First, I love these old-timey pictures of her:

Ohmygosh, did my mom LOVE bowling!

Dad and Mom on their wedding day

Mom's family was everything to her.

Back row, L to R: Mom's sister Ruth, brother Gene, sister Mary, Mom, brother Mike
Seated: Mom's beloved Aunt Blanche and Uncle Chet

She fell instantly in love with her first grandchild, Nick:

Laura, Nick and Mom

 Then one became two ...

Granddaughter Margeaux

... and Mom discovered that two were twice as nice as one.

Grandchildren grow up faster ...

Clockwise from lower left: Bill, Nick, Margeaux, Mom, me and Laura

 
... and faster:

Mom was so proud of her grandchildren, and the fact that they wanted
to spend time with her gave her untold joy

Eventually, more family joined the fold, and that was OK with Mom.

L to R: Ali, Mom, Layla, Harrison and Nick

L to R: Layla, Mom and Harrison

She was delighted with more additions a few years later ...

L to R: Mom, Madi, Margeaux and Xan

... and even more a few years after that:

Madi, Will and Fin on Mom's lap

When you add my stepkids and their kids—whom Mom lovingly accepted into her heart (she was always tickled pink to get a card or a picture from one of them)—Mom had four grandchildren and 10 great grandchildren. Her heart was full.

Mom also loved to travel, and we often did that together. In fact, Mom and I could be found virtually anywhere, from Niagara Falls ...

... to the Isaac Walton League to watch trap shooting ...

... to Downtown Denver at Christmastime ...

... to the Denver Museum of Nature and Science ...

... to wherever this was!

Sometimes we let Vic tag along.

Rocky Mountain National Park

Vic pulled all these (and more) pictures for me a few weeks ago. As I clicked through his curated selection, one thing stood out: My mom and I were always hugging!

Mom had an "interesting" sense of humor, but that didn't mean she couldn't joke around with us:

L to R: Laura, me, Margeaux, Mom and Laura's husband Bill

Then again, she was also happy to let us be the clowns while she kept a straight face.

And now I feature solo pictures of Mom. We don't have a lot of them—she hated having her picture taken, especially alone. But Vic could always coax a smile out of her.

I want to leave you with one more shot of mom in her native habitat: talking to a complete stranger. Grocery store clerk? You get her life story. Customer? You'll probably have to hear about her daughters. Random guy on the street wearing a Nebraska Cornhuskers sweatshirt? Now she's your best friend. My mom could strike up a conversation with a stop sign.

I kind of miss her already, and it hasn't even been 24 hours. But I am content with her destination. I picture her free of oxygen, with perfect hearing and enough strength to walk farther than the mailbox. She eats nothing but caramels and Pringles—or whatever the hell she wants. She is with the family members who passed before she did. She is home.

Blanche (Breiner) Schenkel

February 6, 1939 – March 20, 2020

 

Rest in peace, Mom. We love you.