We are waiting. My brother, his wife, my wife and I have been around and in and out of my mother’s home for a little over two weeks. The hospice nurse has been expecting the wait to end momentarily, but my mother is not following that script.
On the night that my father died, as we sat in the ICU waiting area one night in March almost 13 years ago, there was a mockingbird outside the open window. It was probably 3 am. We were waiting for my brother to come back from Chattanooga so he could be there when we gave the order to disconnect life support. The mockingbird sang and sang whole time we sat there.
Now the sound I hear in my mother’s room is the whirring of a humidifier. At least the oxygen concentrator has been turned off, so its hum, gurgle and hiss is gone. We put a television in the room and connected it to my old laptop so Mother could watch her NCIS reruns, but by the time it was set up, she was no longer interested. Later they found some big-band music and some classical music, but now all the TV does is rotate through my screen images. She’s uncommunicative. Her eyes are closed, and she hasn’t eaten or drunk anything in a week. None of us can understand how she keeps on going.
She’s damned tough.
Past experience has taught me that we humans are both fragile and yet so resilient. Your mention of the mockingbird put me in mind of the birds that sang outside the window of my dad’s room the last day he was alive. My dad had asked to have the window open although it was still March and quite cold. We could hear birds singing outside throughout the day. Peace to all of you.
Oh this reminds me so much of Roger’s mother’s last days. It’s so important that we tell each other these stories because death happens behinds closed doors, and we have forgotten what to expect. Your mother is surrounded by those who love her, the sound of birds, the comfort of music. There is nothing else more important than this. Sending you wishes for comfort and peace.