Saying Goodbye is Hard

We're on day 7 in St. Thomas Hospital West.  My mom was moved to a private room on Monday, two days ago.  All of the days run together, it seems, when you spend so much time at a hospital.

My mom has been on comfort measures only since Saturday morning.  At the moment, she's sleeping peacefully and appears to be in no obvious pain or discomfort.  She gets restless every so often, which is hard for us to see, then settles down.

 I think my mom is near the end of her journey.

This is all so very personal.  I can't process much of it or write about it, at least not yet.  There will be time for that, I know.

Tracy and I are sitting with her now.  Tracy has spent the last two nights here with my mom.  Although she stole a couple of hours of sleep in the waiting room this morning, I'm afraid she's running on fumes.  She has an indomitable spirit, something she inherited from my mom, no doubt.

There is so much of my mom in Tracy.  The kindness, patience, gentleness and, yes, strength.  All of the characteristics that made my mom a great nurse, and mother, are the same ones that make Tracy a great mother and physical therapist.  I've been in awe just watching her.

Alice has been amazing, too.  She's devoted to my mom and that shines through in everything she says and does.  We couldn't have made it without her.  She's stayed a couple of nights with my mom, as well.

My cousin, David Clark, has been a godsend.  He's a physical therapist by training but got his PhD and teaches at Middle Tennessee State University.  He's been an objective voice for us and has, at times, been a liaison between the medical staff and our family.

Jan Baker, one of my mom's best friends, has been an angel.  She's been by her side, and our sides, for the past seven days.  I can never repay her for the love, friendship and support she has shown our family during our darkest hours.  We've laughed together, cried together and shared many, many stories.

I've prayed for an end to my mom's discomfort and pain and yes, her earthly life.  I've told my mom, in private conversations the past few days, that it's okay to let go.  I've told her we - and I - will be fine and that I will make it my mission to keep our family connected in the way that she would want us to stay connected.

I've shared moments with Tracy and Alice that I will never forget.   At times, we've sat together in silence, lost in our own thoughts and memories.  At other times, we've laughed and cried, as well.  We've held hands, and held my mom, and prayed out loud, too.  The point is, I think, that we've done it together, as a family.  Each of us handles grief differently because we're different people, but we're grieving together.

I believe my mom is hanging on because as part of her final act, she wants to do all she can to cement and strengthen our bonds as a family.  She wants to bring us together.  I believe that with all of my heart.