it's embarking on a year

It is coming up to a year since my Mom has passed away. I can't believe it's been almost a year since that fateful weekend. I've written a little about the passing but mostly from a place I call the "Wastelands" a place and book title by Stephen King from his Dark Tower series where he titled it after a highly influential 434-line modernest poem by T. S. Eliot. This was not a good place to be. It was desolate and dark with a very eerie feeling as though a tornado could hit down anywhere or a gigantic earthquake could rock the earth. Ominous and foreboding couldn't even describe what was to come.

It also felt as if I were the only one in an airplane, sitting in the co-pilot's seat watching the plane plummet, spiraling in slow motion with no control and no way to pull out of the fall.

This was the deepest, darkest place I have never been. I hardly remember the 6 months after February 24th. I know it was somewhat of a blur. The morning of her death was such a surreal feeling. She died at 5:15am on a gloomy, overcast Sunday. After the whole family had left the rehab center where she passed, my Uncle was driving me back to the house I grew up in, my Mom's house. That drive was a blur. I remember thinking how finished it was and how much was left unsaid. . .


My mom had been diagnosed with a tumor inside her lung 6 months prior that turned out to be lung cancer. Her prognosis was uncertain so she went through chemo and radiation. Living over 70 made it difficult to really ascertain how her level of health was really. I had both my sister and brother living with her, taking her to her doctor's appts. yet I think even they were led to believe her situation was positive.


I had a trip planned with our youngest son to visit my Mom and family in Salinas the weekend of Feb. 22nd. That week prior to that weekend, Duque, my oldest brother mentioned that they moved Mom from the hospital into a rehabilitation place. This sounded like good news as it seems she would be on yet another road to recovery however throughout that week, I kept getting updates that her condition was getting worse and finally by Friday morning, 3 hours before Asher and I were to get on a plane to fly down to Salinas, my family said it was not good and that Mom was becoming unresponsive and seemed to be in a lot of pain. . .


Just a side note, I rarely saw my mom in pain, if ever, while growing up. She was silent and stoic. That morning while I was trying to get ready to leave with Asher, I broke down finally realizing that this could be it. Now for some reason, I always thought that when it was time for my Mom to go, I would be very calm and understanding of the whole process. Having that realization that morning crippled me. Luckily my wife and our oldest son, got on the phone really quick and were able to secure tickets on the same flight which was a godsend for what I was about to go through.


We flew down and immediately drove from the airport in San Jose to the rehab center in Salinas where my Mom was staying. When entering the room, that was not the Mom I grew up with. To spare you the details, her physicality had changed quite dramatically and she was barely audible. Through all my life, my Mom has been a rock, a fortress, self sufficient and the most selfless person I knew. She was now a mere shell of what she was and it was insanely difficult to take in.


I first got an update of the status and type of care she'd been receiving while in this rehabilitation clinic. My brother, sister and myself were wondering why she wasn't being moved back into the hospital to fight whatever she had that was taking over. We had tried to page her doctor but wouldn't hear from him until the end of the next day. From that Friday night on, my brother, sister and I were by her side trying to make her as comfortable as we could.


For me, that started Friday afternoon. From that point until Sunday morning, there were many ups and downs. At one point on Saturday, my cousin Aaron and his wife Brenda were in the room while the others were out. It came to a point where my Mom was vocalizing "she was done" and that she didn't want to do this anymore. That 20 minutes while I softly rubbed her brow and told her that it was okay to let go and that everything would be alright. I told her how good a job she did in raising all of us and that she meant everything to us. I thought right then and there that it was coming to an end. It was also the most lucid moment in my entire time with my Mom that weekend. She looked into my eyes and said, "I don't want to do this anymore, I just want it to end. . ." in which I said, "Let it go Mom, we'll be okay, just let go" while tears were streaming down my face. I finally was able to calm her for the time being and that was just one of the many rollercoaster moments I endured that weekend.

When Saturday night rolled around, her doctor finally showed up and my brother and myself went to speak with him in the hallway outside my Mom's door. We asked about her condition and why she wasn't being moved back to the hospital. The doctor then laid down the boom. He said her body was shutting down and their wasn't much to be done, other than make her comfortable. Whenever she seems in pain, give her a dose of morphine.

Now morphine kind of puts the patient into a la la state and their ability to comprehend decreases immensely. My sister, brother and myself agreed we'd rather not see her in pain as she was pretty far out already. We then started the morphine to at least relieve the pain she was having which seemed to be increasing minute by minute.

There was one moment that Saturday night that seemed to change the landscape quite a bit. There was this nurse who reminded me of Zelda Rubinstein, the little short lady from Poltergeist and she would usher us out, as she was in charge of changing the sheets and linens and any other incidentals that needed to be taken care of that night. By then, there was quite a bit of family that had shown up. We all slumbered into the lobby as it was just after 11, however my brother, sister and myself felt compelled to get back in the room as soon as possible before the rest of the family.

It was at this moment when we entered the room, that we saw my Mom sort of sitting up and her eyes were wide open and it seemed like the last look of life that came out of her. Her eyes were wide as if she knew this was it. It seemed really strange that right after this Poltergeist lady visited the room knowing that our mother was in her final hours, that the last of our Mom's life was emitted. After that moment, she became a low breathing vegetable. Duque and I sent Robynn home for a few hours to sleep around midnight. It was just Duque and myself in the room with the weird Poltergeist lady showing up every so often to let us know the progression of her death.


I must say, seeing that rapid decline in my Mom's health through to the final breath was a sight I wish I wouldn't have seen. A lot of people have brought up to me that they would much rather be there during the whole process and receive the closure they anticipate they will get. Let me tell you, that was the hardest 36 hours I've ever gone through and don't recommend it to anyone. When I think of my Mom nowadays, I think of that last weekend with her in utter turmoil and sores inside her mouth and pretty much incoherent. i hate those images and yet they are burned in my mind forever.

My mother was silent and stoic and she lived a tough life. She was the most influential and important woman in my life. As my Uncle Dave said to my Mom shortly after her death, "Have fun Janet, have fun!" I hope your having a great time Mom and I can't wait to see you. . .