Those Dreaded Calls in the Middle of the Night
Posted: Wednesday, June 08, 2011
by Brianna Popsickle
I got the phone call around 3 a.m. I quickly packed a bag and drove two hours not knowing what to expect when I got to the Emergency room.
My friend was in rough shape, the family had gathered. She was being transferred to a hospital in a city nearby, for surgery. The doctor’s prognosis was grim. If she survived the operation, he wasn’t sure she could survive all that would follow.
She was one of the strongest women I’d ever known. Now she laid there, a scant eighty pounds, each breath a struggle. It’s the way it had been for years and it broke my heart. The simplest things gave her pleasure and yet her body denied her the simplest of things. How much was this wonderful woman expected to endure?
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to anyone when she came through the surgery. The family had been called to say their goodbyes a handful of times in the past. Doctors marveled at her will to live, saying she’d been out of their hands for years and obviously in the hands of someone else.
But the following day things did not go as well. She’d fallen asleep and nothing or no one could wake her. We took turns stroking her forehead, holding her hand and whispering comforting words in her ear.
Nothing.
I picked up the phone at her bedside when it rang. It was my daughter. She too had a close relationship with my friend, one that had grown stronger the past year since moving to the same small town.
My daughter told me of an acquaintance who had once been in a coma for weeks. She’d recently told her that during that time, she could hear everything people were saying, and could feel them holding her hand. She just couldn’t respond.
My daughter asked me to hold the phone up to my friend’s ear. I could hear music playing and when I listened in, heard my daughter say, “Can you hear this? I’m picturing you dancing.”
We waited as the music played. There was no response. My daughter cried, and I cried with her.
Moments later though the nurses removed the covers, brought in cold cloths and ice packs and tried to move her. Slowly, my friend started to come around. I called my daughter back immediately and held up the phone once more.
Though her eyes remained closed a beautiful smile appeared on her face. We had her back once again.
Days passed. There were blood transfusions and more tests. Finally she was transferred back to her small town hospital. I kissed her goodbye and told her I loved her. I assured her I’d be back.
Once home, I was very aware of the distance between us, should the phone ring again. I returned to work and tried to catch up on things so I’d be free to visit again soon.
My daughter loaded an Ipod with my friend’s favourite songs. She told me how she went to visit her once and quietly watched as my friend (unaware she was there) laid peacefully, eyes closed, smiling as she listened to her music.
I couldn’t help but wonder what ran through her mind as she listened. Did she picture herself as a child, running through the fields with her dog like she so often told us about? Did she remember herself as a young woman falling in love with the man she had just celebrated fifty-eight years with? Did the music allow her to escape the pain she was in and temporarily escape the fear of what was to come?
I hoped so.
As I did dishes the other day, her song came on the radio. I stopped what I was doing and thought about her. I didn’t envision her as she is now, and I didn’t envision her coming home from the hospital.
Instead I saw her surrounded by friends and family who had already said goodbye years before. I saw her running in fields of flowers and breathing the fresh air with ease. I had flashbacks of those times we laughed until our sides hurt, and recalled images of her joyfully holding her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
As the tears rolled off my face I remembered sitting in the waiting room of the hospital that first night. I remembered praying the surgeon would appear and tell us she’d slipped away.
I felt such guilt for having had those thoughts. How could I give up on someone who had fought so hard to stay alive even though she’d told us she was ready to go?
The truth is I’m not ready to say good-bye and I can’t imagine my life, or my kid’s lives, without her. But I can’t bear the agony of seeing her struggle with more tests, and more pain, as she fights to walk again.
I don’t think wishing she could close her eyes and peacefully slip away means I’m a bad person, and I don’t think it means I’m weak. Maybe it just means I’m not as strong as she is.
But then, not many are as strong as my Mother.
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Top-level comments on this article: (10 total)Hi Brianna.
I don't really know what to say. This is beautiful and sad all at the same time.
Wishing an end to suffering one way or another is never bad. Although, when my mom died (we'd known it was coming and it was still hard), knowing that her suffering had finally ended didn't make it all that much better really. It took years for me to come to that place.
It's her choice to endure or not. But I think you know that and support her.
Big hugs,
DianneThanks Diane. I know most everyone goes through this with their parents at some point. It's nice to know people understand. Thanks for commenting.
Brianna, this is a compelling story of the circle of life. Each of us must deal in our own unique way. God be with you as the transitional journey from question, sorrow and mourning turns into the celebration of a special life. JohnNicely put. Thanks very much John.
hi bri,,
AYE,,,,,,,,,
what a wonderful and loving and inspiring story, albeit sad.
my mom was a nurse, and sounds much like your mom. after she passed, the family found out she had been going to the GI suite where she supervised, in a wheel chair, and spending her lunch in the aids and cancer wings, sometimes with the dying, because everyone else had abandoned them.
thanks for a great article,
my best,
sueYour mom sounds like an amazing woman. Thanks for reading and commenting Susan.
Seeing a Soul to the Otherside is a lonely experience. You see them as "Mother" of "Dad", and then you look at them again, and they are alone on the precipice of this existence and you know that letting go is a part of the process. Then you think about how you will be in the same spot some day. Then you realize there is no terror, no emptying despair, just another fold in the continuum of existence. Blessings to you and your Mother.The circle of life. Thanks Christofer for your kind words. I appreciate hearing from you.
Brianna,
How beautifully said. Your sense of mystery totally threw me. I had no idea you were talking about your mom. No, you are not a bad person for wishing her away from her pain. I did the same for my mother in her last week. My prayers are with you.
Thank you for your kind words Nancy. I appreciate them.
This is very touching and I feel your feelings, Brianna. May she pull through one more time, one more time.Thank you Hilda. I appreciate your kind words.
My mom died, just this month, after a stroke.
She and I had what one could easily say, was a very "complicated" relationship.
We very rarely saw anything, eye to eye, over the years.
It seemed that clearly that
she was the kind of person whom she had warned me, in life, to stay away from.
Perhaps, after all, we were too very much alike.
Over the years, I drifted far from her, and from the persistent, interminable arguments.
Although I loved her, I had
chafed under the inglorious restraint of her fixed opinions and many prejudices and I learned to avoid the
enforced familiarity of holidays and dinners, spent together with her.
Perhaps, in my avoidance of her over the years, I simply just wasn't a good enough son.
I am very unhappy, on many different levels, about her death, this month.
I yearned to have the relationship with her, that you described, here, with your mom, but it was destined not to be.
Much affection,
PaulI"m so sorry for your loss Paul and the fact that things couldn't be the way you would have liked between you and your mother. It's difficult to lose a parent at any time and when there are unresolved issues and feelings, I'm sure it's that much worse. My thoughts are with you. Thank you for taking time to read and comment. - Brianna -
B-this is a tough one.
When I said my last goodbye there was a radio in my mom's room playing a song that I had heard all my life but never new the title. Only a year ago I learned is was called 'A WALK IN THE CLOUDS'-say no moreThat's a beautiful song and so fitting. I believe there's a much better place, and your mother is there. Thanks for commenting Bing.
You brought tears to my eyes. What a beautiful story. I'm so sorry for your loss and so uplifted by your courage. Thank you for sharing something so intimate and in such a lovely manner.My mother is courageously carrying on each day with physiotherapy. I don't really know where she gets her strength. When someone dies unexpectedly it's awful because you don't get to say goodbye. When someone, such as my mother, is close to death on several occasions over the years, it's like mourning her loss over and over. It's difficult to lose someone whether or not you've had time to prepare.Thank you for reading Amanda, and for your kind words.
A very touchy and inspiring article Brianna!On 28th Jan 2011, when we lost our 21 years old cousin after struggling in the hospital for 3 days it was devastating...His parents could not come out of the trauma till now...(I got the call from my mom about his death is 3:30am. I have a article on him too in SW, "Why God didn't listen to our prayers…?")Death is a truth which is really difficult to come across but the things we learn out of it is so so precious....Thanks for sharing it...I've read your article Chiradeep. It was a wonderful tribute to your cousin. You have my sympathy for your loss. It is difficult to understand why some are taken so young. My mother is eighty and once again has pulled through when doctors thought it impossible. Her doctor got on the elevator with us the other day and all he said was, "It's a miracle." It's not the first when it comes to my mother who has been ready to go for years. God works in mysterious ways, who are we to figure him out?) Maybe one day we'll understand. Thank you for commenting on this and sharing your own story with me, I appreciate hearing from you.
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