“The Abnormal Is Not Courage”
I usually write about literature, history and politics on this blogh, but it is a blogh and by nature personal. So I am going to attempt a short post about the death of my mother.
My mother died a little after midnight. It was Sunday (early Monday morning, the 28th, officially). She was in the hospital and conscious till nearly the end. She had COPD. It was a painful way to die. She pointed to some floor-to-ceiling shelves in her apartment a few weeks ago and said, to my sister, “If those shelves are my lungs, it feels like they are filling up with water, and the water has reached the top shelf.”
We didn’t expect her to die yet. She was 87 and chronically ill, but the acute phase, which was a case a pneumonia, didn’t commence until about a month ago. So in the scheme of things she didn’t suffer.
She was a smoker for 65 years. No mystery here. She was a lot else besides that though. She was my mother, and I loved her. She loved all of her children and grandchildren, extended family and friends. But she was much more that that too.
She didn’t want to die. All the strength was in her voice. She also didn’t want to live if she couldn’t live a relatively normal life. She wasn’t afraid. Her eyes never closed. We talked. At first through an oxygen mask, which she wanted removed. Â I was crying and I held her and tried to make her comfortable. She wanted her back rubbed.
I had them remove the mask finally and she started to become semi-conscious. We continued to talk. Even the nurse cried , because she had made the decision to die and I was trying to help her.
The doctor, an intern, young and cheerful, didn’t agree with this decision. She thought there was hope. Neither my mother nor I saw any hope there. I allowed them to put the mask back on and perform a non-invasive procedure that would make her feel more comfortable. It was draining a pleural effusion, fluid build up outside of her lungs that was preventing her from breathing. The doctor agreed, finally, after a half hour of asking, to give her some morphine. She became physically calm. The procedure failed. She started to arrest. They went away, the two doctors, the nurse, the aide. I held her in my arms and looked her in the eye and told her I wouldn’t leave her until she was gone.
I don’t know how to process all of this. I post it for people who might have loved her and would want to know.
“The Abnormal Is Not Courage” is a poem by Jack Gilbert. John read it to Randy and me during the long week of sitting Shiva, drinking, laughing, crying, talking.
Becasue it is a demented world I hesitate to publish my mother’s name.
Her strength and intelligence were legendary in my family. She was and intense, difficult, fun, hilarious, generous, progressive and eccentric woman. Brave beyond measure. Judgmental and accepting. She loved trouble. She was rebellious, defiant of convention, of existence.
If you have read this far, thank you.
Thank you for writing this Jon. You’ve shown strength and courage to share these emotions with us. I’m thinking about your struggle a great deal.
When looking death in the eye, one often chooses either love or fear, to the exclusion of the other. That you were able to chosse love says much about not just your relationship with your mother, but also your relationship with the world. God speed to you and your family on your continuing journey through this… I think losing a parent sends you on a journey that never really ends.
I read something a couple days ago that said, “A mother is a story with no beginning. It is her definition.” You were, in a real way, lucky to be there with her for the end of her story.
I don’t think I have much to add, other than to add my thanks to you for sharing this. All anyone can reasonably hope for is to face this with as much evident dignity and grace. Much love to all.
Jon, my condolences. The loss of a mother is indeed earth shaking. That you had such a close relationship with her, and hopefully no regrets, is a blessing. Hold the memories close. My mom passed away 15 years ago and I still, every once in a while, find myself about to call her.
Ken, thank you so much. It was great hanging out at Mike’s wedding.
Jon – I missed this post until today, when i was visiting to see how the Suit came out online (and to be sure you posted it). Thank you for writing this about your mother and for sharing it with those of us she touched. I’m so glad I was able to read that poem to you that night. She was, as you say, a brave woman, to the last.
Jon, I just reread this post for some reason all these years later. Hard to believe it’s so many years, for me. I think of both those nights, when you called to tell me, and when I read “The Abnormal is Not Courage” to you and Randy. I walked by your mom’s building today too, so maybe that led me back here….
A Last Bender recidivist! It’s been 8 years. Let’s talk?–Jon
Of course! Let’s talk soon. Tonight or tomorrow perhaps?