A Parting in Progress

She and I were never close. Mom said the problem was that I intimidated my sister-in-law. Me? Intimidating? How on earth could that be? I am so “down-to-earth,” so non-threatening, harmless. Why would anyone be intimidated by me? I still don’t know the answer to that question.

Last week my nephew contacted me to let me know that his mom was in the hospital. She was in a coma, but nothing like he had ever seen before. She has been diabetic for a lot of years now and on dialysis for a number of those years. She didn’t take care of herself to control the diabetes. I wonder if she thought, “That happens to other people. It’ll never happen to me”? Mark thought his mother was dying. He was worried, afraid.

 I visited my sister-in-law in the hospital. I thought if she heard my voice, saw my face, it might help bring her out of whatever was going on. We have been at odds enough that her old feistiness might push her to respond. She opened her eyes at the sound of my voice. She looked at me. Her eyes looked terrible, but I didn’t say anything about that. She started to stir in the bed. But she didn’t speak. I didn’t stay long because there just didn’t seem to be anything that I could do.

It was told to me that Deb’s sugar level dropped to 10 and when she was found in that condition, they had no idea how long she had been at that level. The doctor feared brain damage. After a few days he ordered an EEG to see what was going on in her brain. 

For whatever reason, a feeding tube was inserted. I asked my brother if his son—who would not leave his mother alone, had been at the hospital since Saturday—had told them to do whatever they had to do to keep his mother alive. He said yes. 

It’s so hard to let go of someone who is dying. I understand that. But a feeding tube only prolongs the suffering for someone who is never going to recover, is never going to be more than a body in a bed. I don’t want that for myself. Why would I want that for her?

A few days ago Bill, my brother, talked to me. He said Deb woke and talked to him. She was so weak it tired her to talk much. But I think it gave him some hope that she would recover. In my mind I knew it was not that she would recover, but that moment of clarity that happens so often just before a person’s condition takes that turn for the worst that leads to their demise. Her health is just too fragile to rebound. 

My brother contacted me yesterday (May 15, 2013). Deb has been removed from life support. Hospice has been called in. Social services support has told him and his children that they are doing the right thing. I know this is a difficult thing to do.

My niece was there yesterday, at the hospital. I was glad to hear this. Her father and her brother need her to be there. She was nowhere to be found when our dad died in 2009. She was nowhere to be found when our mom died in 2011. Her grandparents. They were always there for her when she needed someone. And she failed to show up when they passed away. If she didn’t want to be there for them, why wasn’t she there for her family who needed her? And when she needed her family. I still do not understand that. 

So, here we are at the end of my sister-in-law’s life…her last days. She and I were never close. Her life was difficult, more than challenging. I hope for her to have a better place on the other side of the River. Deb, go in peace.

(c) 2013 ~ Cathy Thomas Brownfield ~ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED