Slipping

In "Doctor," I wrote about Nana's last days, and mentioned how they were still a bit of a mystery to me. I received this recounting of those days from Aunt Shirl this morning:

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In my heart, for all these years, I have held the last hours of Nana's life in a basket of sadness, shaded with guilt.

Your Mom, Fairy Mother and I shared the responsibility of sleeping in Nana's room those last few weeks of her life. We each took turns. We knew the end was near and we did not want her to be alone. It was my turn on the nights of April 21st and 22nd. We tucked her in as usual, positioned her carefully on her left side, slipped pieces of candy into her hand (she slept, those last few nights, with pieces of chocolate candy in her hand) and left the room to prepare for our own sleep. During the night she awakened me and asked to go to the bathroom. I helped her, got her back into bed and replaced the melted chocolates with some fresh ones, then went to the opposite side of the bed to slip my hands (nurses do this) under her hips and pull them toward me. This insures a firm position on her side with no undue pressure.

The bed, of course, was her double bed. Being short, I had a bit of a reach from the opposite side. I was bare footed, and as I pulled her toward me my feet slipped, jostling her a bit. As you know, she was a mere shadow of the woman we knew as Mama/Nana and this jostling probably felt like an earthquake. I felt sick inside. She said to me, "You are all so tired. I feel so badly for putting you all through this. I wish it would just be over." Those were the last words she spoke. I comforted her, assured her that taking care of her was our privilege, and that the slip was just a consequence of bare feet, a slippery carpet, and a short daughter.

Some hours later I was awakened again by the sounds of her labored, rattling breathing, a sign that I recognized immediately. We women gathered. We posted Fairy Mother at the bedside and got all of you off to school (I have a vague recollection that we explained a bit about what we thought was happening) and then decided what we needed to do. We bathed her, made her comfortable (She was comatose now) and your Mom and I climbed in bed with her, settled back and held her. Uncle Bob, who was in charge of the getting all of you to school, came back and checked her pulse and heart rate, and affirmed what we suspected. Nana was dying.

Your Mom and I had contemplated having to call her doctor and get some instruction from him. Bob had already ordered a suction machine from Pipp Hospital. We were anticipating the care of someone in a coma. Mama had other plans. As soon as we completed our morning care of her and tenderly scooped her up in our arms, she simply died. It was over in a very short time. It was THE perfect way to send our mother off to wherever that journey takes one. Mama seemed at peace. Of course we were terribly sad, but we had made the initial part of the journey together and that was what all of us wanted to do.

After the dust settled the nagging scene of my slipping and allowing her to land a bit roughly on the mattress floated to the top of my being. To this day I process that over and over. I feel she made the decision that it was time to go based on the fact that I slipped because we were too tired to continue taking care of her. She did not buy the slippery feet explanation, even though it was completely true! To this day, I play that scene over in my mind. I do perceive it as a flaw in my care, and wonder if I had not slipped would Mama have made the decision to die? I am teary at the thought.

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Shirl, it’s hard for me not to see that slip as a beautiful, unintended gift.