Por Favor

Sept. 10, 2014

Darling Por Favor and me at Daughter's wedding, 2004

My mom passed away on Sept. 11, 2005, three months after suffering a major stroke and deciding she didn’t want to live without her full faculties. She refused to eat or drink, and I frequently saw her spit pills into her hand after nurses left the room. Her kidneys finally failed on a Friday night, and with an advance directive not to employ extraordinary measures to save her life, my sisters and I could do little but sit with her as she began her departure from this life. We didn't take our eyes off her all Friday night, thinking morning would dawn without our mother. But Saturday morning came and the day wore on … and on and on. The staff moved us to a private room where the minutes and hours ticked excruciatingly slowly away. They gave Mom morphine and assured us she wouldn’t feel any discomfort, but as her lungs filled with fluid, her rattled breath panicked and upset us. The nurse assured us again that she didn’t feel anything, but as her breathing became more difficult, she opened her eyes and looked at us with what I was sure was panic. I was horrified that she might not have wanted this after all, but it was too late, so we prayed that she would be able to go quickly. But the clocked ticked away, and as it approached midnight, all three of us sisters prayed to ourselves, without the others knowing until the next day, that she would go before Saturday turned to Sunday. Please, oh please, Mom, don’t leave us on September 11. Not on that day. But she held on until about 3:00 a.m. 

Her passing wasn’t peaceful; I had no idea that when kidneys fail, all the body systems gradually shut down and finally the lungs fill with fluid, essentially drowning the person. My sisters and I were exhausted, distressed, and so, so sad to see our sweet mom finally lying still and to realize that after all this, she was gone. And so Sept. 11, a day associated with terrorism and the way horrifically evil men turned the world on its ear and plunged us into warfare that can't be fought in ways previously known, now was also the day we watched our sweet mother suffer and pass away. And I am haunted still, when I remember her eyes, about whether we did the right thing. 

On every anniversary of the terrorist attacks in 2001, you can’t turn on the radio or television without hearing remembrances, tributes, and interviews with first responders and survivors. It’s all anyone talks about on that day, and all of that just makes the memory of my mom’s passing agonizingly painful. I dread it and wish I could just not wake up in the morning on that day every year. So this year, I decided to plan ahead and make this year’s anniversary a celebration rather than a day I dread. Tomorrow I’m going to do things Mom loved; we’ll go to the temple with Daughter in the morning, and if it’s not raining in the afternoon, we’ll stroll through the rose garden at the Fort Worth Botanic Garden. I’ll eat some fresh raspberries, a big serving of vegetables, and maybe try to find just a bite of English Toffee.

Mom had her first stroke early in June, and a few days later while in the hospital she had a bad one. After she was stabilized but wasn’t making definable progress, the hospital had to release her to a nursing facility. Although she had extreme difficulty speaking, it was clear that if she’d had the capacity, she would have refused to go. I flew from Fort Worth to Salt Lake City the day before the hospital released her, and my sisters and I scrambled to find a facility to take her right away. I stayed at the care center with her for two weeks with the intent of giving my sisters a rest, since they would have the burden after I left. My younger sister still came every day after work and stayed until we put Mom to bed at about 10:00 p.m. - she said she didn't want to miss any time with Mom. My older sister still came on weekends. At the end of each long day I would go back to Mom’s house to sleep before I returned to the care center at 7:00 a.m. to be with her for breakfast. But they get up really early at the center and she was usually back in her room from breakfast – which she didn’t eat – by the time I got there. I stayed with her all day because she had nightmares and was terrified of being left alone. And as most such facilities are, this one was horribly understaffed and wasn't attentive to Mom's needs. I encouraged her through her therapy sessions, and for the time I was there, it seemed she was actually trying a little bit. But by the time I had to leave, her kidneys had begun to fail because she refused to eat or drink enough water. I was reluctant to leave, but my sisters insisted that Mom wasn’t doing better or worse, and there was no point in my staying. We decided I would return when Mom’s Medicare payments ran out in September when we would need to decide on a long-term plan. Feeling helpless at home, I began working on a crocheted afghan for Mom’s bed. The blankets supplied by the center were old and drab, so I made a pretty butter-yellow afghan in a lacy pattern. I took it with me when I returned on Sept. 9. I arrived at the care center in early afternoon; Mom had refused lunch, so we asked her if she wanted to go for a stroll around the grounds, as it was a beautiful fall day. She didn’t care; we took her anyway. I believe she knew why I had come back, and she did not intend to stay at the care center long-term. She was listless and refused dinner, but we sat with her in the dining room and put her to bed about 7:00 p.m., covered with her new yellow afghan. At about 8:15 the center called each of us to say that Mom’s kidneys had failed and that we should come immediately.

She was wrapped in the afghan to keep warm when we arrived, and it stayed with her each time we were transferred as her condition changed. It made me sad that she hadn’t had her bright blanket all summer to cheer her and to remind her that I loved her, and then a few hours later, it covered her lifeless form. I don't know if she was ever even aware that I had brought her a hand-made-with-love new blanket. I regretted that I hadn’t stayed all summer instead of just two weeks.

I brought the afghan back home with me, but it wasn't something that had sentimental value because it had kept her warm and cheered her during a hard time; rather, it had been nothing more than a death blanket, and the sight of it made me shudder. Besides, I chose the color for her room; it didn’t fit anywhere in my house. So it has been in the cedar chest for nine years. I’ve vowed a number of times to take it to a care center here and ask if there is a resident who needs a cheerful yellow blanket for her bed. I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it, but in my new commitment to Lighten Up, perhaps I can celebrate Mom this year by giving her blanket to someone who has some time to enjoy it.

Today’s smile: Mom’s nickname – Por Favor. When my older sister and I were taking Spanish classes in school, we would say something like, “Pass the salt, Por Favor.” My mom was so adorable – she’d mis-hear things, and on this one, she finally said, “Oh! I thought you were saying, ‘Pass the salt, Cora Dear.’” How I love her - and miss her!