Archive for June, 2011

Losing Mom, Part Two: The Final Goodbye


Mom and Dad with me

Note about the photo: My dad was back from World War II, he had built their first house, and the first baby was born – me.   I can hardly imagine the excitement and hope for the future that Mom and Dad had as their lives together began to unwind and reveal the joy, the pain, the adventure, but mostly the love that led them through 68 years of marriage.


I began this 12 days ago.  Mom died on June 17 at 7:00 a.m.  It’s been 24 days since my sister and I have functioned in anywhere approaching a normal pattern.  That’s ok.  We both had 24 days to spare for our mother. We will forever be grateful that Mom’s pain did not last very long, that she was able to go out under her own terms, and that she died comfortably at home.  At least one of us was with her at all times, holding her hand, telling her how much we loved her, what a good mother she’d been, and that it was ok for her to go, we understood.

We had a memorial on Friday, June 24, before Janine went back to Alaska.  It was small and intimate, at my house, and it was a good send-off.  I had made photo boards and I’m going to do some blog posts matching my eulogy to photos – partly because I think it’s interesting to look at old photos, but mainly as a tribute to Mom.

Even though we hadn’t really had mom for years because of her dementia, I still miss her terribly.  Even though she was 87 and deserved to die on her own terms, I miss her.  I’m at Pismo Beach now, alone, hoping to catch up on sleep and quietly contemplate mom’s life.  In all the hubbub, no one has had time to properly mourn her or consider her life.

It’s still perplexing how all of this happened so fast.  We knew, of course, something big would happen soon.  Each day that something didn’t happen was one day closer to the “event:” losing a parent.  I mean, Mom was 87 and Dad is 93.  We knew it was looming.  We’d been blessed by all those years. But then it happened.  So fast.  June 1 was the first time we knew we were in trouble – 17 days.

Mom had been in pain before June 1, but it was perplexing.  Dad would call and say, “Your mother is in terrible pain.  We have to go to the hospital.”  One of us would rush over and Mom would be sitting on the couch laughing or standing at the stove.  So we’d leave only to get another call the next day.  Looking back, she may have had a small fracture that was irritated more and more by certain movements – I don’t know – until it reached critical.

People ask – doctors, officials – when did she fall?  But how would one know unless that person was present?  With elderly people who don’t remember so well, it’s likely that you’d never know when a fall occurred.  Elderly people fall at home, they fall in hospitals, they fall in nursing homes, they fall in supermarkets – they just fall.  Sometimes Mark has gone over to help Mom up from a fall, but not often and not for a while.  The doctor said she may have fallen sometime that we didn’t know about and had a hairline fracture that could have worsened just by leaning hard against something, i.e. a fall that didn’t quite happen.

But now I understand why broken hips and broken pelvises often spell the end for the elderly.  It’s too much for an already frail body to recover from.

Mom, rest in peace.  We knew you and loved what we knew.  Our kids and grandkids – your great grandkids – all knew you and loved you.  You made us all better people just by being you.  You will not be forgotten.  You made a difference.  We will try to continue that difference, learning from you as we contemplate the details of your life and fully understand your tremendous courage.

My Mother is Dying


Karen Patricia Stevens Reep circa 1938

Mom in her garden last year

Begun June 14, 2011

My mother is dying.  It’s so bizarre.  First everything is fine, then there is pain, then a fractured pelvis is diagnosed, and then dying – in the space of two weeks.  Activity is frantic as caregivers are lined up, the house rearranged, and a story line develops that changes three or four times by the end of the day.  Death moves quickly when one has decided to die.

Mom is heavily sedated right now – thank goodness.  We called Hoffman Hospice yesterday since hospice nurses are always amazing, always available, and always knowledgeable.  I knew deep inside that she wouldn’t make it, but mostly, Mom needed pain control and that’s one of many things hospice does well. Part of me thought, if the pain can be controlled…but the other part remembered… she’s not eating.  She doesn’t want to eat.  She doesn’t want to be alive.

Neither my mom nor my dad has ever wanted to live in an incapacitated manner.  When mom was first home from the hospital, she realized she couldn’t move or walk without great difficulty and extreme pain, and she said she can’t live like that, she’s just a big lump, she doesn’t want to live like that.  And I knew she meant it.  Maybe if we could have gotten the pain controlled earlier…but thoughts like that are futile because it was what it was.  A fractured pelvis can take up to a year to completely heal, and months until the severe pain goes away.  Mom wouldn’t be able to do that.  She always said it, and she meant it.

Mom actually asked me how long it would take to heal and I told her the bone can take a long time but the pain should be able to be controlled and might go on for a few months, but not as bad as now.  She said, “Susan, I know I can trust you.”  In retrospect, I realize she was deciding whether to live or die.  She knew that asking Dad was impossible since he’s 93 and has loved her deeply for almost 70 years; she knew asking my sister was impossible since she is so emotionally invested that she’d just be encouraging. Not that I am not emotionally invested, but it’s different. I marvel at Mom’s clarity in this as she’d suffered from dementia for years and couldn’t remember one minute to the next. I’m glad I didn’t know the burden that was placed on me until afterwards.  Burden is perhaps not a good choice of words, because Mom would never have intentionally burdened her children with anything.  I’m glad I was truthful even though I made it a little rosier than it would have been in reality.

Yesterday and today, at least this morning, Mom kept telling my sister and me how much she loves us.  Over and over again.  She’d say, “I love you.  I love you so much.”  Every time someone visited, like Daniel, when he left she said “I love Daniel so much.” She was emphatic, making sure we really understood.  She was saying her goodbyes and I knew it. She repeated to herself over and over, “It’s going to be all right, it’s going to be all right,” by which she meant it was ok to leave us, she was comfortable that Dad would be taken care of and we would be all right.  She was convincing herself that she could safely leave us.  This, too, I understood in retrospect.

This morning she described a beautiful green lawn she was seeing.  She was looking for Grandma Betty, her mother.  She was reaching out with her hands to things invisible to us.

My mother-in-law did that when she was dying, and a dear friend did that when he was dying.  I read about it in a hospice booklet but now that I’ve seen dying people do it three times, I believe it. Dying people reach out to the unseen and recognize people who have passed before them.  Reconnecting.  Being helped over to the other side.

So my mom is dying.  She’s on the hospital bed that was delivered today to her bedroom.  She’s on oxygen, and when that was delivered this morning I said, “Oh, we’re not going to need that.”  How fast things change.  Within hours.

Mom’s been suffering from dementia and her personal hygiene hasn’t been good the last few years.  Now she’s as clean as a baby.  The “bath” nurse came.  To move her to the hospital bed, hospice called the transportation team who knows how to do these things incredibly gently.  Josh, the wonderful equipment guy, brought the bed and oxygen.  Another nurse came and spent hours with us.  And then the “bath” nurse came.  Who would have known?  She very gently bathed mom, washed her hair with real water and real shampoo, carefully put lotion on, and even filed her nails.

Tonight the “tuck in” nurse is coming to make sure everything is set for the night.  Our night caregiver, Katie, will be here and we were all going to sleep at home in our beds.  Now, that’s impossible.  I will – I can hardly hold my head up now.  But my sister is coming back – once it became clear what was happening, no way would she not sleep here.

While this was going on we were in a race to get our sister who lives in Alaska here in time.  She had been planning to come on Saturday, but it all moved so fast and we realized she had to come – now.  She got here by Wednesday afternoon; my husband raced to LAX to pick her up and get her here in time, and although Mom was not responsive when Janine arrived, I know she could hear and was aware that Janine was there.  Janine had all day Thursday with her because Mom died on Friday June 17. (the link is to the obituary).

We have Sharon, someone dropped in our laps from heaven I think.  She took care of a relative of my friend Pat in Utah and was highly recommended and she was available.  How quickly we came to depend on someone who was a stranger just days ago.  And Katie – she’s just 18 but she went from being someone new to a member of the family just like that.

Mom’s respirations are slow now.  Partly from the morphine, but mostly because her body is shutting down.  Looking at her, I just feel an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude that the unbearable pain is gone.  I’m fighting off the sense of loss that is trying to creep in.  I don’t want to feel it or deal with it until I’ve done what needs to be done and can collapse.

To be continued…

La Bouqueria on Las Ramblas – Barcelona’s Amazing Market


Food, glorious food; hot sausages and mustard…may I edit that line from the musical Oliver to say Food, glorious food, La Bouqueria in Barca? It is a huge market that packs sensory overload like you’ve never experienced.  The exterior gives no clue as to what is inside.

La Bouqueria

Of course I took way too many photos so I’ll just give a sampling here.  No narrative necessary, except to say that if my husband weren’t sick back in the hotel room, I would have spent twice the time and taken three times the photos.

Vegetables in La Bouqueria

Olives La Bouqueria

Ham in La Bouqueria

Delicious, fresh juice in La Bouqueria

Fruit snacks in La Bouqueira

Fresh fish, La Bouqueria

Eggs and more eggs, La Bouqueira

Dried fruits, La Bouqueria

Herbs La Bouqueria

Spices, La Bouqueria

Cheeeese in La Bouqueira


Chocolates and sweets, La Bouqueria

All the ingredients for a wonderful meal right here – cheese, bread, ham – especially Iberica de Pellota – fruit, olives and more, topped off with a bit of chocolate – why would you ever need to shop anywhere else?  This would be my Trader Joes of Barcelona – e.g., no need to go anywhere else.