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icarusYou guys are amazing. Thank you so much for all your comments and support.
I'm only slowly catching up on replies, but WG is really touched by how many of you have commented and sent good wishes.
We arrived late Thursday night. Those of you who don't know, I was struggling with giving up the nationals, the jump-start to writing Out Of Bounds it meant to me, and the fact it was my Christmas present. I could find no one to take the ticket. (Always buy two tickets, I learned. You can give away two. No one wants just one.) I learned Thursday that WG has two ways of dealing with stress: cleaning -- and yes, he was vacuuming while the taxi was waiting downstairs -- and sex. Okay. Not the reaction I expected when we got to the hotel. But the day after our apartment building caught fire he did the same so... strange, but okay. Life affirming, I guess.
We went over Friday morning. The hospice was beautiful. Gardens, elegant furniture, and they had volunteers who made a unique quilt for each bed that the family got to take home. Hers had bright butterflies. I now know what the flag for KIA soldiers means to the family, because we have that quilt.
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wildernessguru's mom looked so different from just four weeks ago. She was no longer responding, and her mouth was open, her breathing labored. Sometimes her eyes would blink a little. Just two days before she'd been able to speak and was joking with the nurses. She was so frail and small in the bed, when just last Christmas she had still, even as sick as she was, been such a solid presence.
WG's older brother sat in the windowseat next to the bed. He had his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, and I could tell he was close to crying. While WG talked to his sister-in-law, I hugged his brother, just holding on. We learned his father had slept there in the chair and had finally been persuaded to go eat. The phone rang once while he was out. He called to make sure she was still with us.
We talked about inconsequential things next to the bed while I had my mala behind my back, quietly thinking mantras. The neighbor (and her best friend) who'd been a hospice nurse for twenty years was a godsend. So upbeat and warm, and real. As bright and lively as a daisy. Because in all it was awkward and strange, though we were happy to be there with her. We would talk to her, tear up, hug each other, then chat with each other, wander out for a while, then return and talk to her. Apparently, hearing is the last sense to go, so she could still hear us even though she couldn't respond. Many of her large circle of friends had come by like this over the last week. One or another of us would step out to give someone time alone with her, and as you left you'd hear them telling her how much we loved her, what a wonderful mom she'd been. We each took some time to say something.
At first I didn't know what to say, just talked to her about Monte kitty.
Later, I told her the things that I'd always wanted but never found a way to say: how very sweet her son was, how courageous and kind, what a great job she did with him. How much he was like her in the little ways he takes care of me and others -- mushy stuff, you know. The kind of thing you can't get out of me with a crowbar and needlenose pliers on normal occasions.
Whenwildernessguru's father came, he just lit up when he saw WG. "When did you get here?" He was surprised and happy, and relieved. They'd never been close, in fact, WG's father was so awful, as a kid WG slunk around the house to avoid him. But all of that was gone. Later, when he and WG went off together to talk, it was the first time I didn't feel that rising sense of alarm. I could sense a reconciliation of sorts in the air.
They talked business, oddly enough.
Meanwhile I'd given up on pretending I wasn't Buddhist and going quietly nuts with small talk instead of doing those types of spiritual practice Buddhists do when someone is dying. I couldn't take one more minute, and when everyone left the room and set myself in a chair and just meditated and did mantras as intensely as I could.
People came and went, but it was like how it used to be when I was playing piano. Yes, I knew they were there. No, I was busy, kthx. I hoped they wouldn't think I was too weird. Then WG's nine-year-old niece said, "She's doing prayers" to someone, and I knew it was okay, they understood. Usually people don't mind you breaking out the spiritual stuff at times like these, and they don't seem to care what religion.
I don't care what religion. Light a candle to Mother Mary for WG's mom? Yes, please. Shamanic drumming? Go right ahead. Power animals, prayers to Allah? Thank you.
I won't tell you my metaphysical Buddhist stuff because it always sounds somewhere between wacky and flake-o-rama even to me. Gah. But I always hate it when I drop my spiritual meditation/mantras/etc., etc. for a while -- and then I need them. My concentration is just not as good. It's like using a muscle that's atrophied. I kept at it though. (Today WG told me that when he was down there he felt he had a sense of purpose, and I felt the same way, like I got my purpose back. Now we're here and that sense is gone today. He said, "I just eat, sleep, work...." Yeah. Things have got to change. I spent too much of the day fooling around online.)
Friday night her breathing was more labored, she had to use her stomach muscles to contract her lungs, though she was also more alert, blinking when we spoke to her. The nurse said that once her eyes go the pupils will no longer contract. "She will see emptiness." The hospice said it would be another 48 to 72 hours, based on her condition. WG's father sent us all home. He said there was no need for us to be up all night, but I think he wanted time with her alone.
wildernessguru kissed his mother's forehead, starting to cry. I couldn't tell, because WG was facing away from me, but from his posture it looked like the times his face had crumpled up and he started sobbing. Across the bed though I saw his dad's face melt, looking at his youngest. His dad hugged him, and kissed me, both of which caught us by surprise.
WG and I went back to the hotel, grabbing some food, condoms (coping mechanism, remember?) and ended up staring at the TV instead, occasionally weeping (WG's very accurate word). WG and I talked about staying longer and we made vague plans. Pairs figure skating was on ESPN so I watched as he curled around me, his face damp as he drifted off.
I tossed and turned, hovering in and out of sleep.
At a little before a quarter to four in the morning, a rather loud voice over my head, a little to the right, said in a tone that was just stunned, "She's gone!"
I bolted awake, but figured it was just my fears conjuring up some worst-case scenario (or worse, some lingering wish to still go to the nationals). I couldn't sleep after that, so I got up and took a shower. Finally, antsy, I decided I could do some spiritual practice, just in case.
The phone rang at 7:30am. It waswildernessguru's brother:
"Dad just called. Mom passed away early this morning."
"It was at a quarter to four, wasn't it?" I said.
"I don't know," he said, sounding nonplussed.
I said, "I woke up with a feeling that she was gone. I've already taken a shower, but I need to get dressed. I'll wake [WG]."
It took WG a long time to get dressed, and he worried about not having dressy clothes with us. We were a little stunned. WG called his work and took Monday off since we figured there would be some kind of wake. We called the Puppy and asked him to take care of the fuzzhead a little longer. Then he worried and hoped his dad hadn't been asleep when she died.
We were the last to arrive. It was just WG's dad, his brother, his sister, and me. His mom was still in the bed and it was weird, because she looked more alive than the day before. Like she could be blinking her eyes at us at any time. At the same time she was stiff and her eyes were open, like a glass doll's. It felt like she was still there, too. Not like "hovering around" but still in her body. The room felt peaceful and quiet.
His father was on the other side of the bed by the window, sobbing, WG's brother and sister to either side of him. I went straight to him and held his hand, WG right behind me. He said, "[WG's brother] says that you had a feeling she was gone last night. At what time?"
"Around a quarter to four."
"Then you were off by five minutes."*
He said how he'd stayed up all night, telling her of all he regretted, all the mistakes he'd made. "I'm not religious, though I respect those who are. But it was like a Catholic confession. Only much longer -- they'd throw people out of the confession booth if they hung around that long," he joked. He said several times how she had made him a better person. His words were broken with sobs, and he struggled, explaining that he'd made the decision to not cry in front of her but that he wouldn't hold back with others. Let them see. The nurse had come every hour or so, saying that she would be gone that night. He made the decision not to call the family.
He couldn't believe how alive she looked now, how peaceful. "I want to take her home," he said. But he said she was lucky, that unlike many of their friends who had one or two kids who were messing up, drug addicts or what-have-you, all of their kids had successful, stable careers and had turned out. This was the first time that he'd ever suggested thatwildernessguru was in good shape by his measure.
We all went outside and walked around a meditation garden maze. I walked the maze and WG called out to me, "It goes inner and outer and inner than outer...." (This is an inside Buddhist meaningful thing.) His sister-in-law and little niece arrived and she counted the seconds to go through the whole thing: "108!" she called out. Blinking, I held up my mala and said, "Guess how many beads are on this." (There are 108.)
The quilt from her bed was given to WG, and an orange metal cat. The family decided not to let dad be alone here. He told WG's sister to please send out the word, "No one come over, I don't want any casseroles or visitors. Please." She promised she'd tell everyone to keep away for the weekend. He said, firmly, "Extend that."
We'd just agreed that WG would drive him home when we saw his silver car blaze out of the parking lot. So WG and I ran to our car and tore after him. Normally he's a sedate driver, but we lost him. That's when I knew just how bad off he was.
He'd said many times that he would not live on without her. To our relief, he'd gone home.
He told his kids that he couldn't be strong for them right now. They could come over to pick some of her things to keep, and in fact he'd found this rifle that belonged to WG (more about that rifle later). But afterwards, he wanted to be left alone.
Does everyone in America have this custom? To go to the house after someone has died and pick out things to remember them by? Because I felt like a foreigner in my own country all of the sudden. I'd never heard of this. As a Buddhist it made me feel rather materialistic and vulture-like, until I finally told WG's sister and sister-in-law that: "This is weird." They explained to me the 'to remember her by' aspect, so I relaxed, but still -- how odd. It reminded me a bit of the old English weapon-take and weregild.
After the weregild, the family had lunch. It was also strange and took me some time to understand. He was insisting that they leave, please, he couldn't hold it together much longer... but his kids dragged their heels. It didn't seem to be out of worry for him, or not entirely, but something more instinctive, the wounded way they hovered and looked at him. I realized later that he was their last parent and they needed to be near him, to reassure them, and he couldn't do it.
Eventually, he announced that he was sorry to be so rude but they needed to leave in five minutes. Please.
I told him I would make it three.
Gently,wildernessguru and I left, hugging everyone goodbye. His dad kissed me, which surprised me again.
WG and I went back to the hotel. And if you're exhausted reading this now, you have some idea how exhausted we are. Still are. And were on Saturday.
We could have gotten an earlier flight home, butwildernessguru wanted to meet with a family friend who basically was his second mom, the one who kept him stable when his childhood was shit. We spent the afternoon in the hotel watching "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" and eating junk food, calling around to try to get rid of that rifle. Not a pawn shop in town wanted it. Southwest said it could be checked but only if it was in a hard carrying case. WG was upset and didn't want to destroy it, "That would be a waste."
I instantly felt better about the Nationals. "Honey, I'm wasting a $90 ticket, you can waste that gun." I didn't add that I cared more about the nationals than he cared about the gun. (Eventually he dropped it off at his brother's and we'll give it to his former fire-fighting buddy when we return.)
Mid-way through the afternoon we got a call from the neighbor, since her husband was a farmer and might be interested in the gun. She told us that she'd run into his dad. He was dressed up in a suit and driving the sportscar, crying.
He said, "Did you hear?"
She said she had, and she was so sorry. Then she asked him where he was going.
He said, "I don't know."
With that unsettling news,wildernessguru called his brother and sister. His brother said he would look in on him, but that ultimately even if they kept his dad prisoner, as soon as they let him out -- he would do what he would do. There was no way they could stop him.
After that we jumped every time the phone rang. But to this day there is no news.
We had a quiet dinner with WG's "second mom" Saturday night.
When we got back, the U.S. National Men's Figure Skating Championships were still on ESPN. He read and then curled up with me as Evan Lysachek took the gold and Ryan gave the performance of his career. I can't say I was happy, and I faded out during Ryan's performance, my attention shifting to WG. But I'm glad I didn't miss it entirely.
* By the way, it's almost absurd how disgruntled I am that I was off by five minutes. Like it matters, but I've been grumbling inwardly about this. Heh.
The death ofwildernessguru's mother has shaken me and caused me to re-examine how I spend my time. I make too many personal posts when I want to be writing. Then I spend a lot of time discussing this or that post -- and my time goes. So after this I'm going to be making some changes in how I handle LJ to free up more time for stories and RL.
Also, I'm locking my LJ shortly (I'll go back and unlock the stories later). I'm feeling raw.
ETA (much later, after some puzzling over Seamagic): Okay, I guess I'm going to have to wait on locking old posts. Looks like the version of Seamagic I have doesn't do that. Ah well.
I'm only slowly catching up on replies, but WG is really touched by how many of you have commented and sent good wishes.
We arrived late Thursday night. Those of you who don't know, I was struggling with giving up the nationals, the jump-start to writing Out Of Bounds it meant to me, and the fact it was my Christmas present. I could find no one to take the ticket. (Always buy two tickets, I learned. You can give away two. No one wants just one.) I learned Thursday that WG has two ways of dealing with stress: cleaning -- and yes, he was vacuuming while the taxi was waiting downstairs -- and sex. Okay. Not the reaction I expected when we got to the hotel. But the day after our apartment building caught fire he did the same so... strange, but okay. Life affirming, I guess.
We went over Friday morning. The hospice was beautiful. Gardens, elegant furniture, and they had volunteers who made a unique quilt for each bed that the family got to take home. Hers had bright butterflies. I now know what the flag for KIA soldiers means to the family, because we have that quilt.
wildernessguru's mom looked so different from just four weeks ago. She was no longer responding, and her mouth was open, her breathing labored. Sometimes her eyes would blink a little. Just two days before she'd been able to speak and was joking with the nurses. She was so frail and small in the bed, when just last Christmas she had still, even as sick as she was, been such a solid presence. WG's older brother sat in the windowseat next to the bed. He had his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, and I could tell he was close to crying. While WG talked to his sister-in-law, I hugged his brother, just holding on. We learned his father had slept there in the chair and had finally been persuaded to go eat. The phone rang once while he was out. He called to make sure she was still with us.
We talked about inconsequential things next to the bed while I had my mala behind my back, quietly thinking mantras. The neighbor (and her best friend) who'd been a hospice nurse for twenty years was a godsend. So upbeat and warm, and real. As bright and lively as a daisy. Because in all it was awkward and strange, though we were happy to be there with her. We would talk to her, tear up, hug each other, then chat with each other, wander out for a while, then return and talk to her. Apparently, hearing is the last sense to go, so she could still hear us even though she couldn't respond. Many of her large circle of friends had come by like this over the last week. One or another of us would step out to give someone time alone with her, and as you left you'd hear them telling her how much we loved her, what a wonderful mom she'd been. We each took some time to say something.
At first I didn't know what to say, just talked to her about Monte kitty.
Later, I told her the things that I'd always wanted but never found a way to say: how very sweet her son was, how courageous and kind, what a great job she did with him. How much he was like her in the little ways he takes care of me and others -- mushy stuff, you know. The kind of thing you can't get out of me with a crowbar and needlenose pliers on normal occasions.
When
wildernessguru's father came, he just lit up when he saw WG. "When did you get here?" He was surprised and happy, and relieved. They'd never been close, in fact, WG's father was so awful, as a kid WG slunk around the house to avoid him. But all of that was gone. Later, when he and WG went off together to talk, it was the first time I didn't feel that rising sense of alarm. I could sense a reconciliation of sorts in the air.They talked business, oddly enough.
Meanwhile I'd given up on pretending I wasn't Buddhist and going quietly nuts with small talk instead of doing those types of spiritual practice Buddhists do when someone is dying. I couldn't take one more minute, and when everyone left the room and set myself in a chair and just meditated and did mantras as intensely as I could.
People came and went, but it was like how it used to be when I was playing piano. Yes, I knew they were there. No, I was busy, kthx. I hoped they wouldn't think I was too weird. Then WG's nine-year-old niece said, "She's doing prayers" to someone, and I knew it was okay, they understood. Usually people don't mind you breaking out the spiritual stuff at times like these, and they don't seem to care what religion.
I don't care what religion. Light a candle to Mother Mary for WG's mom? Yes, please. Shamanic drumming? Go right ahead. Power animals, prayers to Allah? Thank you.
I won't tell you my metaphysical Buddhist stuff because it always sounds somewhere between wacky and flake-o-rama even to me. Gah. But I always hate it when I drop my spiritual meditation/mantras/etc., etc. for a while -- and then I need them. My concentration is just not as good. It's like using a muscle that's atrophied. I kept at it though. (Today WG told me that when he was down there he felt he had a sense of purpose, and I felt the same way, like I got my purpose back. Now we're here and that sense is gone today. He said, "I just eat, sleep, work...." Yeah. Things have got to change. I spent too much of the day fooling around online.)
Friday night her breathing was more labored, she had to use her stomach muscles to contract her lungs, though she was also more alert, blinking when we spoke to her. The nurse said that once her eyes go the pupils will no longer contract. "She will see emptiness." The hospice said it would be another 48 to 72 hours, based on her condition. WG's father sent us all home. He said there was no need for us to be up all night, but I think he wanted time with her alone.
wildernessguru kissed his mother's forehead, starting to cry. I couldn't tell, because WG was facing away from me, but from his posture it looked like the times his face had crumpled up and he started sobbing. Across the bed though I saw his dad's face melt, looking at his youngest. His dad hugged him, and kissed me, both of which caught us by surprise.WG and I went back to the hotel, grabbing some food, condoms (coping mechanism, remember?) and ended up staring at the TV instead, occasionally weeping (WG's very accurate word). WG and I talked about staying longer and we made vague plans. Pairs figure skating was on ESPN so I watched as he curled around me, his face damp as he drifted off.
I tossed and turned, hovering in and out of sleep.
At a little before a quarter to four in the morning, a rather loud voice over my head, a little to the right, said in a tone that was just stunned, "She's gone!"
I bolted awake, but figured it was just my fears conjuring up some worst-case scenario (or worse, some lingering wish to still go to the nationals). I couldn't sleep after that, so I got up and took a shower. Finally, antsy, I decided I could do some spiritual practice, just in case.
The phone rang at 7:30am. It was
wildernessguru's brother:"Dad just called. Mom passed away early this morning."
"It was at a quarter to four, wasn't it?" I said.
"I don't know," he said, sounding nonplussed.
I said, "I woke up with a feeling that she was gone. I've already taken a shower, but I need to get dressed. I'll wake [WG]."
It took WG a long time to get dressed, and he worried about not having dressy clothes with us. We were a little stunned. WG called his work and took Monday off since we figured there would be some kind of wake. We called the Puppy and asked him to take care of the fuzzhead a little longer. Then he worried and hoped his dad hadn't been asleep when she died.
We were the last to arrive. It was just WG's dad, his brother, his sister, and me. His mom was still in the bed and it was weird, because she looked more alive than the day before. Like she could be blinking her eyes at us at any time. At the same time she was stiff and her eyes were open, like a glass doll's. It felt like she was still there, too. Not like "hovering around" but still in her body. The room felt peaceful and quiet.
His father was on the other side of the bed by the window, sobbing, WG's brother and sister to either side of him. I went straight to him and held his hand, WG right behind me. He said, "[WG's brother] says that you had a feeling she was gone last night. At what time?"
"Around a quarter to four."
"Then you were off by five minutes."*
He said how he'd stayed up all night, telling her of all he regretted, all the mistakes he'd made. "I'm not religious, though I respect those who are. But it was like a Catholic confession. Only much longer -- they'd throw people out of the confession booth if they hung around that long," he joked. He said several times how she had made him a better person. His words were broken with sobs, and he struggled, explaining that he'd made the decision to not cry in front of her but that he wouldn't hold back with others. Let them see. The nurse had come every hour or so, saying that she would be gone that night. He made the decision not to call the family.
He couldn't believe how alive she looked now, how peaceful. "I want to take her home," he said. But he said she was lucky, that unlike many of their friends who had one or two kids who were messing up, drug addicts or what-have-you, all of their kids had successful, stable careers and had turned out. This was the first time that he'd ever suggested that
wildernessguru was in good shape by his measure. We all went outside and walked around a meditation garden maze. I walked the maze and WG called out to me, "It goes inner and outer and inner than outer...." (This is an inside Buddhist meaningful thing.) His sister-in-law and little niece arrived and she counted the seconds to go through the whole thing: "108!" she called out. Blinking, I held up my mala and said, "Guess how many beads are on this." (There are 108.)
The quilt from her bed was given to WG, and an orange metal cat. The family decided not to let dad be alone here. He told WG's sister to please send out the word, "No one come over, I don't want any casseroles or visitors. Please." She promised she'd tell everyone to keep away for the weekend. He said, firmly, "Extend that."
We'd just agreed that WG would drive him home when we saw his silver car blaze out of the parking lot. So WG and I ran to our car and tore after him. Normally he's a sedate driver, but we lost him. That's when I knew just how bad off he was.
He'd said many times that he would not live on without her. To our relief, he'd gone home.
He told his kids that he couldn't be strong for them right now. They could come over to pick some of her things to keep, and in fact he'd found this rifle that belonged to WG (more about that rifle later). But afterwards, he wanted to be left alone.
Does everyone in America have this custom? To go to the house after someone has died and pick out things to remember them by? Because I felt like a foreigner in my own country all of the sudden. I'd never heard of this. As a Buddhist it made me feel rather materialistic and vulture-like, until I finally told WG's sister and sister-in-law that: "This is weird." They explained to me the 'to remember her by' aspect, so I relaxed, but still -- how odd. It reminded me a bit of the old English weapon-take and weregild.
After the weregild, the family had lunch. It was also strange and took me some time to understand. He was insisting that they leave, please, he couldn't hold it together much longer... but his kids dragged their heels. It didn't seem to be out of worry for him, or not entirely, but something more instinctive, the wounded way they hovered and looked at him. I realized later that he was their last parent and they needed to be near him, to reassure them, and he couldn't do it.
Eventually, he announced that he was sorry to be so rude but they needed to leave in five minutes. Please.
I told him I would make it three.
Gently,
wildernessguru and I left, hugging everyone goodbye. His dad kissed me, which surprised me again. WG and I went back to the hotel. And if you're exhausted reading this now, you have some idea how exhausted we are. Still are. And were on Saturday.
We could have gotten an earlier flight home, but
wildernessguru wanted to meet with a family friend who basically was his second mom, the one who kept him stable when his childhood was shit. We spent the afternoon in the hotel watching "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" and eating junk food, calling around to try to get rid of that rifle. Not a pawn shop in town wanted it. Southwest said it could be checked but only if it was in a hard carrying case. WG was upset and didn't want to destroy it, "That would be a waste." I instantly felt better about the Nationals. "Honey, I'm wasting a $90 ticket, you can waste that gun." I didn't add that I cared more about the nationals than he cared about the gun. (Eventually he dropped it off at his brother's and we'll give it to his former fire-fighting buddy when we return.)
Mid-way through the afternoon we got a call from the neighbor, since her husband was a farmer and might be interested in the gun. She told us that she'd run into his dad. He was dressed up in a suit and driving the sportscar, crying.
He said, "Did you hear?"
She said she had, and she was so sorry. Then she asked him where he was going.
He said, "I don't know."
With that unsettling news,
wildernessguru called his brother and sister. His brother said he would look in on him, but that ultimately even if they kept his dad prisoner, as soon as they let him out -- he would do what he would do. There was no way they could stop him. After that we jumped every time the phone rang. But to this day there is no news.
We had a quiet dinner with WG's "second mom" Saturday night.
When we got back, the U.S. National Men's Figure Skating Championships were still on ESPN. He read and then curled up with me as Evan Lysachek took the gold and Ryan gave the performance of his career. I can't say I was happy, and I faded out during Ryan's performance, my attention shifting to WG. But I'm glad I didn't miss it entirely.
* By the way, it's almost absurd how disgruntled I am that I was off by five minutes. Like it matters, but I've been grumbling inwardly about this. Heh.
The death of
wildernessguru's mother has shaken me and caused me to re-examine how I spend my time. I make too many personal posts when I want to be writing. Then I spend a lot of time discussing this or that post -- and my time goes. So after this I'm going to be making some changes in how I handle LJ to free up more time for stories and RL. Also, I'm locking my LJ shortly (I'll go back and unlock the stories later). I'm feeling raw.
ETA (much later, after some puzzling over Seamagic): Okay, I guess I'm going to have to wait on locking old posts. Looks like the version of Seamagic I have doesn't do that. Ah well.
