She was past ninety and surely knew death would soon be calling. A month or two beyond her birthday party, her body began to fail. She expressed her fears, but probably realized there was no recovery from the final illnesses which had appeared like a dark shadow.
She said the medicines no longer relieved the deep pain. She described the waves and stabs that hurt inside, and ranged from gnawing to throbbing. Sometimes she mentioned a numbness that would overcome her hands or face. Months earlier she had been to many doctors and hospitals, but evidently their medicines and treatments were no longer useful. The last few physician visits ended with a "you're just getting older Mrs. Joyner" comment delivered with a cheery bedside manner.
For mom, the soft gelatin and thickened juices now caused choking sensations while lacking any taste or satisfaction. Sometimes, she wasn't sure of the time or day and spent most hours drifting from sleep to drowsiness, and then back again. Her old companion, the television, became a confusing mix of sounds and flashes of light. She had lost the strength to open her eyes, smile, or even speak to visitors and attendants on a regular basis. Her condition went from constant drowsiness to comatose. I suspect she could hear greetings and words of encouragement, but couldn't respond. Now only rarely would she briefly open her eyes or release a soft moan.
I'm sure in dreams she remembered the best of yesteryears. A dear husband, friends, family, happy times, her mother and sisters, soft fluffy cats, a plate of deep fried oysters, the music of chirping birds, a very cold beer, the sweet smell of spring flowers, the sound of hillbilly music, the rain, snow, wind, and deep blue skies full of white puffy clouds. In day and night reveries she could probably recall all the good things of the past for I believe her mind was strong though her body was collapsing. I think many memories and thoughts remained loud and alive in her mind. However, I am sure she felt very alone and deeply afraid, yet curious, about the end of her days. She probably wondered if there was a heaven or happy place full of waiting dear friends, family, old pooches, and kittens.
I'm sure that though she couldn't open her eyes or speak, she could hear conversations near her bedside. Once she probably heard " failure to thrive" and while not understanding exactly what it meant, she knew it wasn't a good thing.
I now believe, Catherine decided to find the strength and occasion to say goodbye in a proper way before her fall from life. Too, she may have wanted someone to open the window so she might hear and smell the outside one last time. This would be unusual because in all her years she rarely requested much of anything from anybody. Years earlier, nurses and attendants were amazed by her humble and gentle ways. She apologized for any attention given by staff, and used please and thank you constantly. Her gentility wasn't a trick, but a genuine trait that was endearing to everyone in her world.
In her solitary state she may have pondered what she would say in her final sentence, and if she could summon the strength to open her eyes and speak one last time. Likely, she realized there could be no plan or preparation for the moment, but only hope that the Good Lord would give her the chance and energy.
On a hot July day quickly converted to thunderstorms, Peggy, Charmaine and I visited. For weeks she had been nearly comatose, and we stopped trying to rouse her from her deep slumber. Not knowing her mental state or hearing ability we whispered words of encouragement and hopes that she would soon be in a better place, then we sat on each side of her bed. Other than the soft purr of her oxygen, the hollow tinkling of lunch trays echoing up and down the hallways, and the patter of rain outside, the room was quiet. Silently we watched our mother and grandmother. Individually remembering the caring and loving lady lying in the bed, we knew she was breathing her last hours and days of life.
After fifteen or twenty minutes of sitting, trading glances indicated our visit was nearing it's end. As was her custom, Charmaine bent over and softly kissed her grandmother and said, "I love you moo moo." Instantly, mom made a deep gurgling sound, opened her eyes which were still a soft blue, and weakly yet clearly said, "I love you too, please open the window."
We were amazed. As quickly as she had looked at us and spoke her eyes and lips closed. We opened the window and let the summer scent of rain flood into the room. We lingered for a few more minutes and left with tears in our eyes and an odd joy over her brief arousal. Later the next morning about 3 AM, I received the call that all children dread, but must someday receive.
For a long time I thought mom's brief awakening was a miracle or an extra ordinary event, but I finally decided that it was simply Catherine's way. We were happy for the moment and will never forget our dear mom and "moo moo."
1921-2011
She said the medicines no longer relieved the deep pain. She described the waves and stabs that hurt inside, and ranged from gnawing to throbbing. Sometimes she mentioned a numbness that would overcome her hands or face. Months earlier she had been to many doctors and hospitals, but evidently their medicines and treatments were no longer useful. The last few physician visits ended with a "you're just getting older Mrs. Joyner" comment delivered with a cheery bedside manner.
For mom, the soft gelatin and thickened juices now caused choking sensations while lacking any taste or satisfaction. Sometimes, she wasn't sure of the time or day and spent most hours drifting from sleep to drowsiness, and then back again. Her old companion, the television, became a confusing mix of sounds and flashes of light. She had lost the strength to open her eyes, smile, or even speak to visitors and attendants on a regular basis. Her condition went from constant drowsiness to comatose. I suspect she could hear greetings and words of encouragement, but couldn't respond. Now only rarely would she briefly open her eyes or release a soft moan.
I'm sure in dreams she remembered the best of yesteryears. A dear husband, friends, family, happy times, her mother and sisters, soft fluffy cats, a plate of deep fried oysters, the music of chirping birds, a very cold beer, the sweet smell of spring flowers, the sound of hillbilly music, the rain, snow, wind, and deep blue skies full of white puffy clouds. In day and night reveries she could probably recall all the good things of the past for I believe her mind was strong though her body was collapsing. I think many memories and thoughts remained loud and alive in her mind. However, I am sure she felt very alone and deeply afraid, yet curious, about the end of her days. She probably wondered if there was a heaven or happy place full of waiting dear friends, family, old pooches, and kittens.
I'm sure that though she couldn't open her eyes or speak, she could hear conversations near her bedside. Once she probably heard " failure to thrive" and while not understanding exactly what it meant, she knew it wasn't a good thing.
I now believe, Catherine decided to find the strength and occasion to say goodbye in a proper way before her fall from life. Too, she may have wanted someone to open the window so she might hear and smell the outside one last time. This would be unusual because in all her years she rarely requested much of anything from anybody. Years earlier, nurses and attendants were amazed by her humble and gentle ways. She apologized for any attention given by staff, and used please and thank you constantly. Her gentility wasn't a trick, but a genuine trait that was endearing to everyone in her world.
In her solitary state she may have pondered what she would say in her final sentence, and if she could summon the strength to open her eyes and speak one last time. Likely, she realized there could be no plan or preparation for the moment, but only hope that the Good Lord would give her the chance and energy.
On a hot July day quickly converted to thunderstorms, Peggy, Charmaine and I visited. For weeks she had been nearly comatose, and we stopped trying to rouse her from her deep slumber. Not knowing her mental state or hearing ability we whispered words of encouragement and hopes that she would soon be in a better place, then we sat on each side of her bed. Other than the soft purr of her oxygen, the hollow tinkling of lunch trays echoing up and down the hallways, and the patter of rain outside, the room was quiet. Silently we watched our mother and grandmother. Individually remembering the caring and loving lady lying in the bed, we knew she was breathing her last hours and days of life.
After fifteen or twenty minutes of sitting, trading glances indicated our visit was nearing it's end. As was her custom, Charmaine bent over and softly kissed her grandmother and said, "I love you moo moo." Instantly, mom made a deep gurgling sound, opened her eyes which were still a soft blue, and weakly yet clearly said, "I love you too, please open the window."
We were amazed. As quickly as she had looked at us and spoke her eyes and lips closed. We opened the window and let the summer scent of rain flood into the room. We lingered for a few more minutes and left with tears in our eyes and an odd joy over her brief arousal. Later the next morning about 3 AM, I received the call that all children dread, but must someday receive.
For a long time I thought mom's brief awakening was a miracle or an extra ordinary event, but I finally decided that it was simply Catherine's way. We were happy for the moment and will never forget our dear mom and "moo moo."
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