Dying Lights

My mother died on the 30th of October, and I was not able to be with her, so had to hear about it from my sister, who called at midnight. I had been there just a few weeks before, and knew she wasn't doing well, but I had convinced myself she would rally, and was surprised when she did not. I was glad my father was with her, but I am not sure if he was sleeping when it happened.

I have been thinking about this all day because the anniversary of her death is coming up and I can't help it. And because I may be in denial about death altogether, and refuse to believe it will happen to the people I know. Scratch the word "maybe." I am in denial.

My mother-in-law Tews kept trying to tell my husband Pete and me that she was, in her own way, making some decisions about her death. She had a difficult blood-related condition and was becoming thinner and thinner. At my son's college graduation, I was quite shocked at how much weight she had lost, but I kept telling myself she would get better, we would figure it out, she wouldn't stay this way.

That summer, Pete and I went out to dinner with Pete's mom while visiting his family cabin. Tews told us she was stopping her medicine, as she was weighing the balance of good days versus bad, and bad was irrevocably winning. Again, I didn't quite understand this and the next day created several menu ideas while trying to persuade her to eat more. 

My mother in law just smiled at me and let me go on with my menu making. I think now she must have thought I was insane, though she was wonderfully kind about it. What I remember now, besides her progressing illness, was how the family gathered around her, during her last few weeks of life.

Tews was in a hospice setting, and more and more family and friends were coming to visit. Though she couldn't leave her bed, my mother in law seemed chipper and happy to see all of us. Her sons brought their instruments -- guitar ad mandolyn -- and serenaded her, and because they are accomplished musicians, nurses and staff gathered to hear them play too.

I recall this as an extraordinary time, though I still kept trying to convince myself there was a chance, maybe, maybe, that she would get better. Though she didn't, I loved how her family kept vigil; with music, laughter, sometimes tears but mostly keeping her company with songs, readings and love.

If I am ever in a similar situation, I know I'd want the same--with family and friends gathering to send me off with songs and stories. I can think of no better way to go. 

I wish we'd had the ability to figure this out for my mother, too, but understand we can't change it now. We did do a little better for my dad, who had a beautiful hospice room and music and people with him, including me, holding tight to his hand. Being there meant everything to me, and I will always be grateful I could be. 

I read once that Mozart had said death was the purpose of life. I still don't understand what that means, but if it is true then we need to send a little life along with it, reminding the person whose life is ending that love is eternal, and that some part of our music and light and songs will accompany them as consciousness fades.

It is the least we can do for each other, but most of us never realize the least is so much more than what it seems. I think I do, now. I think I finally do.

Hands Photo: Liz Jones