I've been neglecting the blog here for a while. The thing is, I have so many thoughts swirling in my head lately, but can't seem to grab one and pin it down. So, Let's just start somewhere...
I'm sure you all know of the passing of my mother-in-law. It was a very hard thing to witness. We put her in hospice care about a month ago thinking, honestly, that she would be in hospice for about two years. We had just come to grips with the fact that Pam was finally in the final stage of her life, but thought we had a little more time to get used to it. That didn't turn out to be the case, but we're not complaining. We're not angry or confused, we're just grieving the loss of someone we love. Pam was a little off when I met her 13 years ago. She was funny, and she talked A LOT! She loved movies, music (especially The Beatles), and laughing. She was bigger than life and, even when she began to slip, brought such an upbeat, fun presence to the room when she walked in. It was something she lost the ability to do in her later years. It was difficult to watch her become a flower on the wall. Every once in a while she would have a good day though. She rattled a mile a minute as soon as we walked in the door. We had no idea what she was saying, but she was having a good time and we would laugh with her anyways.
I remember one visit a few years back. We could still understand most of what Pam was saying, although her mind was slipping fast. We were talking about our cats (two of which used to be hers). When we mentioned Sammie, she said, "Oh Sammie! She's the real cantankerous one." My husband just started laughing. I honestly had no idea what the word meant. Jason piped in with, "You can't remember Coen's name, but you can use the word cantankerous in a sentence." Pam just laughed at herself. Hey, you win some, you lose some. What else can you do? I now know what the word cantankerous means, and I will never forget.
Fast forward. I get a phone call about five minutes after getting home with my son from preschool. All the woman kept saying on the other end of the phone was "Pam's taken a turn for the worse, and it's different this time."
It's not the phone call I wanted to make to my husband. I dropped off the kids and met Jason and his grandparents at the nursing home. We spent the day watching Pam die. It was awful. I wanted to tell her goodbye, but didn't want to do it with all of those people in the room. I left around 5 to go to work. At that point her O2 level was at 60% and her body was shutting down. I thought I would get a call that night.
The call never came. I headed back to the nursing home around midnight. I wanted to say goodbye and knew I would be alone with her. I couldn't believe the sight I saw when I walked into her room. There in the bed was Pam, but not as I had left her earlier. She was all cleaned up, no secretions from anywhere, and she was pink - not the gray color she was last I had seen her. I touched her legs and they were so warm. Ther were like ice earlier. I couldn't believe it. Her O2 level was at 87% now. She was fighting. It felt good, and horrible all at the same time. I plugged in the CD player and popped in The Beatles Love album. I looped it to repeat for her all night while she slept, and sat and talked to her for about an hour. She, of course, didn't respond, but I don't care. She heard me. I was able to say the goodbyes to her I was afraid I had missed my chance for. It gave me such peace, and a sense of closure. I never asked, but I don't know if Jason got that closure. I don't tknow if he was able to be alone with her to do so. I understand the torment you live with when you miss your chance to say your final goodbye. I think he said them quietly to himself, and I hope he had the chance to say them aloud. I'm just too afraid to ask, incase it's not the answer I'm hoping for.
The phone call came at 8am the next morning. In my mind I had played the scenerio out a hundred times. I thought Pam would just go to sleep one night and die. That is essentially what she had done, but in my scenerio we didn't know the phone call would be coming. I had imagined in my head how I would have to break the news to my husband. I would have my mom come sit with the kids and I would drive the 10 minutes to his work and tell him face to face. It's not something you want to tell your husband over the phone. By telling him face to face I would be there to wrap my arms around him and give him the support he needed. It played out in my head so well. In reality, things hardly ever go as planned.
I was getting Coen ready for school. It was Muffins with Mom since it was the Friday before Mother's Day. He was so excited about it that I couldn't back out. I got the call and had no choice but to call my husband and tell him over the phone as I was hiding in the corner of the bathroom, using the whisper voice so the kids couldn't hear. He rushed to see his mother before she was taken away, and I wasn't there for any of it. He was comforted by the hospice nurse - a woman we had only met a couple of times- not his wife, who had planned it out so well in her head. I did my best to get to him as soon as I could, but as it is in some cases, your best isn't always good enough. Honestly, I couldn't have walked into that room no matter how much I wanted to be there for Jason.
We take comfort in Pam's passing. She was so young, and we were losing her more and more each day to MS. We prayed to God that she wouldn't have to suffer too long. We prayed that she wouldn't live to an old age. We prayed that when it was time for her to leave us, it would be quickly. We prayed that it would be without pain. We prayed for these things and more. All of our prayers were answered. Our Pam is Our Pam once again. We are sad, and our hearts are hurting. But we are grateful.
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