My relationship with my Mom was....complicated. It was a real love/hate relationship if there ever was one. I was my Mom's "baby". As a little girl, I bristled when I heard those words. As I grew older, I learned being the baby wasn't such a bad thing. I could use it to wriggle out of a lot of things. It didn't take me long to realize that this was position of power, and believe me when I tell you, I played it for all it was worth. What I became was a manipulative, spoiled brat that thought everyone in the world would treat me the same way I was allowed to act at home. My Dad was the strict disciplinarian, so of course I attached myself to the parent that let me get my way. I never wanted to leave my Mom's side as a little girl, and going to school was a rude awakening for me. Back then, we lived close to school, and I could could go home for lunch. Once I was home, I never wanted to go back to school. I cried and begged and pleaded with my Mom to let me stay home. When that didn't work, I cried for her to drive me back to school. When that didn't work, I insisted she walk with me back to school. What a charmer I was, huh?
By time I was in first grade, my parents began leaving my sisters and me for a few weeks while they would go to Florida. Now that I look at it, who could blame them for wanting to get away for awhile when they had such a feisty, strong-willed six year old at home? My sisters were 10 and 7 years older (16 an 13) than I was, so they didn't mind when my parents left. In fact, they loved it! They got to stay at their best friend's houses and have lots of fun. Me? I stayed with a family from the church one time, another time a cousin and his family stayed with me, or an Aunt and Uncle would move in for a month. I hated it! It created so much anxiety in me, and I truly felt abandoned every time they left. In my mind, I really thought they would get in an accident, die, and I would never see them again. It's hard to explain the fear I had as a little girl, but my young childhood years did not feel warm and fuzzy and loving to me. I was full of fear as a little girl, but my my biggest fear was the loss of my parents - especially my Mom.
God, of course, knew this and it warms my heart when I recall the tender way He prepared me for life without the person that I thought I couldn't live without. Three months before her stroke, my Mom was attending her water aerobics class. She was out of the pool, completely dressed, but fell backwards and hit her head. You know what? I'm getting confused about the order of events, but I think she passed out and was brought by ambulance to the hospital. She arrived with an extremely low blood pressure, The doctor talked to my sister and he knew Mom had the DNR orders. They decided to give her a high surge of oxygen and it revived her! Once she returned to Raybrook, she was doing physical therapy and passed out. The PT called the ambulance and once again Mom was rushed to the hospital. This time it was due to pulmonary embolism. She was sent to intensive care. This time I flew up. I was able to spend time with her in the hospital.Once she was out of Intensive Care, we had so much fun. I brought her make up from home and gave her a facial. We did Face Time with Elise and she marveled at all the things she could do with my I Pad. Her nurse walked in while she was on Face Time and promptly left the room. She returned a few minutes later laughing and said to Mom, "It's not everyday I walk in on a 94 year old and can't take her blood pressure because she's busy talking on Face Time!" Another day, we had devotions together. After we prayed, I looked at her and said, "Mom, I know you are so ready to go home to be with Jesus. But you know what? I think one of the reasons you're still here is because of me. God knows I'm just not ready for you to leave me yet." She looked me right in the eyes and said, "Well, it's going to happen soon. And you better come to grips with that. And you will be just fine."
The next time I came was one month later, in November. She was out of Assisted Living and back in her own apartment. She felt weak and for the very first time in my entire life, she was receptive to me helping her with meals. I tried to treat her like a queen as much as I could. I gave her back rubs and leg rubs and tried to serve her whatever meal sounded good to her. It made me feel so good to hear her say, not once, but often, "What am I going to do when you go back home?" The last thing I did before I left to fly home was put a beef roast in the oven for Sunday dinner, just like she had always made for us growing up. My brother-in-law was coming over to have Sunday dinner with her.
She called me later that day and said, "That roast tasted so good!" Quite a compliment from the World's Greatest Chef and Baker!
My final visit came in December. She was doing great! I remember telling her, "You may not sense it, but I can tell you are much stronger than last month!" She fussed for my birthday and made
my favorite childhood treat - meringues - served with ice cream and chocolate sauce. We went out to eat several times and she even let me shop for her. I found her a cute red jacket, and I think she wore that in almost every final picture we have of her. Devotions with her were my favorite. We would conclude by holding hands and saying the Lord's Prayer. Then, still holding hands, we would give one-two-three hand pumps which meant "I Love You". We used to do that with my Dad, too. One day, she held on to my hands and didn't let go after the one-two-three. She looked at me, holding both my hands, and said, "I really do love you." Oh, how I needed to hear that. All the ugly years, all the times we acted like we were each other's worst enemy, it all melted away with those words. The woman that always held me at a distance, finally let her guard down and let me in. I felt loved and accepted and good enough. And healed. I finally felt healed.
One night, in bed, we were having one of our "in the dark" talks and I asked her, "Mom, how did you do it all these years? How did you do it all these years without having your own Mother to lean on?' She quietly responded, "You, know, I've often wondered the same thing." Her Mother died very unexpectedly when my Mom was only 13. She had to learn so many of life's lessons all by herself. I'm so thankful this was the journey that God prepared for me - a journey that brought me to a place of restoration with my Mom - to a place where I felt her love for me and to a place where she accepted the love I had for her. What a tremendous blessing God gave me.
Friday, December 30, 2016
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
The Rest Of The Story
Last night was my first venture into writing on my blog in well over a year. I rather boldly announced my return on my Facebook page and have been encouraged by kind words of encouragement. Thank you. Praise from men should never be my motivation for doing anything in life, but it sure is encouraging to know that maybe my thoughts and words can be used by God to help others who might be going through something similar.
Yesterday I wrote about my Mother's last day. Except it wasn't really her last day. Now I'll tell you, a few bits and pieces from the days that followed... I finally went to bed. Whenever I stayed with my Mom, I always slept with her in her bedroom. She never liked the fact that I stayed awake so long. She liked for us to go to bed about the same time, which was usually way too early for me. But when I did, we would sometimes chat together in the dark and laugh together about the silliest memories. On this night, on December 27, I slipped quietly into bed because she was sound asleep from her busy day. I can't really remember exactly what time it was anymore, but I hadn't been sleeping for very long when Mom woke me up with her snoring. I laughed a little to myself because she never snored, or if she did, it was small and delicate little whiffs that were barely audible. I, however, was a different story. Back then, I snored with a capital S! I've been told I've improved greatly in recent years, but back then my snoring would wake Mom, so she would push my arm at night to get me to roll over. That night, for the first time ever, I was the one that pushed on her arm - not once, but twice. I gave up. She was so loud, I went to the kitchen and ate a piece of birthday cake in the dark. It was probably about 2:30 in the morning and I put my head down on her kitchen table and started to fall asleep. I woke my self up enough to move to the couch, but I could still hear her. I gave up and just crawled back in bed. Out of sheer exhaustion, I feel asleep and didn't wake up until the alarm went off to get up for church.
That was the first time it registered that something could be wrong. I tried to wake Mom up, but she was unresponsive. I tried to lift her head, but she was completely limp. I pressed her call button for her nurse and also called to Elise who was in the other room. I'm not even sure of the order of things anymore, and who called whom, but within minutes the nurse was upstairs and the fire rescue squad was in her apartment. Oh, how my Mom would have hated that! She knew that the people in the "Retirement Village" would all be looking out the window, trying to figure out who was going to the hospital. And then there would be the gossip. She said the residents would see the ambulance and often have a person dead and buried when they were only being held at the hospital for observation because of dizziness! Nevertheless, the ambulance was called, and so were my sisters. I don't even remember how I got to the hospital, but I was the first one there, the first one that the doctor talked to and explained the prognosis. They were very clear that what had occurred was a massive stroke and that she would not recover. It would be their intent to keep her comfortable, but not prolong the inevitable.
She was given a room, and my sisters and I stayed by her side day and night. We talked with her and sang to her. The doctors told us that hearing is the last sense to leave, and while we had no idea if she heard us or not, it didn't matter. What mattered was that she was not alone or ignored in these final hours, that she was surrounded by her family that loved her. Even the nurses that cared for her, cared for her tenderly and with dignity. This was Sunday, December 28, and she lived for another four full days. As the days went on, the hospital notified us that she would need to be transferred to a hospice facility. After those details were set in place, my sister Karen and I were with Mom when a woman from hospice had to ok her transfer by ambulance. The nurse told us Mom was in the active state of dying. I think those were her words. She carefully, gently explained what signs she was looking for and what was happening to our Mother. She asked us if our Mom had any favorite hymns, and this nurse started singing to her. It was such a beautiful, sacred time. My sister Karen rode in the ambulance with our Mother, and my sister Nancy and I followed in her car.
Do you know that verse in the Bible that mention Mary "kept all these things and pondered them in her heart"? Luke 2:19 That's what I did for a long time. I pondered. Because I was the one with my Mom that night, I wondered if I could have/should have done something differently? Something that could have saved her? It was first question I asked in the emergency room. It was the first question I asked the neurologist. It was the one and only question that I asked every different doctor and nurse that I saw. I needed to know the answer. Did I cause this? Did I do something wrong? Could this have been prevented? While all of them assured me that, no, I didn't do anything wrong, one doctor finally said, "Young lady, this all happened in an instant and from that moment forward there was nothing that any amount of medical intervention could have done to prevent this outcome." That was it. I had to rest with that answer. I had to trust that this series of events was planned by a loving God. Now that time has given me some distance and perspective, I can thank God for the beautiful way He took our Mother home. No tears. No pain. Just quietly. Home. To be with Him forever.
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
Mom
Mom's birthday was on Christmas, so we held a small party for her two days later. It was a happy afternoon where she was surrounded by her family and friends - a low-key "Open House" where people could stop by and visit and share a cup of coffee and a piece of cake with ice cream. Mom was content to sit and people would come and sit by her for a while and then move on. I remember going in to that day and she was a bit apprehensive. She was one that liked to be in control, and since her family made most of the plans, I don't think this felt like she had a handle on what was going on! But at the end of the day, when she was back in her apartment, she said over and over, "That was really nice, wasn't it!" She was so happy and content. She sat in her chair and carefully re-read all of her cards and cherished the sentiments. She went about her nightly rituals...setting out her water and pill that she would take at 5 am, helped my daughter pack up dishes she had given her, made sure Tommy had something for his upset stomach, and told me to come to bed soon before I fell asleep on the couch. And then she walked away with her walker towards her bedroom, giving Tommy, Elise, and I a final wave goodnight.
Much later, we were able to find such joy in those final moments of her 95 year old life - spending her last hours with her family and friends - knowing she was loved and appreciated - and drifting off to sleep with a heart that was content.
Eleanor Kloet Rodenhouse
December 25, 1919 - January 1, 2015
The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
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