The Last 10 Ten Days, Days 2 and 3

We all got settled in and prepared for the great wait. We didn't know she'd hang on 10 days, though, and the entire time we thought it would be any day, any minute, any breath. Daniel slept in the living room, N in the red room, my dad down on the couch in the basement, David, Grace, and me in my parents' room, and Kate right there beside Mama the whole time. K with Hospice spent many hours with us in the white room talking about everything under the sun, but Kate was truly the one who nursed Mama. She administered the pain-killers and orchestrated all the elements of Mama's care barely leaving her side.

We didn't have anywhere to go so we basically camped out in the white room talking to Mama (we were told the hearing is the last to go), talking to each other and listening to a Joanie Madden cd, "Songs of the Irish whistle." that would later serve as an anthem to that time.

People brought plenty of food but no one felt much like eating. I take that back. My dad seemed to enjoy the endless supply of nourishment that kept appearing at our doors. The phone rang a lot and we took turns giving family and friends updates. We knew the end was nearing we just didn't know exactly when the end would come. As hard as it was being right there, it must have been even harder for our dear family members across the states who had only those brief and not very conclusive telephone updates on which to make sense of the very sad situation.

Mama rallied once to say, "I love everybody," and we made out that she had "a wish" for Daniel. We can only assume that her wish was for him to give faith a fair try as I believe she believed he wasn't a believer. She also called for David, specifically, and that makes sense because she loved him as her own. David met my mom post-diagnosis, so he never knew her cancer-free. It was 1994, and I was two weeks into my year as a VISTA volunteer in DeFuniak Springs, FL when I got the news. David, my brand new friend, was the first person I told. Thankfully, most of the following eight years were full of lots of living and doing and laughing, and not the devastating sickness that we all encountered those last 10 days.

Kate is haunted much more than I am with the horrors of Mama's deterioration that she witnessed first-hand. In fact, much of it has been blocked out. We all want to think that Mama wasn't in pain at the end (at least I do), but she was, and only Kate knows the truth about how bad it got. Kate was our hero, taking on the physical duties and never leaving Mama's side. I didn't feel jealous or resentful towards Kate for taking on this intimate role, but I did yearn for my therapist, as I felt she was the only one to whom I could tell my innermost thoughts and feelings. We were all dealing with our loss in our own way, and no way was the right way.

So we circulated in and out of the white room sometimes having alone time just to be with Mama, sometimes being with her with a roomful of others. During my alone time with Mama as I lay beside her, I said my last peace. I hope she heard me.