Humor on the way to Heaven
Janet Gillespie - Pratt
MY INHERITANCE
The house was finally quiet except for the sound coming from the front bedroom. It was the sound of someone breathing their last breaths. Friends and relatives had been stopping by all day and I think they all knew they were saying Good-Bye. About nine that night everyone had left and my brother, Tim, and I were in the living room watching fairly "mindless" television. We knew the end was near but, or course, didn't know how near.
The four-month battle of Mom's war with cancer had finally been called and she was no longer able to walk and could barely swallow. When I could no longer get her to the bathroom I knew it was time for bed. The Hospice nurses were wonderful. They came out to the house after I called and prepared her for her final journey; explaining to her that she could no longer get out of bed, a catheter would be placed and since she could no longer swallow her morphine pills, a "butterfly" (a small needle with a port to administer medications) would be placed in her arm to allow me to give her morphine by injection. I remember her giggling over the "butterfly". She collected anything with butterflies on it or in it. I discovered jewelry, stationary, dishes, napkins, candle sticks, etc. all with butterflies. She looked at them as symbols of life. How ironic that the medication to ease her pain in death would be given through a butterfly.
While Tim and I were watching TV we would alternate going in and checking on Mom. She lay in her bed on her back. Her eyes were closed and her salt and pepper thinning hair was combed straight back. Theresa, her Hospice Home Health Aide had given her a bed bath in the morning and put lotion on her swollen legs, changed her into a pink gown and made sure everything was perfect in her bedroom. Mom's friend Carol had given her an angel pin that was carefully pinned on her gown close to her heart. I think Theresa knew it would be her last visit to Mom. She kissed her on the forehead and said, "See you later, Kathleen." Mom had not spoken since the day before, and was in a deep, deep sleep. As I looked at her in that permanent sleep, I thought about all of the things she had endured and survived in her life. The Depression, World War II, Dad's death, two heart surgeries but the cancer was just too much. She would not be able to beat this one.
It was the end of April and still pretty chilly outside. The furnace would kick in at regular intervals and drowned out the sounds of those last breaths. The nurses had prepared us for the breathing. Mom also had congestive heart failure, which caused her to fill up with fluid, and her breathing had become very congested. They assured me that it was far worse to listen to than it was for her to breathe. Throughout the evening the TV and furnace would shield us from that frightening sound. In Mom's room a tape deck played what had become her favorite tapes. Comforting songs that helped her sleep at night. Even when she finally lapsed into a coma the night before we kept those tapes going, hoping they would give her some peace in those final hours. The nurses told us not to feel we had to sit with her constantly because sometimes the dying will wait until no one is there and quietly leave this world.
Neither Tim nor I could sleep so we talked a little and just stared at the TV. I'm sure we were both wondering how long she could go on.
About midnight, I heard a creaking noise in the hallway leading to the bedroom. After almost fifty years the hardwood floors beneath the carpet have begun to squeak and creak a little. This sounded like definite footsteps. I turned to my brother and told him I thought Dad was here to get her. He nodded in agreement. Our father had died thirteen years earlier. The furnace stopped and there was the breathing. We kept up our visits to her just to let her know we were there. I checked her blood pressure and pulse sometimes and everything seemed to be normal.
A little after one in the morning the furnace stopped again. The sound was different, almost silence, with the exception of the low volume on the TV. Tim and I looked ateach other and got up and went in together for what was to be a final check. She was still breathing but slower and quieter. Tim went to her bed and lay down beside her and put his arm above her head. I sat in the chair that had been placed for visitors to sit and talk to her. I took her blood pressure and couldn't get a good reading; her pulse was so rapid I couldn't count it. I carefully removed the cuff and laid it on the floor next to the bed, knowing I wouldn't need it anymore. I took her hand in mine and stroked it and my brother and I whispered to her that it was OK to leave us and that we loved her. Every breath was coming further apart and very deep. I'm not sure how long we were there but I think it was only a matter of minutes. Finally she took a deep breath and her body shuddered slightly as she exhaled. There was another deep breath and another shudder, then no more. At the same instant as her last breath, the tape deck shut off with a click and the comforting quiet music ended. We just sat for a minute or two and I thanked God for finally taking her.
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