Angel Kitty
A black and white cat just showed up at the foster home and adopted Mom. I have a picture of Mom wearing a blue sweater, reading her blue Bible, with the kitty lying contentedly on her lap, purring. This reminded me of a story I read in Reader’s Digest about a cat named Oscar that lived in a nursing home. Oscar had an uncanny ability to sense when a patient was about to pass away. He would often lay on the bed next to the patient, purring and offering comfort in their final hours with his soft fur.
My sister, Leslie, shared with me that Mom had said, “When I die, I want you to put me in your car and take me to Roseburg.” I thought Mom was concerned that her passing would be too hard on Leslie. It became evident to me that Mom was processing her own mortality. I found myself carrying a basket of Leslie’s emotions throughout the day, forgetting momentarily that I was no longer the sole bearer of our family's grief. Nevertheless, I wore my big boots anyway.
Soon after, I received a call from Bobbie, who always diligently checked on Mom. She was the one who sounded the alarm when Mom didn’t look well. Then Sue, the foster home mother, called to inform me that Mom had fallen that morning and twisted her left leg. We discovered that Mom had experienced a TIA, compromising her health.
Leslie and her husband Dave lived in Pleasant Hill, a 20-minute drive to Venetia, but they were in Europe at the time. So, I rushed to Venetia to be with Mom. I took her to the emergency room at Peace Health hospital, where the ER doctor referred us to a cardiologist. He recommended a pacemaker, explaining that it would greatly improve Mom's quality of life, allowing her to avoid being bedridden. The simple surgery would take 30 minutes, after which she could return to the foster home.
Despite the pacemaker, Mom continued to feel unwell. I took her to the hospital again, unsure if she was improving or declining. The family rallied around her. Sophie drove from Santa Rosa for a week, Grace and Tiffany took time off from work to stay several days, my husband Dave visited almost every other day, and Elsie, who lived in Eugene, came often. Leslie and I remained with Mom except for brief breaks to eat and sleep.
After conducting tests, the doctors diagnosed Mom with aspiration pneumonia, which was likely to recur. Given her fragile state, the doctor in charge of her care recommended against heroic measures and suggested palliative or comfort care instead. Though unfamiliar with palliative care, he patiently explained it to me and my sisters, emphasizing the need for us to consider Mom’s health options.
With heavy hearts, my sisters and I agreed to palliative care. Later, I would often revisit that conversation in my mind, wondering if we had made the right decision.
Leslie brought a bouquet of fresh flowers, poster boards, and a basket filled with colored markers and calligraphy pens. We all, young and old, began writing greetings to Mom and drawing pictures and designs. Joey, my nephew, drew a picture of flowers under a tree with the caption "Our garden of love."
Lolo drew a rainbow, and my nephews Eli and Nate joined in. Though Lolo had indicated where Eli could draw on the opposite side, he drew another rainbow inside Lolo’s arch. It was heartwarming to witness their interaction. In truth, their grandma had two rainbows – one for her daughters and one for her grandsons.
Maggie began drawing a family tree, depicting the nuances of births, deaths, and unfortunate divorces. Then, all of Mom’s grandchildren traced their hands as leaves on the branches, filling in their birthdays. Despite Mom becoming less responsive, I'm convinced she enjoyed the "family party," evidenced by her occasional smile at the sound of children chattering.
The doctor prescribed a patch behind her ear to alleviate the mucus buildup that hindered her breathing. He also started her on a morphine drip to ease the neck pain from an old injury and to help her relax. Mom was put on NPO status, meaning no food or water.
Three of Mom’s sisters, Betty, Fran, and Molly, came to visit her. After a brief visit, Aunt Molly asked me to step into the hall. She questioned why Mom was being given morphine and why we were allowing her to starve. It was heart-wrenching, but I knew it was essential for my aunts to understand our decisions. I had to navigate through their emotions as well as my own, grappling with the weight of our choice. Why was I the one asked the tough questions? I felt the burden of responsibility, once again, as the in-town sibling.
That day was particularly challenging for me. In the evening, Leslie, Sophie, and one of Leslie’s friends were laughing and joking around. Perhaps that was their coping mechanism for dealing with the impending loss. I refrained from passing judgment, but I was too exhausted to participate in such levity.
Day after day, we sat by Mom's bedside, wondering when she would take her last breath. It was a time of uncertainty, a place of loss.
George and Bobbie visited every afternoon, joining me and my sisters in Mom's room. One of them would read from the Bible, and we would sing worship songs and hymns. Their presence and prayers provided us with strength during this difficult time.
The nursing staff estimated that Mom would likely live for five more days—a prediction into the unknown. Yet, she defied expectations and held on for six days.
“Healthy children will not fear life if their elders have integrity enough not to fear death.”
-Erik H. Erikson
Comments