SeeingRred
My eyes are still burning from the cry this morning. I clung on to M. and purposefully sunk between his arm and the pillow to muffle the unbridled screams that emerged. It wasn’t guttural. It emerged quietly out of my chest, peeled through my throat and tore out of my mouth clawing for freedom.
It was like no other.
Perhaps it was the kind that I should have had when my father passed away twenty-one years ago. He had gone ahead and died knowing that he hadn’t spoken to me in months, and that he had told everyone in the family that I no longer existed to him. He had gone ahead and died knowing that he waved me aside avoiding my embrace as he was leaving for the hospital, saying to my mother that he did not want me to drive him, even though his heart was paining and his system was shutting down. He did not ask for me when everyone took turns going in to the room to say goodbye. So I sat in the waiting room, defiant, then envious, then resentful, then scared, listening to each personal account of love exchanges with my dad. When I finally got the courage to talk to him, he could no longer speak and was barely responsive. I did the only thing I could do, what I knew to do. I obediently picked up the newspaper sitting on his nightstand and fanned him. I fanned and fanned for what seemed like hours till my arms ached and his eyes closed for sleep. All the while I held in my cries and the tears silently streamed down.
It was the kind of cry I should have had the day I witnessed my mother die. I got the call from my brother-in-law that morning, frantically explaining that after trying everything to raise her insulin levels, nothing was working. I could tell from his normally calm and happy voice that something was different and that he was starting to panic. With me on the line, we tried again. Then I remembered the new medication they had added to her long list of prescriptions. The one that was to be set aside for emergencies just like this…. “Thank you, God,” I breathed. But, when he checked, it wasn’t there. As I dashed around madly grabbing one item after another to fill the baby bag and then my two-year-old, I called the pharmacy. Without apology, they explained that they had not included it with the other medication, but thought it would be better to wait till it was requested, and that it would be a while before they could deliver it. I shook my head in disbelief at the absurdity of it. “It was supposed to be with all of her medication! My mother is dying right now!! I can’t get there fast enough to pick it up!!! Please, please, get someone to drive it to her!!!!” I begged. I phoned my brother-in-law to call the ambulance. Though my mouth was cinched shut with trepidation and I was screaming inside, I remained calm for the baby in my rearview. “Oh, God. Oh, God, pleeeeease,” I prayed. I drove as fast as I dared, but it wasn’t fast enough. Once there, my eldest sister answered the door. I rushed into the living room and placed my son on the chair to play, then scrambled up the stairs. I saw my mom slumped back on her bed, cradled in the arms of my brother-in-law. Our eyes met, piercingly intense, and I knew that she understood the seriousness of the moment. “Rish, you’re heeere,” was all that she said. My brother-in-law and I tried frantically again and again to increase her levels to no avail, all the while her eyes held mine, loving and consoling. Knowledge and acceptance. Finally, not knowing what else to do, we just held on to her tightly, both of us, comforting her, almost afraid to look at each other. My eldest sister came upstairs, bringing with her a sense of calm. My mother lay quietly in my arms those last moments and we reassured her that help was on the way. When the paramedics arrived, we moved aside. I saw my mom’s soft, tired eyes close and her head lean back, as she let out a soft sigh. We stood at the end of the bed and watched as they worked on her. Then, without any warning, they stopped. I watched silently in horror, as I followed the man’s eyes to the homemade note taped to the door. Regret washed over me, remembering how I had been the one to explain to her the necessity for the DNR. I thought I was doing right by her, being adult and laying out her options as a good, responsible caregiver should. Never once did I expect that it would come to this, and that I would have a hand in it. On that fateful day it was a muffled yelp, highly restrained, in an attempt to be polite for the paramedics standing helplessly over her lifeless body. “Mamaaaaaaaa!”
The cry scared me this morning. Without warning, it just came and wouldn’t stop. I felt it try to smother me and I couldn’t breathe. I held on tight to M. and gasped and gasped and gasped for air, and all the while the cry forced its way out.
Written February 23, 2017
