Horrible Juxtaposition

This is hard to write and I don't know where to begin.

On Friday my mom had a routine surgery to repair a hernia. For the next two and a half days she recovered slowly. She got out of bed, walked around, ate solid food. On Monday her blood pressure dropped to the point where she needed to go to ICU. Thirty-six hours later she needed to be intubated to help her breathe. By 3am we were notified that mom was "in grave condition" and we should come to the hospital. By 11:25 Wednesday morning mom died with her sons and their wives by her side.

Shock. Anguish. Absolute bewilderment.

Ten months ago I sat by my dad's side and stayed with him until the end. I was ready for dad to go after three years of cancer and six weeks of watching him waste away. It was a blessing.

This was so much different. Tubes, wires, monitors, sounds of respirators and alarms. There in the center of the bed was my mom. Sedated, unconscious, and gasping against the air being forced into her lungs. Andy and Mare were there, and had been for hours. They left us alone and the enormity of the event crushed me. I fell apart. I had been holding on to a misplaced hope that something in Andy's messages were poorly translated from the doctor to him to me. What was in front of me was undeniable.

Doctors. Choices. Inevitable decisions.

Somehow, in a way that has yet to be adequately explained by her doctors, mom lost the blood supply to her small intestine. Her intestine died. With 90% of the vital organ gone there was nothing anyone could do. Together we made the decision to let her go. We know that this is something that she would have wanted versus an agonizing and slow death.

My mom was a nurse and for many years she taught a class in death and dying. We knew from listening to her that she could "hear" us even in her sedated state. We spoke in her ear and let her know what she was up against. We let her know that we were by her side and would stay there until the end. We told her not to fight.

In one hand I held hers. In the other I held Lisa's close to her stomach. And then it happened. The baby kicked. Two hands at the opposite ends of life. In the distance of my arms was entire lifetime. Lisa, who doesn't let too many people touch her, stood with mom and held mom's hand to her belly for a long time.

Death. Life. That brief space in between.

She was removed from life support. We spoke to her and kissed her. With the four of there mom slipped away peacefully. She was gone.

In my anger and bewilderment I think of our unborn son who will never be held by his grandmother, a grandma who spoiled and dotted on her three other grandchildren. My hope is there is a place that the two of them are sharing right now and the love that mom has shown her grandchildren is being poured out to this one, soon-to-be. I hurt for my son who will only know this woman through the stories of his dad, mom, and sister. I hurt for my mom, gone too soon who was looking forward to this child. I hurt for me and Lisa and Sam who are left still questioning why she was taken from us.

I miss you mom. Peace. We love you.