I was my mother’s healthcare proxy, and the medical community followed my decisions even if I had no idea what was up or down or right or wrong. Still, both a palliative care nurse and a geriatric specialist suggested hospice to me. My mother’s oncologist had only reluctantly agreed to keep her on the newest cancer medicine for another month or two. I was in the minority in my thinking and plans, but I knew from talking with my mother that she would rather live than not. I knew what removing something stabilizing her cancer would mean. 

Anything I thought or believed was moot the day my mother complained to me about a scratchy throat and asked me for a cough drop. An infection she caught, which was believed to be pneumonia, was the start of a steep, downward spiral for the next day or so. She had developed the most horrible sounding cough I’d ever heard and completely lost her voice. The nurses informed me that she wasn’t eating or drinking anything, but that her vitals were good. 

My husband and I visited her in her rehab in the middle of the day. He had asked her to squeeze my hand if she was thirsty, since she couldn’t speak. Her eyes were open, and she looked horrified. Her arms were flailing but I could feel her forefinger and thumb pressing on my palm, and so I dropped an inch or so of water through a straw into her mouth. 

After a few minutes of doing this, we suggested to the nurse who was taking care of her that she needed to be on IV fluids. 

“But her vitals are good,” the nurse said. “We need to have a reason to put her on IV.”

My husband found a diplomatic but direct way to let the nurse know that we would rather not wait until her vitals were bad before getting her on IV. 

The nurse called the doctor who apparently needed to approve of the request, and while the doctor eventually gave the green light for my mother to get IV fluids, we were told that there would be a delay for several hours. We decided to have my mother admitted to the hospital.

That day, my mother underwent a myriad of tests and was placed on IV fluids that included treatment with an antibiotic. In addition to hyperglycemia, kidney failure, low blood pressure, sepsis and MRSA, my mother’s heart was failing and there was a large build up of fluid that was making it hard to get more IV lines into her. Her arms were covered in black and blue bruises. 

We were told it did not look good for her.

I sat for a long time in my car in the emergency room parking lot. I had started the engine and meant to put my foot on the gas pedal, but I was frozen. The car radio was on as I continued to quietly sit. I noticed the song, “Oh Sheila,” was playing, and I remembered thinking that was an interesting coincidence. 

We received a phone call in the middle of the night from an ICU nurse. She told us that they were hoping she might show signs of improvement with the antibiotic, but that she was doing poorly, and they wanted to keep us informed. They described her as having been in a lot of pain, and so they started administering morphine. 

We received another call from the nurse early the next day. We were told that my mother’s condition had worsened during the night. Their plan was to keep her on medication to maintain an elevated blood pressure. They urged us to come to the ICU to see her as quickly as we could, and they would keep her on the blood pressure medicine only until we arrived.

I sat near my mother, and I held her hand and stroked her face. I watched as the time between breaths grew longer. There were times when she looked like her breathing had completely stopped, but then a few seconds later she drew another breath. 

Her eyes opened, and I heard one of the nurses say to me, “She sees you.” I cried and told her how much I loved her, and I continued holding her hand. I felt my husband walk behind me and kiss me on the head. I saw her jaw clench, and soon after there were no more breaths. The nurse walked over to tell me she had passed. I remember looking down at her hand, puffy and swollen with fluid. The stillness of it reminded me of the porcelain hands of her antique dolls.

The following day, I noticed one of our bathroom lights flickering for a while, despite there being no loose bulb or signs of the light burning out. I remember within a day of my father passing, my mother and I had similarly seen a hall light flicker late at night, when we were both consoling each other. I wanted to believe that my mother, like my father, may have been paying a visit.

The funeral was held later in the week, after my mother was transported to Florida to be buried next to my father. I talked with the rabbi the day before over the phone to tell her about my mother, whom she had never met. I told her that I would consider giving a small eulogy, but I wasn’t sure. 

During the funeral, my brother and I had to wear a black ribbon and rip it, to symbolize the physical separation from the deceased loved one. My brother’s ripped with no problem, while the one I was given had frayed edges that made it impossible to tear. The rabbi tried as well and failed and laughed nervously, saying that had never happened to her before. She found a different one that had intact edges, and I was able to successfully rip it slightly. While this was likely just the result of a poorly made brand of ribbons, I felt it was symbolic of my difficulty letting go. 

Notably, a fox had slowly sauntered by in the middle of the service with some kind of dead animal dangling from its mouth. Foxes are supposedly notorious for digging holes near cemeteries. But foxes are also symbols of spirituality and the afterlife. 

The rabbi found the fox amusing and asked if my mother had a sense of humor.

I answered, “Yes, she was quite the character.”

I saw the foxtrot as my mother’s last dance for us. But for this, she would need a partner. I smiled at the thought that she would now have my father.

I didn’t prepare a formal eulogy but just stood up and started rambling. I talked about the unique bond between a mother and daughter, how horns would occasionally lock but it never took away from the closeness. And I mentioned how much it meant to me to have the honor of taking care of her after my father had passed. 

She was my mother. And then she was my child. 

And through it all, she was my best friend. 

The End.