Mom was on some new drugs!

12.10.2008

A couple of months back, Hospice had changed around the drugs that Mom was taking and we were all getting used to the new combination and schedule. Mom was still able to get around the house and go outside for a cigarette when she needed one, but often times her brain was acting a little faster than her body could keep up with.

One Saturday I took Gina up to see her and Terry, and my grandparents and Mom's youngest sister were up for a visit too. Mom was having a bad day and spent the majority of everyones visit in bed/napping. Terry was taking time to catch everyone up on what was going on, especially with how to help out on giving Mom her meds. Besides her chemo (or whatever was in both an ointment and a suppository she took), she was also taking meds for anxiety, nausea, and pain.

The day progressed and Terry had to go to work while grandparents and aunt went back to Alabama. Gina and I got Mom to eat a potato from Wendys in preparation of giving her the dinner-time dose of meds. About 15 minutes after eating she downed a handful of pills. About 15 minutes after that I noticed she was getting fidgety. "You want to go outside for a cigarette?" I asked. "Yep" she replied, then quickly stood up and headed underneath the kitchen sink.

From underneath the sink Mom started pulling out cleaning supplies. I looked at Gina and both our eyebrows arched in a silent "What the hell?". I looked again at Mom. "What'cha doing, Mom?" I asked. "Got to get my mask" she answered back. What kind of a mask do you need for a smoke break? Gina quickly thought and said "Lucy, it's cold outside so why don't we get you a heavier jacket." "Ok" said Mom, and she stood up from the kitchen sink and started heading up the stairs to the bedroom. Gina cut her off and headed into the bedroom, where mom directed her to the closet with a heavier jacket. Gina brought it back and we bundled up Mom. We headed out the door when Mom stopped and looked at me, "Have you got the key?" she asked. "We're just going outside, I don't think we need the key, Mom." With that she nodded her head and went out the door. She was starting to head past her outdoor chair and table when I distracted her with her pack of cigarettes. "Here Mom, sit down and have a smoke." I can't believe I'm bribing my Mom cigarettes, but I have no idea where she's heading. She sites down and lights one up, then proceeds to tell Gina and I about the rabbits and armadillo in the neighbors yard that nobody else could see. After another 20 minutes or so, I put Mom to bed and dosed her up with some liquid morphine that was on the schedule.

Afterwards, while taking a breath and catching up from everything going on, Gina told me that when we were heading out of the door with Mom she had asked if we were going to dinner, then Gina reminded her that she had already eaten a potato for dinner. It took a couple of days, but I thought about that and Mom's craziness suddenly started to make sense. When I asked Mom if she wanted a cigarette, she was thinking we were going out. She was paranoid about crowd and germs, and as such would often wear a little paper mask when she went out in public (which she thought was under the sink!). While sitting outside, I looked and the shadows of various plants and general crap around the RV did kind of look like animals - a rabbit I could maybe see, so I'll give her the benefit of the doubt on the armadillo.

The next week Hospice got an update on how Mom was doing and along the way her anxiety meds went from a regular schedule to as needed. Her morphine got dropped back too. Looking back, it seems that's the combo for short term memory loss and seeing imaginary animals.

But I'll never forget "Want a cigarette" followed by a mad dash underneath the kitchen sink.

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My last conversation with Mom

12.09.2008

Mom was on a nice little combination of pain killers, anti-anxiety, and anti-nausea meds. When she managed to take the whole combination fairly close to one another, her mind would go off somewhere else for a little while. I had learned to pay attention to what Mom was seeing, because her "out there" sentences would actually make sense if you listened and looked at things from her perspective.

I was propped up in bed watching Steel Magnolias on TNT with Mom. That right there should show what a good son I am. Steel Magnolias! I happened to notice that there were an awful lot of commercials for kids toys, especially the educational/electronic toys like Leapfrog. This was Thanksgiving weekend, so it only made sense to try and hype the toys.

We were nearing the end of the movie where everything gets emotional and Julia Roberts is about to die (sorry if I just ruined Steel Magnolias for anyone). Mom is sitting propped up in the bed and suddenly says "I bet Jerry would know."

This caught me totally by surprise. "Jerry would know what, Mom?"

"Why all these kids hit anything with a one or a zero. " she told me.

Ahh, she's been paying attention to the toy commercials. Luckily I had been paying attention! "Yeah, I bet he would know", I told Mom. "But what if he didn't?"

Mom twisted her face in thought and kind of bit in one corner of her mouth. With a slight sigh she said "I bet he'd just make something up."

I gave out a laugh as I told her I agreed. She knows Jerry pretty well. When I told Jerry this little story, he agreed too.


I don't show up in many pictures, as such there are few pictures with both me and Mom. Here's one from Jer and Elaine's wedding on Nov 15, 1997

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Missing Mom

12.08.2008

It hasn't quite been a week since Mom died. It's been an emotional week, that's for sure. For a big, burly manly-man I've been crying a lot more than I thought I would. They're good, therapeutic cries. They catch me off guard, after a minute or so I actually end up asking myself "What the hell is this about?"

I cried when I went back and saw her empty bed, and then I sat there petting her pillow as I told Terry how proud I was of him for pulling through everything as well as he did. I cried in Gina's arms as I told her that Mom had died 15 minutes earlier. Those I understand, but it's the little cries that pop-up when no one else (I know) is around.

I was at Bed Bath & Beyond replacing my George Foreman Grill - don't accidentally dunk them in the dishwater - and wandered in the cleaning aisle. I stopped around and remembered the last time I stood there was with Mom. Then I had a little cry in front of the Roombas.

I was driving to Gina's for an impromptu dinner & date night. Along the way I had that feeling in the back of my head - it's been about a week since I talked to Mom, I should catch up with her. Then I remembered I can't make that phone call any more. I cried all the way to Gina's.

Right now I think of how much I miss Mom, and I can't see the fucking keyboard because of the tears in my eyes.

The timing for the end was right for Mom. Her pain had been increasing, her breathing was getting raspier each time I saw her. Everyone tries to comfort me by saying she's in a better place, but just knowing she's not hurting anymore makes it ok with me. I've been sharing stories with friends and family over the past week, stories that I think show what Mom was really like. Some stories are funny, some are sad, all are true. I'll probably put some of those stories here over the next week, both for therapeutic purposes and to make sure I remember them later.

I'd like to thank everyone who's sent their condolences and offered their support. It's comforting to know there's people out there thinking of me (and Mom). I'd make a list but I don't want to leave anyone out unintentionally, so for now I offer up a blanket "Thank You" to all.

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I Love You

12.03.2008

... were the last words my Mom ever spoke to me.




Mom
Jan 10, 1947 - Dec 2, 2008

I love you too Mom.

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Old Man Poplin

11.24.2008

Early this morning my best friend lost his father.

It's one of those times I want to talk about how good a man he was, how he always made me feel like one of the family, how he taught me little things that I should have already picked up over the past 20+ years, how we could laugh at him and he would laugh along with us, how he never got mad when I always ended up breaking something whenever he moved to a new house, how I could talk to him and not feel like I was talking over his head (or listening and thinking it was over my head).

I wish I knew the right words to tell Jer. He's been like a brother to me for years. I'm going to miss his dad too.

Possibly after one of the many times helping Old Man Poplin move, I found myself in an odd discussion revolving around the phrase "Say it ain't so, Joe". For years (forever?), I thought the phrase was attributed to Joe Dimaggio regarding the death of Marilyn Monroe. Old Man Poplin was quick to correct me by telling me at was a phrase attributed to Shoeless Joe Jackson regarding the 1919 World Series Scandal.

"Great," I told him, "now that's going to be stuck in my head forever." Old Man Poplin gave me a quizzical look as I went on to explain "I have a finite amount of memory, like a card catalog drawer. Now I'm going to be taking a calculus test and trying to remember the answer, I'll mentally pull out the card that's supposed to have the answer but see 'Shoeless Joe Jackson' on it instead."

I can't remember how to calculate derivatives, but I remember Shoeless Joe.

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