Shroomin'

                                                                    My Mother's Hospice

 

 

In March 2021, after my mother had a stroke that left her largely incapacitated, my husband and I moved her into our home in lieu of a care facility. She remained in palliative care until the last few weeks when we provided active hospice care, culminating in her death here at home in March 2022. Here’s what I hoped for her, provided to her, and received from her during her year-long stay:

• To keep her here and out of the hospital or a facility.
• To quickly (!!) renovate our home to accommodate her new physical needs. 
• To arrange for in-home physician palliative care.
• To retain (after some trial and error) the best caretaker in the world, Rachel, to assist me.
• To make her as comfortable as humanly possible.
• To make her happy. To make us both happy.
• To keep her at the center of our home life, in the living room, ensconced in the uniquely feminine recliner we bought especially for her. Here she sat (when she wasn’t sleeping), looking out at the trees, the sky, the regular dog-walkers (who she timed obsessively), and the children playing in the street.
• To find television series or movies that she enjoyed—not always easy because she was discerning in inconsistent ways!
• To sit with her on the back deck in clement weather where she became an avid, first-time bird watcher. We made sure the keep the feeders full for her viewing pleasure.
• To arrange for in-home haircuts.
• When the time came, to move a hospital bed into her bedroom.
• To sit next to her and hold her hand.
• To have authentic heart-to-heart talks.
• To comfort her in her recent widowhood for my Dad died in January 2020.
• To keep her free from COVID.
• To receive the unexpected gift of her unconditional validation and blessing—daily.
• To lie next to her in bed, talking, until she fell asleep.
• To keep her pain-free.
• To prepare her favorite foods—a challenge because she was a meat-eater in a vegan home. I did my best!
• To ensure we never ran out of rugelach, her morning and afternoon snack, from the kosher French bakery across the street.
• To manage her numerous daily telephone calls (she had impaired dexterity and could not manipulate her iPhone) with her adoring children, other family members, and her old friends.
• To host family as they came from near and far to visit her.
• To discuss frankly with her what she might expect with regard to her steady decline and poor prognosis, the dying process and, ultimately, death.
• To provide her the tender mothering at the end of her life that she did not receive at the beginning.
• To midwife her death.

If it appears that I did most of the giving here that would be a grave misconception. The fact of the matter is that I will spend the remainder of my days unpacking the gifts she bestowed upon me during those numinous twelve months when she was in my safekeeping.