The Post-It Notes I Scribbled the Day Before My Mother Died

[From the archives. A few weeks after my mother died in December of 2012.]

I finally dragged myself out of bed yesterday to tackle some of the dust bunnies (really Golden Retriever bunnies) that have accumulated in our bedroom and when I was swiffering out under our bed, the following note scritched its way off of our hardwood floor:

“More out of it.
Wheezing.
Declined a LOT today.
On morphine and ativan for comfort.
Flailing arms–a sign of breathing problems.
Death is imminent.
Deep, deep decline.
Inserted a foley catheter because she can’t get out of bed any more.
Can you come right away?”

Yes. It was the scrap of paper on which I frantically scribbled notes the Monday before my mother died.

The back of the paper has a bunch of flight information—times and costs. And I did fly out the next morning. But it was too late. She died less than an hour before I arrived.
 
Grief is so strange. You’re going along one day, sweeping for the first time in weeks (gross, I know!), and then your chest is crushed by shaky words on a yellow paper.

I barely remember writing the note. I’m not surprised it ended up on the floor. Pain and adrenaline really do short out our functional memories. When people talk about “just going through the motions”, that is a great description of what it means to keep going, even after a shock.

My sister and I are pretty much just going through the motions lately. I keep trying to give myself permission to be sad. My strong instinct is to tell myself things like, “I’m just so grateful for the time we had with my mom” (and I am); “Who would have thought we would ever be such close friends given our start in life?” (not me!); “It’s good to hurt, that means you have loved and been loved” (true).

But really? It’s Saturday morning and all I want to do is roll over and call my mom and tell her the adorable Sophie and Ella stories from last night and how Fred is whomping me at Words with Friends and how sorry I am her cat is sick.

I miss my friend. I miss my mom. Death just totally stinks. And I’m sick of crying because I always get a bad headache when I cry and I already feel terrible physically. Plus we had a super fun family morning watching old movies—it’s amazing how much Soph and Ella look alike! Especially at this age (3-4).

All of this reminds me of a DesiringGod post from last month. Did you read this?

Christmas: The Dawn of Death’s Destruction

Amen & Amen! Thank God for the nativity. And the Cross. And most of all for the resurrection and the return of Christ in glory which makes peace with God, peace with others (even mentally ill, sober alcoholic mothers), and peace within possible.

Big hugs,
Tara B.