My mother, with two of her wonderful caregivers, two weeks before she died
I wish now that I had spent more time being a caregiver for my mother in the last years of her life.
I wish now that I had spent more time being a caregiver for my mother in the last years of her life.
After my father retired and sold his medical practice, my parents did the snowbird thing, summers in New Jersey and winters in Florida. In each place they lived in a gated community where there were people to mow the grass or shovel the snow and keep an eye on the vacant houses when their owners were away. Even when my father died, my mother continued this biannual migration. But eventually, in her 90s, she decided it was too much for her and she would just stay in Florida all year. She authorized my sisters and me to clean out the New Jersey house and then sell it, which we did. I have to admit that my sisters did all the work. I just flew out one weekend to go through the house and take the things I wanted, which included a bunch of her clothes (we were the same size), artwork, books, and a few other odds and ends.
Once she was living full-time in Florida, she started hinting about how nice it would be if one of her daughters came to live nearby. She would tell us stories about all her friends who had adult children living in the area and how great it was for them. Of the three of us, I’m the only one who is retired, so it would have been the most logical for me to move. But I still had a daughter at home finishing high school. When we looked at colleges, we visited several in Florida, including one, Lynn University, which was located in Boca Raton, right near where my mother lived in Delray Beach. The others — Rollins, Stetson, and Eckert — weren’t quite as convenient, but still in the same state, not so very far away. I had visions of moving to Florida and being close to my mother and my daughter at the same time. My mother, however, was horrified at the idea of Molly going to college in Florida, saying “there aren’t any good colleges in Florida!” It was only later that she asked one of my sisters if she thought that I would spend more time in Florida if Molly was in college there, to which the answer was “of course!” Then she probably regretted taking that position, but we really weren’t influenced by it anyway.
Molly ended up choosing a school in California because a bad experience with humidity in Costa Rica convinced her that she didn’t want to deal with Florida weather. So I never had that opportunity. But I wish now that I had been able to spend more time with my mother both while she was still able to live independently and even after she got sick. I could have driven her places while she was still mobile, helped her with errands and doctor’s appointments, and held her in the shower when her balance got so bad that she was afraid she would fall. I would not have wanted to be her full-time caregiver, but it would have been so meaningful to me to be able to do some of the things that would make her life easier. My sisters managed to be helpful from a distance, finding products online that solved various problems she was having, and then sending them to her. They were more attuned to her problems, because she complained to them, but she never complained to me. The product I remember most vividly was a gizmo that attached armrests to the toilet, because she was having trouble getting up and down. They actually had it shipped to the house where we were having our family reunion, and my husband installed it in her bathroom in the reunion house. Then when my sister took her back home, she installed it on her toilet at home. This made a huge difference, and she was so appreciative!
Of course we all thought she would live a lot longer than she did. Her older sister Daisy lived to 102, although her mental faculties starting declining a few years earlier. My mother was mentally sharp until the end, it was her darn pancreas that betrayed her. From the time she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer it was only three and a half weeks until she died. A week after her diagnosis, and only a couple of days after she left the hospital and moved into the skilled nursing facility in her community, I flew out to spend a week with her. She was in some pain, and was hardly getting out of bed, but was so happy to see me. I loved talking with her, reading to her, coaxing her to eat delicious morsels I brought from the dining room, and massaging and lotioning her feet and ankles. Of course, there were professional caregivers there to do the heavy lifting (literally), like getting her out of bed to go to the bathroom, or helping her walk a little bit to improve her circulation. When I left, I said I’ll be back in a few weeks, wait for me. But she couldn’t. Ten days later she was gone. And I miss her every day.
Suzy
Such a moving story, Suzy — your opening sentence reverberates as you lead us through the timeline. The part where you’re massaging and lotioning your mom’s feet tore me up, because that’s what my mom wanted most and what I didn’t do enough. I’m grateful for you all that her final illness only lasted a short time, even though it meant you had less time with her: The fact that you miss her every day speaks to the depth of your feelings for her. Thank you for your openness and honesty!
Thank you Barb, and thanks also for your encouragement offline as I was trying to write this story. I actually have a story from the week she died, called This Story Is Not About Cooking (because the prompt that week was Cooking), which I went back and read to refresh my memory.
I can only echo what Barb has said above about your incredibly moving story. And I, too, loved the details, such as massaging your mom’s feet and, yes, even the toilet gizmo. (And — spoiler alert – if you have not yet seen the latest season of “Grace and Frankie,” their invention of just such a gizmo is a major plot line.)
I only hope, with time, that the regrets you express in the opening sentence of your story will disappear and you can simply appreciate the time you and your mom did have together.
Thanks, John. I have not seen the new season of G&F yet, although I absolutely adore that show! Now I need to get on it right away to find out about their new invention!
Great, heartfelt story, Suzy, and it is always so hard when you are torn between responsibilities and what you want, and don’t feel you can do enough. I’m so glad you did get to spend that caring time with your mom in the weeks before she died. Don’t you wish time and energy were infinite?
Thank you, Marian. Yes, it would be nice to have infinite time and energy. And to be able to travel cross country in an hour or so. That’s what would really have helped with my mother – it took all day to get to Florida from California, so I couldn’t just pop over to see her very easily.
Suzy, try to give up those regrets, it’s obvious how much your mother loved and appreciated you.
But of course there are always things we wish we had or hadn’t done. When my mother was ailing (and was soon to be hospitalized never to recover – altho of course we didn’t know it then), I remember yelling at her and she cried. What was I yelling at her about? She hadn’t signed up for some adult ed courses I thought she would enjoy and where she might meet other widows to befriend in her loneliness!
I regret that to this day – 20 years later!
Thanks, Dana. I don’t have many regrets, it was really just this prompt that made me think about how nice it would have been to spend more time with her. We always had a good time when we were together.
Ah yes. I think it wasn’t until my mother died that I realized she had always been my best friend.
I remember the story you wrote the week your mother passed away, Suzy. How heartbroken you were, how much you loved her, how much she meant to you. Pancreatic cancer is just the worst – the silent killer. It took my father-in-law, but after two years. But it took the first of my father’s brothers after six weeks. I am still so sorry for your loss, as I can still feel your pain.
You wanted to be there for your mother, and I’m sure, in many ways you were. You probably spoke with her often and kept her apprised of what her grandchildren were up to. But you had an established life in Sacramento, so it was difficult to uproot yourself. You came and took good care of her in those last days, with great tenderness and love. My father has been gone 30 years and I still miss him. You will always miss your mother. Think of all the wonderful times you had with her; the fun, the joy. May her memory be a blessing.
Betsy, thank you for your sweet and thoughtful comment. Yes I did speak with her every Sunday evening, and there were times when I had other things I wanted to be doing, and I wished I didn’t have to make the call. Now, of course, on Sundays especially, I so wish I could call her just to chat. But her memory is definitely a blessing and always will be.
Oh, Suzy, I lived your story with my mother as well. It is so hard to be a long-distance caregiver. Even though she was only a 5 1/2-hour drive away and we visited as often as we could the last 3 years of her life (after my father died), I knew it was not the same as being there on a daily basis like she was for her mother. I sent her a ton of stuff to make her life easier — what she called disposable panties, pill sorters, a blender to mix with the ensure I sent plus ice cream, etc. But my brothers who lived nearby did the heavy lifting and I felt guilty all of the time. When she was admitted to the hospital dying and I took the first flight to Detroit in a storm, I knew she wasn’t really there when I finally arrived, even though they didn’t pull the plug until I got there. The whole story of that trip is too sad to tell and still makes me cry. I want to believe somehow she knew I was with her at the end, but I guess that’s magical thinking. So I feel your pain, my friend.
It may not be magical thinking, she could have known. My two sisters were with my mother at what turned out to be the end, and I asked them if I should make the cross-country flight to be there too. They said, only if it would be helpful for you, because she won’t know if you are here or not. I didn’t go, but I wondered later if that was a mistake.
Excellent story, Suzy. Your experience with your mother in her last years is very similar to mine. A lot of regrets. You’ve captured those feelings of loss and remorse, and at the same time you’ve celebrated your mother.
Thank you, Edward. It seems as if many of us have had similar experiences with our parents. And of course, that is the beauty of Retrospect, that we can share them with each other and realize that we are not alone.