Christmas Lights To Remember

Last week I had the opportunity to share the story of my mom's passing with my boss. (I work in an assissted living facility now and we were talking about what happens there, when one of the residents dies.) By the time I finished my story...we were both laughing. You see...there is humor both in life...and in death.

Sometime I will write about the end of mom's life. About how moving it was to witness her life draw to a close and about what an honor it was for me to be there with her. But not today. Today, I will share the lighter side of the story.



It was December 29, 2009. We all knew mom's life was coming to an end. After living with Alzheimer's Disease for over seven years, her passing would come at any moment. There was a different feeling in our home that day. Kind of a heavy feeling...not necessarily of sadness...but more of resignation, or acceptance, perhaps. Family came by. Friends came by. Our pastor came by. Each spent a bit of time with mom in her room...then they left. And mom was still here. I slept with her that night. Singing Christmas carols and Sunday School songs softly to her, praying over her and just cuddling with her. I was sure she'd be gone by morning...but she wasn't.

In the morning, outside of mom's bedroom, life went on. As "normally" as it had been for years. Jeff and I had coffee and read the paper. He had the day off, which I was thankful for. Stephanie got up, kissed mom goodbye and went to work...leaving us with the instructions, "Call me if anything happens."

Jennifer came over...she decided to take the day off. Her husband, Terry, would come by later. Kori (originally Jenn's friend) took the day off also. Over the years she had come to think of mom as "her grandma" too.

As the day creeped along, Jeff puttered around the house, the girls watched TV and I went back and forth between chatting with them, checking on mom...and napping alongside her. It was about suppertime and Jeff was pondering what he would make for us. I took that opportunity to crawl back in bed with mom. Within minutes...mom died. It was a very peaceful passing. Not at all what I was ready for. No sound. No nothing. And I wondered, "So...that's it? All the years we spent together...and that's it? No final words to me?" (I probably would've jumped out of my skin if there were any last words...as she hadn't really spoke to me in months.) I took her pulse...several times...and there was just...nothing.

I went into the living room where everyone was sitting and announced, "She's gone." "Are you sure?" Jenn asked. "I took her pulse" I said, holding my palms upward, as I did when the kids were little, (the "all gone" pose) shaking my head..."nothing." It was as if a signal to take action went off. Everyone got up and we all went into mom's room. For a few moments we all were sitting on mom's bed, silently saying our goodbyes. "Are you sure she's dead?" Kori asked. "I took her pulse several times. You can try too." And they did. Each of them. On her neck and on her wrists. No pulse anywhere. We even got a little compact mirror and held it under her nose to see if there would be even a tiny little trace of steamy breath on there. (Something one of us must have seen on some TV cop show once.) Still nothing. Yes. We were all in agreement that mom had died. "So...now what do we do?" Jenn asked. "Well. We don't HAVE to do anything right this minute." I said. "We should call Stephanie. And Amy and David...Uncle Bob...and then when we're ready...we should call Hospice." Steph said that she would try and leave work as soon as possible...but she didn't feel the need to see mom's body. And she didn't want to be showing up as the body was being taken out by the mortuary people. Okay. Understandable. The first call was done. Check. We made the rest of the family calls. Amy, check. David, check. Uncle Bob, check. I had this mental list of things I needed to do...and felt that if I went slowly I could check them off one by one. Four calls down...one to go. Hospice. I called Hospice thinking that they would call the funeral home and they would come right by and pick mom up. After all...the funeral home was only twenty blocks away. That's not exactly how it went. Hospice did call the funeral home...but apparently it was a busy night for them...and we were told that they could come in about three hours. Who knew a funeral home could have busy nights? Like a lunch rush in a restaurant! We agreed to the 9:00 pick up time...thinking that it actually would work out just fine...as Steph would be home a little before 10:00...and they surely would be gone by then. It would also give us enough time to pack up some clothes, make-up etc. to send with them.

I blew out the small candles that had been burning in mom's room. They had provided enough light for "end of life hours"...but now we needed more light. We had clothes to pick out, makeup and accessories to choose...the bedroom light was going to have to be switched on. I had gotten rid of most of mom's clothing a year ago...saving a few of her favorite outfits...and those were the ones we were debating over. Once the dress was decided upon, the accessories were next. Then came the "wig or no wig" question. Mom was born a red head. And she considered herself a red head. She had worn Eva Gabor wigs for decades. When she began losing her hair from chemotherapy, she snipped off a good size lock of hair and sewed it to a paper tab...so she could bring that swatch into the wig store with her...forever. For the last three years of her life, however, we didn't put the wigs on her. We opted for her second choice...the turban. Very chic. And much more comfortable. So...we were used to her with no wig...but should she be buried with one on? I voted no. Let her go au natural. I was quickly...and loudly outvoted. "Grandma would not be caught dead without her wig and make up on!" All of these choices were made in mom's room, sitting on her bed...with her still in there. Although she had no say in the matter...we kept looking over at her...lovingly, like we were girlfriends picking out what she was going to wear to the prom!
Once everything was packed up and ready to go, we turned off the light and went back into the living room. It was almost 9:00. Jeff said, "I turned on the Christmas lights outside...so your mom can see them from heaven. She can tell everyone...'See those lights...that's our house!'" (We do put up a LOT of lights. Thousands of lights. It is quite possible that they can be seen from heaven.) I sat on the piano bench by the window, next to the Christmas tree and waited for the mortuary people. A van pulled up and stopped. "I think it's them. They're getting out of the van." Then there was a white flash. "Nope. It's someone taking pictures of the decorations." They left. A few minutes later, another van pulled up. "I think this is them." Flash. Flash. More pictures of the house with all the lights. A third van pulled up. Two men in dark suits got out. They looked at the house and paused for a moment. I'm sure as busy as they had been that night...they had not made any pick ups from a house more decorated than ours. "Come on in." I said as I met them on the porch. "Probably the brightest house you've been to tonight, eh?" "That's for sure." one fellow answered. Once inside, I don't know for sure what they expected to see...but I couldn't help but feel they were surprised. The house was as fully decorated on the inside as the outside. Nativity scenes, snowmen, Santa's, poinsettias...everywhere! I got the feeling that part of their job was to console us a bit...but that's not "where we were." They were quite subdued, formally dressed...being very careful and respectful...and looking a bit bewildered. We, on the other hand, were in jeans, sweatshirts and slippers...and we had mom all packed up and ready to go.

I led them to mom's room and they assessed the situation. Their gurney was not going to make it around the corners to her room...this was for sure. Trying to be helpful, I suggested that they stand it on end and take it in there that way...like we did the antique sofa. The two men looked at me like I was crazy. Then I began to giggle...as I got the mental picture of how that would look coming OUT of mom's room...with mom on board. "Uh...never mind. I guess that wouldn't really work so well..." It was decided that they would roll the gurney in as far as possible and then carry her to it. Which they did. I offered to help...but they thought it best for me to go back into the living room and wait. I obliged. Kori then turned to me in a panic and asked, "What if she's not really dead? Shouldn't we get an official opinion?" My first impulse was to laugh. More than three hours had passed since the four of us had each declared that mom was indeed gone. We had been in her room the whole time, on her bed, lights on. There was no sign of life at all. I could see that she was really serious...she was worried. Laughing would not have been a helpful response. "Oh Kori...Honey...I would not have called for them to come pick mom up, if for even a fleeting moment, I felt that she might be still alive."

Just then, they rolled mom's body into the living room. She had been laying on her side, knees bent, when she died. Now she was on her back, knees bent, on the gurney. One of the men was trying to straighten out her legs a bit...which startled me. "You know...her knees have been bent for years...arthritis...I really don't think you're going to straighten them out now." "Oh. Okay. How about if we turn her back on her side then?" he asked. "That would be fine." I told him. So he did. They had a pillow under her head. And a beautiful quilt over her body. We each gave her a goodbye kiss and they rolled her towards the front door.

As they were carrying her out the door and down the front steps, a station wagon pulled up across the street from our house. Flash. Flash. It made me chuckle. How many people do you suppose have a photo like that? A house fully decorated for Christmas, with a multitude of colorful lights on both sides of the yard...and in the middle of it all...coming down the walkway, a body being carried out on a gurney, by two men in dark suits. Won't they be surprised when they download their photos!

A Vision...or a Dream?

Last Fall, I had this picture in my mind. It remained on my "front burner" for several months. I'm not sure if it was a vision...or if it was a dream.
Mom and I had been traveling together. We were in no hurry...just walking along. We met people on the way and enjoyed their company...but they were only temporary companions...they were not full partners in our journey.
I knew that our final destination was a beautiful home, where a grand party was in progress. I was not on the guest list...yet, but mom's invitation was tucked away safely in my bag. Neither of us had been to this place...but I knew we were on the right path. The plan was that I would walk with her up to the front porch and ring the doorbell. When the door would open, I would give her a kiss goodbye and see her safely inside. Then I would head back home.
As Fall turned to Winter...it was as if I had zoomed in on that picture. The road we had been traveling had come to an end. We were now resting on a split rail fence. Not speaking...just sitting together at the property's edge...spending some last moments together before we parted ways. The house was lovely. It was a white, large home with lots of windows. We could hear laughter and music from where we sat. Mom recognized many of the folks inside. I could tell she was anxious to join them. Together, we slid off the fence and began walking towards the house. The grass had that freshly cut smell and was soft on our feet. Everything looked so inviting. I couldn't blame mom for wanting to go in...nor could I shake the overwhelming sadness I felt at letting her go. On the porch, we shared a hug. A big hug. I gave her a kiss. Before I could even ring the doorbell, the front door opened wide and I heard the voices from inside call out, "Lois! Welcome! We're so glad you are here! We've been waiting for you!" Mom stepped in and the door closed. The party continued inside...and I was left standing on the porch.
Our trip was completed. I had done what I had promised to do...stay with her until we reached what was really her destination. What a wonderful journey we shared. Someday, that home will be my destination. I am certain that when I finally arrive...mom will make her way to the front of the crowd to be one of the first to welcome me in.