If there was a way I could describe my mom in one word, I’d use the word “fighter.” As a woman who had 9 children, she fought for us our entire lives. She fought traffic to get us to our appointments; she fought the societal standards to give us the best lives possible; and frequently, especially as teenagers, she fought with us. My mom fought long and hard, and never lost a single battle. Not a single person mentioned the words “giving up” when it came time for hospice – even though she wasn’t on hospice services for very long.
Two or three days prior to my mom dying, there were several people coming to and going from our house, making calls, and bringing food. My siblings flew in from out of town and we stayed as physically close as possible to her and each other as we could. We slept in chairs, on the floor, and doubled up in beds because we didn’t want to be alone. We dared not even to go to the store alone! We sat, stewed, waited, watched, and prayed. The night before my mom died, one of her oldest friends, Denise, came over to sit with her so that my siblings and I could
go to dinner together. We went to Old Juan’s Cantina and for the first twenty minutes or so, we sat quietly. Worrying … we checked our phones for updates from Denise. Our food arrived and we relaxed a little and did what we do best … EAT! We went back to mom’s house and nestled into our beds, trying our best to sleep. That was Sunday night.
Monday morning came and I had to go into work. My boss told me to stay home – he’d go into the shop and open up, but I was determined to continue as if everything was normal. I left the house at 8:30 a.m. and arrived at the store by 9:15 a.m. By 10:30 a.m. my sister texted me to come home. I called one of my employees to cover for me and left the minute he arrived. I drove 85 mph the entire way home, pulled into the driveway, and saw everyone already crying – I had missed it. I was so angry with myself; so disappointed that I had let her down and wasn’t there for her. I threw my purse across the room. I threw off my sunglasses, collapsed at the foot of her bed, and wailed. I cried for me. I cried for her. I cried for us. I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was my mom’s hospice nurse. She said, “Wait, look!” I looked up and my mom took one last breath and then she was gone. She waited for me to get home before she truly went. Even in the last moments of her life … she was taking care of me. She waited for me, because she knew I’d be disappointed in myself if I missed it. She waited for me, because she wanted me to be there with her.
I didn’t know exactly how hospice could take care of a patient and their family until I started working for Heart ‘n Home. I didn’t realize how important care for social and spiritual pain was. I didn’t realize the impact they could have on a death. My mom had a good death – she was surrounded by her kids.
I am really passionate about hospice because I’ve been on the receiving end and it allowed my mom to remain comfortable in her home with our family. My mom passed away on February 17, 2014. She was a late referral from the hospital during her last visit there. She was having a pain crisis. My mom had already beaten the Ovarian Cancer, had gone back to work, and gone back to having a life when it reared its ugly head once more. Only this time, it took her from us. My parents gave each of my siblings a gift – they gave us each other. Hospice gave my siblings and me the resources and education we needed to be a family, and to not have to be her nurses. Hospice gave us the comfort of our home while taking care of our mom. Hospice gave my mom her last wish – to be with her kids, to have her grandchildren laughing, and to have a cartoon playing in the background. Hospice is a gift. I’m grateful to be a part of it.
Fruitland Volunteer Coordinator