I had the kind of relationship with my mother that many daughters only dream of. We maintained a deep connection my entire life. She told me that even as a tiny child when I reached out to touch the stove I paused, to look at her first, and all she had to do was think for me to stop and I withdrew my hand. I was wild, certainly her daughter, and yet she never clipped my wings. In her 70’s she developed dementia and it was an excruciatingly long goodbye over the next several years. During that time I started to sing my hello, so she would always know it was me, even though it sounded so silly to others. It worked well, and even when she couldn’t remember anything, anything at all, she would perk up and know that it was me when I sang my silly hello. I flew to see her every three months to spend a week with her for the last years of her life. My brother would remind me she no longer even recognized him. But she always responded to my song.
My daughter-in-love Nicole has lung cancer. She is stable right now and so we planned a trip to Europe. She always dreamed of going to the Louvre so we made the plans, complete with a trip to Disneyland Paris. Three weeks of fun planned down to the minute with business class plane tickets.
The day before we were to leave I got a call from my brother. I had been busy packing for this enormous trip. Mom, now 95, had been brought into the hospital unresponsive. It looked, to all involved with her care, like it was the end. I sat down hard, the news gutting me. Not only was I faced with the news my mother was actively dying, I was supposed to leave in the morning for this enormous trip. I felt ripped in two but after deep conversations with my children, brother, sister-in law and my sister, I decided still to go. Mom was in a coma. I might not even get there in time. Nicole was packed and ready to go. I didn’t tell her.
The next morning, I had to fly to Phoenix first to connect with Nicole and after spending the night and we would fly on to Paris together. That evening, about 11:00 I just could not sit still. I was on the couch watching the end of an intense movie but I could feel her. I had spoken with the hospice nurse just an hour prior, no change, mom was still comatose. But still, I could feel her reaching for me. I ran upstairs to call again and ask that the nurse do a face-time with me so I could see momma and say goodbye. The nurse said no FaceTime but she would take the phone into her room and hold it to her ear. She said she had just come out of her room and she was resting comfortably and still unresponsive. The nurse walked to her room then said she was putting the phone to her ear now and to start talking. I sang my hello first then told my momma it was ok to go now. I said she had lived a wonderful life but now it was ok to leave and we would all be ok. And of course, I told her I loved her and to come to me with the birdies (something we had agreed upon in the earlier years of the disease). Just then the nurse came back on the line, audibly upset and stuttering, she said my mother had just taken her last breath as I was speaking.
I was absolutely tortured over the decision to fly to Paris instead of to my mother. Probably the hardest choice I ever made. But I knew her well and I knew without a doubt it would have been exactly what she would have wanted me to do.
And yes, she comes often to me with the birdies, and now she sings hello to me.