Reflections on the Second Week of Winter

 

Mom said goodbye when I called December 1^st. Several times she started to say she couldn't talk any longer because she felt like vomiting, but she kept talking. How she got to the hospital and why she was there confused her, but she remembered her home care worker had come with her husband that day and brought Mom a book to read.  

      In a calm, rational voice she said, “You'll always be my little girl . . . I'm ready for whatever happens . . . I know what you are going through. I went through this when my mother was dying.” After we'd talked about a half hour, she said, “Hey, I'm feeling better.” But she didn't want to say “goodbye.”

      I suggested we say, “I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

      Every day through December we did talk. Sometimes her energy was high, and she chatted forty minutes to an hour. Other days she wasn't feeling well, and the conversation barely lasted five minutes. Especially on the short call days, she'd say, “Thanks for calling. I appreciate you checking on me.”

      New Year's Eve Day, we had one of the short calls. I'd waited for my brother to cue me that he was visiting her at the nursing home so he could hold the phone for her. The lap quilt I'd hustled to make for her had arrived that day. She thanked me. “It's so cute.”

      I explained the quilting with Xs and Os were for hugs and kisses since I couldn't be there to hug her myself. The quilted labs were for her dog Lucy.

      She ah-ed and sniffed back tears.

      New Year's Day, my brother called to say, “Mom died last night at 11:30 . . . Your lap quilt was the last thing that made her smile.”