My Mother’s Last Hours
My mother died in 2010, on a short wintry day in December. The winter solstice was approaching, and I recall driving many dark miles through the rain to pay her a visit on the night before she died.
Christmas shopping had been on my mind that day, distracting me from what I knew, but didn’t want to know, was happening to my mother.
My mother’s last words to me that night were nothing much. No parting words of love. No heartfelt messages to the grandchildren.
She lay in her bed in her room in a senior residence, her head propped up on pillows, eating a little soup with the help of a caregiving staffer. When the caregiver left the room, my mother turned her head on her pillows and said to me, “Get me some water, would you, Barb?”
No please. No thank you. Just a matter-of-fact, “Get me some water, would you, Barb?”
In the years since my mother’s death, I’ve often felt short-changed by our last moments together. I’ve felt sadness — and regret — that our last days and hours together weren’t more meaningful and profound for her, and for me.
Her Last Breath
The next day, I was in the hospital with my mother as she took her last breath. She was too weak to speak now, so her unadorned, “Get me some water, would you, Barb?” of the night before would be the last words I’d hear from her.
And now all these years later, as the winter solstice approaches again, on December 21 this year, I’m thinking about my mother’s last hours and the request she made of me. And I find that I am satisfied with those words, with their familiarity, with the fact that no “please” was offered or expected.
Tucked away in my mother’s simple request was the message: “You’re my daughter and I’m your mother and that’s that.”
Read about an early shopping trip with my mother at “My Mother’s Magical Babushka.”
0 Responses
well done, barb, both getting the water for your mom and capturing the universal emotions involved. love her photograph.
Yes. I love that photo of my mother. I took it one summer along the shores of Lake Michigan. Our favorite place to be.
A dear friend writes: The lesson we have learned from having parents live a long time is that precious words need to be shared long before the last minutes. It’s hard to have intimate conversations, perhaps as you said because we hope the last moments won’t come soon.
I’d suggest perhaps part of the message was: “You’re my daughter and I know you love me and will do whatever you can for me.”
Yes. Being a mother and a daughter was an unconditional thing for my mother and me. The love we felt for each other might not have been top of mind at every moment, but the fact of our bond was . . . a fact.