Underneath

Last night we were enjoying a most scrumptious meal of tuna via the Honolulu Fish Company. It was so lovely that I thanked the spirit of the fish that gave its life so we could enjoy this most amazing nourishment. I prepared lovely slices of sashimi and constructed a recipe using what we have for tuna poke.

We were also feeling rather celebratory as Macy completed her final exams online for the spring semester of her freshman year. We were supposed to travel to Boston this upcoming weekend to watch her in a dance performance. None of this has gone the way planned anticipated desired longed for. But still. We find happy and peace and structure in our new routine. She has two weeks before summer classes begin. And we should be getting a new foster puppy this weekend so the timing is perfect.

There we were. Enjoying our nightly banter. Sharing stories of our days spent in separate online communities. I shared that mom’s new hospice nurse had called and introduced herself. She saw mom yesterday. I thanked her for all that she and her colleagues do knowing their job is difficult on the best of days and I cannot imagine fathom how it is now. In the time of this crisis pandemic. Separation isolation patients with dementia who do not cannot begin to comprehend understand.

(She spoke of the two masks she wears. That everyone now seems so alien unreal hallucinatory dream. To these residents. People confused about how to do the most basic simple of daily activities. People who need help with each and every bodily function.)

She said mom did not speak to her. But she is new and all of this. Mom seemed spacey.

(This part is the only section segment of the conversation I shared with my family. I told the hospice nurse that this is the progression of the disease. She has been becoming less aware less interactive less communicative.

Less

Mom’s hands have sores. I cut her nails at our last meeting. The last time I was permitted to spend time with her. Thinking it would just be two weeks. But she needs this done to help avoid more pain cuts infections. As her hands close in on themselves. Staff cannot do this. It needs to be a hospice nurse or family member. The hospice nurse had not noticed the state of her nails but said she would look next time. She and a colleague will be sharing splitting their visits with patients during this time)

The girls spoke about their online classes exams friends funny tik toks. J.P. talked of his day.

Then a text. J.P.’s sister texted him that he needed to call her immediately. A family friend. The best friend of his mother. Diagnosed with cancer as this pandemic reached its claws and scratched away at our lives. Her capacity ability to receive appropriate care. Denied. Unavailable. Extremely exceptionally limited. J.P. spoke with her two weeks ago. She sounded upbeat. Her attempt at normalcy humor discussing politics. She attended our wedding. Had grown up with and been best friends with his mom. Her presence filled a hole gap missing piece. Provided support love acknowledgement.

He leapt from the table and walked outside as he spoke to his sister. Learning that Judy does not have much time left. That she is declining. That in this time place limited resources and access. Not much can be done. And we cannot jump on a plane. To spend time with her. Sharing goodbyes thanks appreciation for this place in his heart and life.

I cried. Sobbed. At the table. For Judy at the beginning. But then for my mom.

See. The hardest part. Of all of this. Is imagining. Knowing. My mom does not have me by her side.

I have known. Understood. Prepared as much as one can. For the loss of my mom.

But.

I have always. In everything. Been at or near the side of death. Held loved ones. People and pets. As they passed. Into onto what. Sometimes I have felt the passing more than others. The release of the spirit. The leap flight burst of freedom from pain.

The intimacy of dying

The touch of a hand

Love shared through tears

I am supposed to be at my mother’s side. Holding her. When she passes. When she leaves the pain and confusion. Joins my dad. I feel this in my bones.

I cried for all of it. For everyone who dies alone.

It is not death that scares me. It is isolation in death. Not having loving eyes look deeply into yours. Not having the opportunity to remind them. Of stories of youth. Of laughter. Of love.

Surrounded by my family. The intimacy of our dinner table. Of our nightly ritual.

Hands and arms reached out to hold me. Comfort me.

Each day. I move through all of it. I am happy.

But

Underneath

(Not too deep)

(Photo of my mom holding me dated September 2, 1968)