Two years ago, in the wee hours of the morning, mom’s birthday in heaven began.
About a week before, mom had been moved from the general population to the memory unit at Mala Strana because staff was worried that she might be a wandering risk. When I visited her the Sunday before she died, she began to have the onset of pneumonia again. She had recurring bouts with pneumonia the last two years of her life. Of course, she was very compliant about doing all the protocols needed to combat the infection when it occurred.
That Sunday, mom was a bit put off in temperament. It could be a part of living in a new room, or the pneumonia, but she was not in good humor. I remember us sitting in an area outside of her room and mom complaining about people and saying, “who says I can’t go into their rooms.” I asked her about what she was complaining. She pointed to the door immediately behind me. It was the fire exit door that had a sign saying “Open only in case of an emergency.” I told her it was the fire exit. I think she was a bit miffed and told me it was time to leave.
The next day, I was called by the nurses that mom had an simultaneous break of her left femur as she was being lifted off the toilet. I rushed over to the nursing home and the nurses had mom in bed seeing to her comfort. Looking at her left leg, it was obvious her femur was broken. Mom, always a bit anal compulsive, said she wanted to get up and straighten out some clutter in the corner of her room. But I assured that I would take care of it for her. When the hospice nurse arrived, the nurse and I quietly conversed outside of mom’s room. The nurse had been apprised of mom’s condition, and asked if I wanted mom taken to the hospital for x-rays. I said no, why put mom through unnecessary pain. I explained I had had a high left femur break and the x rays damn near killed me. It was clear to the visible eye that mom had a femur break. It was also clear that with advanced osteoporosis mom would never have a femur nailing and with onset of pneumonia would not survive surgery. Without being able to be up and moving, the pneumonia would only get worse and cause death. I had to make the decision to let mom die peacefully and in no pain.
So, began a five day vigil at the side of mom as she slowly, yet peacefully died. During those days, the staff of the nursing home came by to say their goodbyes. She was well loved by the nurses and nurses aides of the nursing homes, many of them crying as they said their goodbyes. Mom was comatose during this time. I continued to let her know how much I loved and cared for her. At 4 a.m. June 30th, we got called that mom had died. I had kept it together during the week, but upon Ruthie and I arriving at the hospital, I sat down by her side and wept.
During that week, I had written her obituary and planned her funeral, something in which I had become an expert at over 42 years of pastoral and liturgical ministry. I composed my homily for her funeral, and like I had for Mary Ruth, and Dad, I ministered at her funeral Mass.
My brother, Bill, was in Chicago and too ill to travel. When I spoke to him on the phone, he told me that he was not too sure how long he would live. Bill would die seven months later.
Mom’s funeral was on July 3rd. Many of those who knew mom in New Prague were away on their July 4th holidays, and since many of mom’s long time friends were either too sick, too elderly, or had died, the funeral was small. My Aunt Mary traveled from Pittsburgh to the funeral, God bless her! My father-in-law, Al, who had buried my mother-in-law Rosemary in January, was there with also some of Ruth’s siblings. Friends and parishioners were also there to celebrate mom’s life and mom’s life with God.
During that quiet time, following communion, I had a piano song prayer played in memory of mom. It was one I composed for mom as a birthday present back in the 1990’s. I offer it here in memory of this great woman, who loved me in life, and continues to love me and be present to me now that she experiences the fullness of life in the presence of God with my Dad, my sister, Mary Ruth, and my brother, Bill.
