When I did laundry, bought dates, and roasted almonds, I thought I knew what lay ahead.
When I counted out eight days of underwear and socks, I thought I knew how long I’d be gone.
When I made the arrangements for someone to watch the cat and water the garden, I thought I knew what I would come home to.
I thought I was traveling to another county, instead, I traveled to another land.
I thought I was going to focus on tai chi, instead, I focused on my Mother’s respirations.
On Sunday it became unexpectedly obvious that I’d not be leaving for Canada with six other members of the local Taoist tai chi branch. Instead I’d be going to Rose Arbor Hospice to be with my Mother. We arrived at hospice around supper time on Tuesday evening, Mom in an ambulance, Dad and myself in our cars.Rose Arbor is an open, spacious building with rooms generously spaced so there is privacy without shutting the door or closing the blinds.
I was entering another land. A land where the time until one’s death is measured not in years but by the bluish tint of their nail beds and the purple splotches on their feet. When I’d venture out for food or to feed the cat it was disorientating to observe people living their lives as if death was not present. I felt myself longing to be back at Rose Arbor in the spacious, tender embrace of death.
When Roxanne came in Thursday morning and said if your Father and Brother want to be here when your Mom dies you should call them now, I hesitated. I wanted to be alone with Mom. I’d envisioned the day just the two of us in silence, sharing the still spaciousness.
I realized I should let my Father and Brother know. I texted my Brother and called my Father. I hung up the phone, sat on the bed and turned to Mom. She breathed once, sighed and was gone.
The gift of being at hospice with Mom will carry me through much of what will come. My experience is all the more miraculous because Mom and I were at odds for much of my life. Her vulnerability as she progressively weakened seemed to create space for us to become closer. She asked me a few weeks before she died “How come it was so difficult when you younger?” “Because I was younger” I said.
Editor’s Note:
Nancy Glass passed away March 5, 2020. She attended our Body Mind Story workshop and was willingly (& happily) featured in our 2017 “We Are MBS” collection. Read about her HERE . RIP, dear one.