A Mommy Story

Aunt Dot passed away today. She was 84.

I received a call from one of my aunts this morning, telling me that Aunt Dot wasn’t able to tolerate being off the respirator this morning, and so the decision had been made to remove it entirely and let her pass. They were waiting to notify all of the family and give people the chance to come to the hospital before pulling the tube.

I joined much of the family at her bedside in the hospital, all of us saying our goodbyes and sharing a few funny stories. My aunts told me they found a bunch of garden hoses in Aunt Dot’s apartment, and we laughed that we were probably all getting garden hoses for Christmas. Her guest bedroom contained bags of junk that she had purchased when the downtown Lazarus department store closed years ago. Those trinkets were still being used to provide gifts, and the beginnings of the Christmas gift bags were sitting in the room, too, with names already on the bags.

The time came, and the tube was removed around 2pm. Some of the family thought this would be a longer process, and they had gone downstairs to get coffee. The nurse poked her head out of the room and told me, “She’s not making much effort to breathe. You’d better get everyone up here quickly, because this won’t take long.” Frantic cell phone calls were made, but only one aunt, a friend, and myself were present when the monitor displaying all of her vital signs showed nothing but zeros. The others rushed in, and the nurse followed behind them. After over a minute of no life signs on the monitor, it was turned off and the nurse left us. All was still, and she was gone.

I had never seen death before. I watched her skin take on a pale blue tint. After a few minutes, it sounded like she took a big gasp. Involuntary reflexes, we were told. Another followed about 30 seconds later, and the family began discussing funeral plans. One of my aunts smiled and said, “She’s probably up at the pearly gates right now, banging on the door and demanding to know when she gets her lunch.”

After several minutes, and a particularly loud gasping sound, I looked back at Aunt Dot. Those involuntary reflexes sure were coming regularly, I thought, and she didn’t look so blue. I placed my fingers on her wrist, and I thought I felt a pulse. The doctor then came in to officially pronounce her dead, but after listening for heart sounds, she said, “She has a heartbeat. Turn the monitor back on.” Even the nurse was surprised.

Somehow Aunt Dot was back from the dead. Normal heart rhythm, normal respirations – our eyes went wide and laughter erupted in the room. One of my second cousins, wiping away tears and with a big smile, said “Of course! She wasn’t leaving without tricking us all one more time! She knew we’d scramble up here, spilling our coffee and looking like fools.”

Everyone in the room smiled and felt so much more relaxed. The heavy weight of her death was removed, and now we again waited for her to leave us. Somehow, it was OK now. It’s like she knew we were there, and she got her last say, without saying a word.

I had to leave to feed Mira, so I wasn’t there when she died at 4:20. For real this time. She never regained consciousness, and she was made as comfortable as possible for an easy passing. This was really the best possible outcome. She didn’t have to go to a nursing home (which she would have hated), and she didn’t have to languish in pain while the lung cancer slowly devoured her. If there is any such thing as a good death, hers would probably qualify.

I didn’t get along with her. She enjoyed teasing me as a child, and I resented it. She did the same thing to Cordy, and I still resented it. But as an adult, I at least understood part of her gruff exterior. She had two children of her own – one was stillborn, and one died shortly after birth due to massive congenital deformities. She will soon be buried next to those children she never got to raise. She loved children, but she had trouble showing love. Even though she made me so angry at times, I will miss her.

And even though she’s gone now, I think we’ll still be passing out her incomplete gift bags to everyone this Christmas. I wonder if I’ll get a garden hose?