I'm surprised when people will ask "What did your parents die from?" Some may take it as a crass statement, but I truly do understand the intent and take no offense (although I do find it a strange question).
So to that question I will reply, "Hmmm. Let me think. Dad was 90 when he died and Mom was 92. I think it's safe to say they died of old age."
Yes, I wish they could have both passed away peacefully in their sleep. Dad spent a week in intensive care because his heart was tired of pumping. So I suppose, technically, he died of heart failure. I do maintain he had an old heart and it was through working.
Mom's body outlasted her mind, but it wasn't the dementia that ended her life. Like Dad, her body was tired and ready to quit.
There were many people at Mom's funeral who expressed surprise Mom lived another three and a half years beyond Dad. Mom and Dad had been married 65 years when Dad died and theirs was a deep, loving and committed relationship. To be honest, I think had Mom been in her right mind she may have died from grief. Her first few months alone without Dad were heartbreaking to watch. Mom simply did not know how to live without him.
Then the dementia began to progress. It became clear Mom could not live alone. Not just for the loneliness, but for simple every day things she could no longer handle. She went first to live with my younger sister and then, later, she came to live with King and I before her needs became greater than any family member could provide.
But in those months she lived with one of us Mom would often become melancholy and sob, "I miss Daddy." We all missed him. We all miss both of them now.
But as Mom's dementia progressed further she began to forget. Or if she did remember she had no words to express how she felt. Toward the end she didn't talk much. There were huge smiles when we came to visit and a lot of hand holding, but few words . . . other than "stay," when it was time for us to leave.
In one of her last conversations with my sisters she pointed to a photo of Dad and asked, "Do I know him?"
We were never certain how to feel about that. Was it good she couldn't remember the man she grieved for? Or was it a blessing that she didn't remember him? Most likely it was a combination of both.
But memories are a funny thing.
Monday marks the 90-day anniversary of Mom's passing. As as the days progress I remember less and less of the mother who sat in the wheelchair, speaking little, wanting much. Instead I remember the mother who stood at the kitchen sink in the morning as we came in from doing chores (feeding the horses). I remember the mother who brought trays of cookies and lemonade out to our screened porch to serve friends who were over swimming. (It was also -- I now realize -- a signal it was time for them to go home).
I remember Dad pulling in the driveway after work and everyone scrambling to help Mom set the table and get supper ready.
It is those memories -- the little things -- that I hope I can keep forever in my heart.
My parents also spent the years of their marriage on one long endless date. I never had a close relationship with either one so, after my father died and my mother's memory failed considerably, our relationship became easier. Because she forgot those old, difficult times, so could I.
ReplyDeleteIt was difficult to watch her relive old pain. Many times, when I would come to visit her in "the home", she would say, brows furrowed increduously, " Jeff (the oldest of the five kids) told me all my sisters have died."
Her deepest pain seemed to be that she couldn't remember Dad. It always made me wonder how she remembered her sisters but not the man she passionately loved since she was 16. She died (actually, expired) two days after her 92nd birthday...Dad died 4 years earlier at 87.