The Family Gathers

My brother and sister arrive today with their families for my mother's service, which takes place tomorrow. They all have to leave on Sunday; unfortunately we all are too busy for this to be an extended stay. The place looks nice, with flowers in bloom (courtesy of the local nursery; they probably won't last a week after the service) and windows freshly washed. 

This is a large house, and I'm going to be the only one living here. I'm getting used to the little pops and clicks you hear in any house; when the icemaker goes off I no longer assume that there's a serial killer standing behind me, making ice. And I now have a coyote that visits in the early morning. He just ghosted across the patio and up the brick stairs toward the street. I'm going to be living here full-time starting in June, assuming I survive the next two weeks before the move. 

Going back to my mother, her death was both expected and unexpected. She had Covid at Christmas in 2020 and was never really the same afterward, although she did not have to be hospitalized. She developed a terrible, racking cough which improved for a while and then worsened again in the last few months of her life. When she was in the hospital, the respiratory technician looking at her blood gases  kept asking, "Are you sure she didn't smoke?" Finally I explained about the Covid and he immediately said, "Oh, that explains it." This despite her chest X-ray not showing any significant abnormalities.

Then my aunt (her sister) died, followed by my father six weeks later. I have written extensively about my aunt's illness, but not my father's. He had vascular dementia related to strokes and hypertension. The week after my aunt died, with the distraction of her illness gone, I was able to really look at him for the first time in weeks and realized how much weight he had lost due to his dwindling appetite. After a quick family discussion, I put him on hospice and he passed away in his sleep a month later. Mom never really recovered from those twin losses. She was very depressed, but when we held my father's celebration of life in August and she was able to see many of her friends, she did surprisingly well. It was the last real social event she attended. 

Many of her friends offered to take her out for lunch and the caregivers did take her out once or twice, but more and more she slipped into isolation. In December she was hospitalized, twice in January, and then she became more confused and died at the beginning of February when her oxygen level suddenly dropped and she began coughing up blood. It was shocking and sudden; none of the imaging or tests she had indicated that something like this was going to happen. When asked what had happened, my stock answer was "I could give you half a dozen possible explanations, but I don't know exactly what it was." I am sure there was some sort of pulmonary cause, but none of us in the family saw any reason to do an autopsy.

When she died, I had left her just a few hours before to drive back to my house and run errands. I do so wish I had been there when she passed away, but I did get to spend the previous evening with her, and I take some comfort in that. 

I hope to write more about her later, but I can't face it just yet, and there is much to be done before my siblings arrive. Must go.

Labels: Changes, Family, Loss