It really hit me yesterday when I realized I can no longer use one of my favorite expressions--"if you don't believe me, ask my Mom." She won't be there anymore, except in my mind and my heart.
It happens to most of us at some point, and it is always a shock no matter how old Mom is when she dies. Mine was 85. She had been in good health, though beginning to suffer from some of those memory issues that creep up on us.
The feared fall in May was the beginning of the end. The doctor gave us the statistics about how many older people who break those large bones in a fall don't survive long-term, but you never quite believe it will be YOUR mom who will fit into that statistical group. And she seemed to be doing OK with the rehab, getting pretty good with the walker, being feisty about wanting to go home.
But there was a nagging infection, and an underlying recurring infection, that apparently led to a decline that led to pneumonia, and rehospitalization, and, finally, death. The doctor wanted to do aggressive testing, but it was clear that Mom was not in any condition to be transferred to another hospital for that testing, and in fact, she died peacefully the next day.
So, now the coping begins for all of us, most of all, Dad. After 67 years of relationship, nearly 63 years of marriage, the change is very sudden and almost impossible to imagine. Telling the stories helps, but the house is so empty, the meals so lonely.
The flowers will fade, the cards will be put away, and I hope that he will find meaning in the activities he has cared about for some years. I don't think I want to hear any statistics about men who lose their wife.
Mom--we will miss you and will think of you always. You taught us well, and I hope we made you proud.
