NOTE: This entry also appears as the start of a different blog, called "Ready For Death But It Just Won't Come". Go to http://readyfordeathbutitjustwontcome.blogspot.com
Bags ready to go. But where?
My mother is ready to depart this world. She is tired of living and has announced that she wants to die. She said that she is all packed up and she is just waiting. She's not suffering from a terminal disease, or even from a chronic disease. Rather, she has sustained loss after loss after loss, until she just feels beaten down. She is blind. She has trouble hearing. Her balance is terrible, making it impossible to walk without someone constantly by her side. She was asked to leave the singing group in her elderly home because she could no longer follow the words. The bridge group squeezed her out a long time ago. She outlived two husbands. She needs 24/7 aides to get through the day safely. Moving in and out of a car is just too hard. So she stays in her apartment. Recently, she started opting not to get up to go the kitchen for a meal, choosing instead to sit on the edge of the bed to eat. Scooping her food onto a utensil is history. Now she must be fed like a baby. Sticking with reality for the duration of a phone conversation is also gone. We can talk about the here and now just for now, but then she drifts into fantasy which has become her reality. "Guess what? I went to China yesterday for the day". "I made reservations at Claridge's in London because I haven't been to the Tate in a while". "The company is sending me to Russia because I'm the only person who speaks Russian and they know it".
I got my wanderlust from mom. Ever since she was a little girl growing up very poor in rural Virginia, she knew there was an exciting world to be explored and she resolved to see it all. She loved a photo book of the world's wonders that she used to leaf through with her grandfather. It's called "Shepp's Photographs of the World". For her 70th birthday, my stepfather hunted down a copy, long out of print, and gave it to her. She wept in gratitude when she opened his gift.
She has promised to leave the book to me. The usual suspects were her early checklist -- Big Ben, the Eiffel Tower, Roman Colosseum, Matterhorn, the Pyramids. But, the more she traveled with my stepfather, who made it possible for her to realize her travel dreams, the more exotic her goals became. She just had to go to Mongolia and sleep in a yurt. She went to Djibouti -- well, just because. Of course, African safaris were early items on her list. I remember her telling me about when a baboon crept into her hut while she was at dinner, dumped out the contents of her purse onto the bed, twirled open her lipstick, and ate it. After my stepfather passed away in 2001, she kept traveling, into her 80s. She hadn't been to Antartica, so she signed up by herself for a cruise, stocking up on the thick socks and long underwear that she lacked in her Florida residence. She traveled with the Philadelphia Art Museum's trip to Bhutan. Later, she confessed that she had confused it with Angkor Wat, which she had also wanted to see. Bhutan was nice -- but too much walking, she said. So much, in fact, that the Museum later clarified some capability requirements for its travelers on subsequent trips. The trip leader probably did not appreciate having to keep mom safe while touring the temples, wobbling on her cane. She parasailed off a cruise ship in the Caribbean and when she had trouble landing after her flight, she mentioned to the crew attendant that she had a recent knee replacement. He told her she should have notified him before going up. Mom said, "If I told you, you wouldn't have let me go". That's my mom. Always charging forth for the next adventure. She is preparing for this trip, too. But it is so terribly hard for me to watch her get ready to leave.
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| Flying over the Serengeti in Tanzania |
Bags ready to go. But where?
My mother is ready to depart this world. She is tired of living and has announced that she wants to die. She said that she is all packed up and she is just waiting. She's not suffering from a terminal disease, or even from a chronic disease. Rather, she has sustained loss after loss after loss, until she just feels beaten down. She is blind. She has trouble hearing. Her balance is terrible, making it impossible to walk without someone constantly by her side. She was asked to leave the singing group in her elderly home because she could no longer follow the words. The bridge group squeezed her out a long time ago. She outlived two husbands. She needs 24/7 aides to get through the day safely. Moving in and out of a car is just too hard. So she stays in her apartment. Recently, she started opting not to get up to go the kitchen for a meal, choosing instead to sit on the edge of the bed to eat. Scooping her food onto a utensil is history. Now she must be fed like a baby. Sticking with reality for the duration of a phone conversation is also gone. We can talk about the here and now just for now, but then she drifts into fantasy which has become her reality. "Guess what? I went to China yesterday for the day". "I made reservations at Claridge's in London because I haven't been to the Tate in a while". "The company is sending me to Russia because I'm the only person who speaks Russian and they know it".
I got my wanderlust from mom. Ever since she was a little girl growing up very poor in rural Virginia, she knew there was an exciting world to be explored and she resolved to see it all. She loved a photo book of the world's wonders that she used to leaf through with her grandfather. It's called "Shepp's Photographs of the World". For her 70th birthday, my stepfather hunted down a copy, long out of print, and gave it to her. She wept in gratitude when she opened his gift.
She has promised to leave the book to me. The usual suspects were her early checklist -- Big Ben, the Eiffel Tower, Roman Colosseum, Matterhorn, the Pyramids. But, the more she traveled with my stepfather, who made it possible for her to realize her travel dreams, the more exotic her goals became. She just had to go to Mongolia and sleep in a yurt. She went to Djibouti -- well, just because. Of course, African safaris were early items on her list. I remember her telling me about when a baboon crept into her hut while she was at dinner, dumped out the contents of her purse onto the bed, twirled open her lipstick, and ate it. After my stepfather passed away in 2001, she kept traveling, into her 80s. She hadn't been to Antartica, so she signed up by herself for a cruise, stocking up on the thick socks and long underwear that she lacked in her Florida residence. She traveled with the Philadelphia Art Museum's trip to Bhutan. Later, she confessed that she had confused it with Angkor Wat, which she had also wanted to see. Bhutan was nice -- but too much walking, she said. So much, in fact, that the Museum later clarified some capability requirements for its travelers on subsequent trips. The trip leader probably did not appreciate having to keep mom safe while touring the temples, wobbling on her cane. She parasailed off a cruise ship in the Caribbean and when she had trouble landing after her flight, she mentioned to the crew attendant that she had a recent knee replacement. He told her she should have notified him before going up. Mom said, "If I told you, you wouldn't have let me go". That's my mom. Always charging forth for the next adventure. She is preparing for this trip, too. But it is so terribly hard for me to watch her get ready to leave.
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| Mom and Me, Just Going out to Dinner |