I miss my mom. It was 7 years ago on Monday, January 17 when I finished a lecture for Bible Study Fellowship International on Romans 8. When I went to the back of the church after, one of the other leaders said, "You were a little off tonight. Are you worried about your mom?"
The next day Mom was scheduled for an angiogram. Is it possible not to worry about these things with our aging parents? It wasn't possible for me. Anyway, Jim and I had been visiting Mom in Florida in December. We'd gone to see "The Nativity" at a local movie theater and I noticed that Mom was really winded just from walking across the parking lot and I was concerned because I thought her shortness of breath was from bronchitis. The next day I noticed that her ankles were swollen and I immediately thought of my dad who had frequently experienced that due to heart related issues - and my concern soared. So I was concerned about that test.
I had called to pray with mom on the morning of the test and then I heard nothing until the phone call that would change everything. My stepdad Lee called to tell me that Mom had had a stroke during the test. Before the stroke the doctors determined that all that shortness of breath and exhaustion was caused by a faulty heart valve which would need to be replaced. As soon as we could get a flight, my brother and I left for Florida.
When our flight landed, we went straight to the hospital. Mom was in the stroke unit. She seemed animated and in good spirits and she was talking a mile a minute, but we couldn't understand anything she said. It was awful! The animation, and good spirits, and talkative nature was Mom all over, but she was frustrated that no one could understand her, especially her husband who was already hampered with a hearing loss!
Mom was there for about a week and then was transferred to rehab center near her home. Gradually, thanks to the new drugs for stroke victims, she did regain some of her ability to be understood and in some ways seemed like her old self. However, they warned us that unless she could more fully recover from the stroke, she couldn't have the valve surgery she needed to survive. Because her ability to swallow was impaired by the stroke they had to surgically insert a feeding tube. We hoped this would enable her to regain her strength, but the very "food" that would make that happen increased the fluid around her already weakened heart.
When Mom went into the rehab center I came home and resumed preparation for the next Bible Study Fellowship lecture. I was halfway through that when Lee called to tell me Mom was back in the hospital with congestive heart failure. So I dropped everything and flew back down. When the nurse caring for my mom in the emergency room left the room for a minute, I followed him, and asked what he thought was her prognosis. He said two weeks. It was a terrible wake up call to realize that my mom, who had been such a strong, take charge, and independent woman was now near the end of her life. I hated to think of it.
My brother and I had a talk. We agreed that one of us should be there, for Mom, as well as for our stepdad and his daughter. It was agreed that the someone should be me. My position in BSF was a critical one, especially at that particular time, but in praying about it and weighing the pros and cons of staying or going, I could NOT leave my mom. And so on February 13, my 60th birthday, I sent them my letter of resignation and so ended the ministry involvement that had been the focus of the last 18 years of my life. It was a bittersweet parting, but I was convinced it was the right one.
In order to understand why this was such a critical decision, you need to understand something about the relationship between my mom and me. I loved my mom and she loved me - but we were as unalike as two people could be. Mom was a people person. She was great with people, something of a people magnet really. Elderly folks especially, were drawn to her and she to them. Mom had a way of making them feel instantly comfortable and cared about.
She could go anywhere without knowing a single person and manage to strike up a friendly conversation with a perfect stranger. Mom found it difficult to be in the same room with other people and NOT talk to them. She had a flare for telling stories and whenever she had an audience, she'd tell one, which was guaranteed to throw everyone into fits of hysteria. The last time she "held court" with her story telling was at our daughter's wedding just two year previously.
When it came to personality, I was nothing like Mom. I was the quiet one. If I had a choice between being with people or reading a good book, I chose the book every time! Around people, especially people I didn't know, I felt shy and awkward and preferred to fade into the background. Mom would rarely let me do that. She would want to introduce me, and I would wish she'd pretend she didn't know me! I would never tell a funny story because as soon as all eyes were on me, I'd become uncomfortable and mess up the details and the story would fall flat. My stories did NOT draw a crowd.
A perfect illustration of how this clash of personalities was always causing friction between us was when I was in high school. I'd been invited to a birthday party by a girl I knew from the place we vacationed in the summer. I didn't know the girl all that well, and I certainly knew none of the others who would be at the party. Mom, loving people and parties herself, pressured me to say yes, but when the day of the party came, I refused to go. Mom didn't understand how the party she would have been thrilled to attend herself at my age, sent me into a panic of discomfort!
Our different ways of looking at these things often had us at odds. So when I had an opportunity to put love into action with Mom, I wanted to seize it and not shift it to someone else. The decision of whether to stay with Mom or leave so that I could fulfill my responsibility to BSF was difficult, but once made, I never regretted the choice.
The weeks I spent with Mom were so precious to us both. After being transferred from the nursing home back to the hospital, she caught C Diff. This is a highly contagious virus that causes serious diarrhea. It's hugely uncomfortable for the patient and depletes their already flagging strength. Coupled with the difficulty Mom was having being fed from the feeding tube, she just kept getting weaker.
But, I was able to care for her in ways I had never had to do before. I did the cleansing of her body at times. I slept in the same room so that when she woke she wouldn't become disoriented. Once I began to be better able to understand her, I became Mom's translator - with hospital personnel and with Lee, who had such difficulty hearing her quieter voice.
There was a night that was especially sweet. Mom woke, and I got up myself so that I could see if there was something she wanted. Instead of saying anything, she just motioned for me to come closer. I got up close to the bed and leaned over. She said nothing, but motioned me to come closer. She didn't stop indicating that I was to come closer until I was in bed with her and we were snuggled up together. I sang hymns, we talked about heaven, and I prayed for her. I was so grateful to the hospital staff for leaving us alone and allowing me to stay every night she was there. Thankfully, she was the only patient in the room. I felt as if that room was a sanctuary - with only Mom, me and the Lord occupying it. I'll treasure those times.
At the end of a week long stay, Mom was pronounced clear of the C Diff infection and released to go home. Lee had taken care of his first wife for years as she suffered through the debilitating disease that is MS, and so he knew what was needed as we prepared for Mom to go home. When we arrived at the house it had been furnished with a hospital bed, and all the things we'd need to care for Mom. But she was home for only two nights before she was admitted once again to the hospital.
This time around the doctors were much more up front about her prognosis. They were suggesting a hospice care home. Hospice provides only palliative care for those with six months or less of life. The hospital could do no more for Mom.
I remember she was reluctant to go. Just hearing the word "hospice" kind of forces us to face our mortality. Right or wrong, we supported the hospice nurse when she told of someone who had been in hospice on a feeding tube but then no longer needed it and could go home. When Mom heard that, she was more willing to go, although the family was under no illusion that she would recover.
What a beautiful place the hospice center proved to be! It was quiet and private. Mom had a huge room of her own where the entire family could stay - all day and all night - if they chose. And because we could, we did. At the end of the day, some of us would go home, but someone would always stay through the night. There was a lovely kitchen there for family members, well supplied with cake and coffee donated by a local bakery. And the staff was wonderful to Mom, treating her with kindness and patience and respect. If we had needed it, there were counselors on hand as well to support the family.
Since my brother and I are believers in Jesus and so was Mom, our time together reinforced her faith as well as ours. It was a time to sing the great hymns of the faith, to talk about the surety of heaven that awaits all those who belong to Jesus, and it was a time to read the Scriptures that give us hope and confidence about our future. Mom's room became a holy place.
Early in the day on which Mom would meet Jesus, she called us all in for prayer. I had been sitting outside thinking and praying about what was ahead for her and us when I received the call to come. I wondered if Mom had taken a turn for the worse and wanted us to pray her through it. But that's not what she had in mind at all. SHE wanted to pray for US! She raised her hands in each of our directions (my brother, Lee, his daughter Debbie, and I), and she prayed. We were unable to understand what she said, but it doesn't matter, Jesus knows. How precious it was to have Mom pray for ME at that time, on that day.
Sometime in the evening, Mom drifted into unconsciousness and passed from this life to the next, to look into the face of Jesus. It was a time of sadness, but for my brother and me, it was also a time of incredible joy! Mom was with the Lord at last!
How grateful I am that we had that time together. Mom and I were so different, but the experiences we shared during those difficult days knitted us together in a way that we always longed for, but struggled to enjoy.
One day I am going to see Mom again. I am as sure of that as I am that the sun will rise tomorrow. And when we meet at heaven's gate there will never again be a time when one of us has trouble understanding the other! And best of all, we will know the joy of being with Jesus - together.
I love you Mom. Marilyn Ruth Cuttell Kaden Fernquist 1928-2007
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