Long day's journey into night

My sister and I

My mother and father
July 3, 1993
Photo taken the night before mother's open heart surgery

This is one of those days that causes my heart to contract and my eyes to tear up at the drop of a hat. I'm thinking of this day because 14 years ago my mother prepared to go under the knife to repair a faulty mitral valve and to have bypass surgery.

I remember I had a bad feeling about this surgery in the pit of my stomach. It was almost like standing on the edge of an abyss and barely keeping my balance, otherwise I would fall into a bottomless pit. The wheels were in motion for the surgery and I was helpless to stop it.

I remember spending the day with my mother in the hospital. I washed her hair, because she asked me to. I lovingly applied lotion to her hands and feet. I petted her, I hugged her, I talked with her, all the time fighting off the dread I felt.

Early on the morning of July 4th, my sister and I were allowed to accompany our mother to the holding area as they prepped her for surgery. We talked and laughed and tried to keep our spirits high. My mother stoically remained in good humor and as the nurses wheeled her into surgery, she called back to us that she would see us very soon.

After she was gone, all I could do was cry and cry. I was inconsolable.

My sister, brother-in-law, father, husband, and I waited for hours in the waiting room. Finally, her cardiologist came out to see us and to tell us that she made it through the surgery with flying colors. I knew my mother was a strong woman, but for an 83-year-old to go through open heart surgery and to survive was an amazing feat.

Over the next few hours we waited patiently in the family waiting room until they allowed us to go back to see her. My father took one look at her, broke down, and was taken home. He said he wasn't coming back to the hospital until she was better.

My sister and I were allowed just a few minutes each hour to see her. It soon became apparent, however, that mother wasn't waking up or responding. Extreme measures were taken but she still was not waking up. We thought she was having a bad reaction to the sedatives she was given.

The next day a CT-scan was done of her brain. Her doctor showed us the film. I took one look at the mostly black areas of her brain and decided that nothing further could be or should be done for her. No more tests, no more medications, and she would remain NPO. She did, after all, have advance directives that stated nothing would be done if she became brain dead.

My sister and I remained at the hospital 24 hours a day for the next 10 days. On July 13, 1993, our mother finally, mercifully, gratefully, left this life. She was at peace.

I will forever remember her death all the days of my life and hope I never have to go through what she experienced.

I will also forever remember my mother as the sweetest, kindest person I have ever known.

Mother, rest in peace