First, she caught seasonal pneumonia. Then, at the hospital during treatment, she caught Covid. Notwithstanding the six vaccines and boosters received, it was still serious enough to cause fits of controllable coughing. For an elderly woman in her eighties, oxygen was prescribed. But she became dependent and when the nose plugs slipped off during the night, sleep and rest were interrupted. Soon a series of minor medical issues cascaded into a more serious situation. Four months of intermittent hospitalization took its toll as a series of medical cocktails were administered; doctors prepared the family for a possible end. Within a week of this prognosis, my mom died peacefully in her sleep.

I took my daughter to see her grandma at the hospital almost every day. We sat and talked with my siblings, and we would show up at different times but mostly around mealtimes so we can assist. We reminisced and regaled mom with stories and it brought smiles to her face before she fell back asleep. Throughout the whole time, I was there as much as I can. I would hold mom’s hand and rub it lightly to help with the circulation, but mainly to let her know that as she had held my hand when I was a child, I now hold hers. We held hands over another uneaten meal. She knew she was going and so did we. Mom’s language of love was food, and she was going to have none of the hospital’s offering. We occasionally brought homemade soup. She’d have a couple of sips and it was enough to nourish the soul. As a child, I stood next to her for years watching her cook. My help was never needed. My commentary was never appreciated. I reciprocated by returning an empty bowl for her to wash. For her, that’s all the gratitude she wanted. Before I left mom’s bedside for the last time, I whispered to her that she needn’t worry about me or my daughter; she’ll always have a full belly. I kissed mom lightly on the forehead as I shed tears and walked out with my daughter. We were the last to see her as mom gifted us her last moments.

Death can be remarkably peaceful and gentle. My daughter is used to seeing me as a road-raged maniac screaming at parked cars and leaning on the horn for pedestrians to drag their righteous ass across the street. But here, she saw me attend to the woman who raised me with all the time in the world. My hurried persona was adapted for the busy world; but I fell back to being a neutral and patient person in the way my mother had shown me throughout her life.

 

Probably the most revealing thing my daughter saw in me at the death of my mother isn’t my patience or tenderness, but the fact that I put the world on hold as I held this moment in eternity. It was important for me to have this moment even if briefly—especially because it was so brief.

 

Even though my daughter and I made nearly daily visits to mom at the hospital, and even though it took time from our normally jammed routines of planned and recurrent activities, we always looked forward to the visits and neither my daughter nor I ever complained about it. In fact, we really did look forward to it as we all knew the hours were ticking away on shorter and shorter days. It’s ironic that the few moments remaining with mom gave my daughter lifetimes of stories and perspectives as my siblings and I shared family stories. Time is truly relative.

But probably the most revealing thing my daughter saw in me at the death of my mother isn’t my patience or tenderness. Nor was it the memories that jotted laughter and tears. But the fact that I put the world on hold as I held this moment in eternity. It was important for me to have this moment even if briefly—especially because it was so brief. My employer saw fit to give me bereavement leave. The renovation of my house was put on hold and the workers respected the pause and did not bother me with PM details. My friends offered whatever support or even childcare I may have needed. (I smiled and thought that childcare was not necessary as my child was an integral part of this process.) I truly felt that the waters were still and the mountains quiet. I felt it was important for mom to leave this world in peace and the feeling that all is and will be well as I stayed until she slept. She was such a strong woman who left powerful and positive impressions on all our lives, especially mine as even after six older siblings, I felt her influence. The very least I could do was to turn the volume down on everything so she could hear the whispers of gratefulness as she is survived by seven children, nine grandchildren and three great-grandchildren.

I woke up the next day never wanting more because I was given so much and had the privilege of being given her last moment. I am truly blessed. I am glad my daughter shared all of this with me.