My mom died last week at the age of 81. She had been failing in health for some months, almost 2 years actually, but significantly in recent days. We had had a number of very direct conversations (you that know me can understand this), regarding her end of life wishes. She had been very clear that she did not, under any circumstances, want her length of life extended when the quality of life was gone. We had talked about a number of specific circumstances and had settled upon a very clear cut course of action - no extraordinary means were to be taken to extend her life. When her body was ready to die, I was not to allow anyone to interfere. I was clear and settled and ready to carry out her decisions.
On the 8th of June I received a 6:30 a.m. phone call informing me that my mother was suffering from "significant respriatory distress"; the doctor was on the way in and wanted me to meet him at the nursing home. I arrived within minutes to find that significant might have been an understatement. My mother was in severe respriatory distress and it was clear that she was dying.
Calling me aside, the Doctor and I discussed options. When he was done I said to him, "Make her comfortable and do not interfere in any other manner." I understood what that meant and was fully prepared to make that decision on my Mom's behalf. As we were talking I turned to look at my Mom and something powerful happened. Our eyes met and I could see that she knew she was dying and that I was going to do nothing to interfere. I was going to let her die. I am also aware that to not be able to breathe is one of the most terrifying circumstances a person can experience. When I looked into my Mom's eyes, she was looking directly at me and there was a look of terror that I am inadequate to describe. It was momentary, and then the medicines began to take effect and she was able to lie back and rest. Her breathing relaxed and as she did, the life began to slowly ebb out of her and within an hour, she was gone.
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| My Mom - Martha Joyce Gantt around 1936 |
However, for me - that terrified look that was in her eyes was frozen in my mind. It was like that instant we shared was seared into my consciousness and devastating beyond words. I spent nearly a week absolutely unable to close my eyes, because each time I did all I could see was my Mom struggling to breathe and knowing I would not intervene. Even though I knew I had made the right decision, the compassionate decision, the decision my Mom wanted - it was like a knife that pierced through every fiber of my being.
My family thought all week that I was "down" and "grief-stricken" because of my Mom's passing. I wasn't - I was horrified and guilt ridden because of that image that remained of those last moments. It was a like a moment frozen in time, that just wouldn't go away. I was so concerned as the day of her Memorial service approached that I would not be able to honor my mother properly because I would be devoured by that image - and I so wanted to present a service that would honor this great woman. I prayed, I cried out to God, "I cannot do this unless you help me not see that look of terror in her eyes."
Last night, my wife urged me up off of the couch to go out to the storage shed where much of my mom's "stuff" has been stored. We are going through that difficult time of sorting, separating; what should be given to who, what should be sold, what should be given away or thrown away." I didn't want to go, but I did any way. As we were getting readly to leave, I spied yet another photo album that I had not looked through that was filled with photos of one of the cousin's wedding. I remember thinking, I should just throw it away or mail it back to my cousin. I flipped through the empty pages in the back and a flash of color - sepia - caught my eye. To my amazement as I looked more slowly I found a tiny little photo that was obviously quite old. It was in fact a photo of my mother at around age 7 - as I looked closer I realized what a beautiful young girl she was and how much one of my granddaughters looks like her Nana. In an instant, the Lord gave me a precious image to replace that look of terror that was seared into my consciousness.
Today, I sought to honor my mother, by telling the truth. A lot who know her little realize the childhood she had, and the familly curses she overcame with the help of God to become the caring and nurturing mother and grandmother she was. She was a woman of intense inner beauty and strength of character and it was only made obvious by the telling of her story.
I am so grateful to God who in His tenderness said to me last night, "Here, son, is a picture to replace the one that has been haunting you all week. My gift to you." Thank you Father for your goodness to me - and to my Mom.
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