Finishing Well – Dealing With End of Life Care

I catch the redeye flight from Seattle, not knowing what I will find when I reach San Angelo.  The dawn sun floods into the plane as we fly over the Texas border.  My mind is trying on all the scenarios I can think of as the Voice speaks clearly in my mind, Here we go.

For years, when I thought of Mom and Dad living alone in Texas with no family close by, I worried how I would handle it when their lives began to unravel.  Now in their 90’s, the last few years had become a fragile balancing act, a house of cards.  Remove one card and the whole thing would tumble down.  I prayed for help and here I am and He whispers, Here we go.

Mom fainted, hit her head, and is rushed to the hospital. Dad, a semi-invalid, is on his own but, I think if I can get there by the next morning, all will be well. Unfortunately, by the time I arrive, Dad is also in the hospital. Sundowners sent him into a tailspin leaving him with multiple injuries.

Now, both parents are on different floors of the hospital. Still, I tell myself we can gently slip those cards back into place.

Instead of coming together, the house of cards begins to fall in rippling succession.

I bring Mom home with a head injury and pneumonia and struggle to juggle the needs of them both, trying to work in hospital visits to Dad, agonizing that he feels abandoned and forsaken during the long hours of caring for her.

I couldn’t save Dad, who began to slip away over the next two weeks, dying in the middle of the night, all alone. The bond of their 72-year marriage shattered like broken glass.

When the call came I sat on the edge of the bed, my arm around Mom, and shook uncontrollably, unable to cry.

Loosing Dad, Mom becomes childlike. I have heard that women return to being little girls in their old age and now our roles reverse. I sleep with her, hold her hand, and tell her what each next move should be.

We bury Dad in a fog of grief and confusion.

At night, while Mom sleeps, I stalk the house, dark and silent, blindly reaching out for the Heartbeat. Haunted and bereft, I stand on the edge of the great, dark unknown ahead and pray I’ll finish well.

The beginning of each new day seems statically charged with another crisis, a new unforeseen mountain. And, each day as the sun rises, His steps fall in with mine, answers materialize, and the road smooth’s out.

In the next few weeks Mom and I restructure all of their finances, a painstaking process involving tons of paperwork. I move my fragile little waif-of-a-mom from Texas to Seattle where she lives with me for two months in my small, cramped house until we find a senior living facility with an opening.

She has a beautiful apartment overlooking the Puget Sound, surrounded by lovely, flowering gardens. I bring as many of her possessions from Texas as her new little home can hold, including a king-sized bed and a fully equipped kitchen with four sets of pots and pans. She never cooks again; her reason for cooking had died and left her without purpose. 

Meanwhile, trying to keep my job, I spend my free time organizing her apartment, hanging pictures and curtains, introducing her to her new world.

We have just one peaceful month before the cards resume their downward descent. 

One night a nurse at the senior facility calls me to say Mom has taken a bad fall and is on her way to the hospital by ambulance. She suffered a heart attack, a broken neck and broken hip. Now, more frail than ever, the doctor recommends comfort measures only.

I move her into a nursing home with hospice care and wait, while I continue to hold her hand and look into those sad little girl eyes.

Two weeks later, on 9/11, almost six months to the day, Mom joins Dad. I plan another memorial service and disassemble a freshly furnished apartment. 

Emotionally and physically drained, I lean heavily on the Lord and desperately pray, Please, help me finish well. The last of the cards remain, to settle Mom and Dad’s estate.

In hindsight, this was the easiest part, simple and straightforward. All the work Mom and I had done to restructure their finances paid off. Instead of crashing to the floor, the final cards settle softly to earth.

Today, I can question certain events and the choices responsibility laid upon my shoulders. I had been so fearful of making mistakes in a series of life and death decisions, while guilt nagged in my peripheral vision.

Those eight months flew by in blurring, breathtaking speed. I can look down upon the scene as God looks upon the tapestry of our lives and realize He kept me in the eye of the storm.

While the wind swirled, the rain pounded, and lightning flashed around me, an indefinable Peace sheltered and insulated me. An unexplainable Strength held me above of the water and filled in the cracks of my broken vessel.

With surprising ease, I am able to say, Thank You, for helping me to finish well. 

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” II Timothy 4:7