For Mom

Mom has started hospice care today, something that I had experienced with a neighbor that wanted to pass at home from cancer. He didn’t want to give up and let hospice come, so Althea and I were pretty much the hospice. He was beyond the pain of the medicine we had to give him and I plead with him that hospice could regulate this problem for him (he really didn’t get it and really had no plans on checking out). When they finally did come he lasted a day and half, and was never conscious again. I really miss my cantankerous old friend.

Mom has been in a state of “the light is on but nobodies home” for over a decade, but she has always been happy with a smile and has always seemed to know us. Those who knew how alive and outwardly eccentric she was, were lifted by her presence. She was always in awe of clouds and this past year I’ve been photographing them with her in mind. I hope in these coming days I can get an awesome sunset in honor of a beautiful mom.


7 Responses to “For Mom”

  1. 1 boatdog
    November 18, 2010 at 11:36 am

    Thoughts are with you Ot. As you know, we went a non-traditional route caring for my mom. It’s hard to figure out the best way to go. When caring for her at home was insufficient, she went into the hospital. She finally accepted hospice care, and then died the same day we signed the paperwork. Wishing you well. Try to remember it’s all part of life and it may not be over when it seems to be over.

  2. 2 Old friend Sarah
    November 19, 2010 at 12:48 am

    Your mom is at WC, right? My mom was there and they took very good care of her.
    The sunset pic is beautiful.

    • 3 O3
      November 19, 2010 at 10:53 am

      She is still there and the care exceeds most. The corporate side of elderly care I have alot of problems with and everybodies folks should receive the same care. I guess if we were lucky enough to be included with the privileged we are guilt free. I’ve got so much stuff racing through my mind, that I need to stay positive, these photos sorta help. The dusk photographs are all taken at and around the WC Complex.

      Thanks for comments!

      • 4 Old friend Sarah
        November 24, 2010 at 9:04 pm

        My thoughts are with you as you traverse this strange and wonderful territory of transition with your mom.
        Be gentle with yourself.
        Know that you have been a devoted and caring son, more so than most.
        Say whatever needs saying. Hold her hand. Cry. Laugh.
        Just be yourself. It’s all normal and natural.
        Love and hugs,

  3. 5 jmsayles
    November 20, 2010 at 2:46 am

    thinking of you o3, i went through it with my mom. she lived with me and then in a “facility which i hated but by then she didn’t realize where she was….so painful taking her there when i just couldn’t care for her in my home anymore. the thing was that even when she didn’t know who i was, i still calmed her and made her happy. my mom died a week after hospice released her from their care. i was with her holding her hand. still makes me cry when i think about it. there is no way to make it easy.my thoughts with you old pal

  4. 6 O3
    November 24, 2010 at 8:26 pm

    Of all the information hospice has given us, there is a little blue book “GONE FROM MY SIGHT” by Barbara Karnes that has been the most help. I had gotten mad reading the other information but this book calmed me down and let me focus more. My mom talked more the 2nd and 3rd day than she had in years and actually said my name (brother). She is quite now, just lingering as my dad did and to read something calming is wonderful.

    Gone From My Sight

    I am standing upon the seashore.
    A ship at my side spreads her white
    sails to the morning breeze and starts
    for the blue ocean.
    She is an object of beauty and strength.
    I stand and watch her until at length
    she hangs like a speck of white cloud
    just where the sea and sky come
    to mingle with each other.

    Then, someone at my side says;
    “There, she is gone!”

    “Gone where?”

    Gone from my sight. That is all.
    She is just as large in mast and hull
    and spar as she was when she left my side
    and she is just as able to bear her
    load of living freight to her destined port.

    Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
    And just at the moment when someone
    at my side says, “There, she is gone!”
    There are other eyes watching her coming,
    and other voices ready to take up the glad
    shout;”Here she comes!”

    And that is dying.

    by Henry Van Dyke, a 19th Century clergyman, educator, poet, and religious writer

  5. 7 Dotsy
    November 28, 2010 at 7:25 pm

    I have so many wonderful memories of your mom and dad from when we were teenagers! They sure did put up with a lot from us, didn’t they! Hospice gives really great care. I know your mom is in good hands. I’m thinking about you, Ot!

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1984 Computer portrait from State Fair

November 2010
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