The Room

The inevitable unthinkable happened. My parents died.

The last year was a very difficult one for them with regard to their health. My mom suffered from a number of ailments; for my dad it was mainly his diabetes and immobility from his hip replacement and subsequent falls.

Out of nowhere, my mom suffered a massive heart attack. She was sent to the hospital with chest pains and we all assumed it was indigestion. Of all her ailments, the heart was not one of them. Because her parents had heart issues, we monitored that all of her adult life, and especially into her senior years.

The cardiologist determined that she had critical blockage and the engagement of hospice was begun – for palliative care, not yet end of life. The internist at the doctor gave me a life expectancy of 3 – 6 months. The family was heartbroken.

We got her home from the hospital on a Saturday night and her condition scared both me and my husband. I asked her, mama – do you see where you are? You are home with papa.

She responded, it is exactly where I want to be.

Bruce and I left them for the night. I returned on Sunday and spent the day with my parents. I fed my mama some of her breakfast Sunday morning. Her eyes were unfocused and she was not very responsive. I asked her, mama, do you know who I am?

My baby, she said.

I went home that evening. We all thought she was exhausted from the trauma of the heart attack and the going-ons at the hospital.

My best friend, my biggest fan, the one person whom I could not live without talking to multiple times a day … died early Monday morning. Her final words were an affirmation of what I always have been … and always will be … her baby.

We were all devastated. And yet, I could not take the time to grieve. I was so worried about my dad. He had not lived without my mother in his life for sixty-seven years. They had been together since they were fourteen.

I do not believe that it registered with my dad at first. The family was all there for a week and he was overwhelmed with attention.

After about two weeks, he stopped fighting his health issues. His mental capacity declined more rapidly. I was with him every day after my mom’s death – and I could see change on a daily basis.

After three weeks, my sweet dad would say to me, where is mama? Is she ok?

And my answer was the same each time. She is without pain, papa, and she is waiting for you.

Less then five weeks after the death of my mom, after a day in which he was surrounded by his loved ones and words of love and gratitude, the rock of our family, my daddy, died.

Writing is therapeutic to me. As I live through this intense grief, I think often of how I will share it. I first needed to tell this story. While it is one of monumental loss, there is incredible beauty in it. If we didn’t love so much, it wouldn’t shake our core beings with such pain.

Among the many wisdoms on loss that I have been seeking this past three months, one of the most profound was a podcast done by Anderson Cooper and Stephen Colbert. It is part of Anderson’s series called All There Is.

In discussing the loss of his mother, Stephen related that he was so struck by the enormity of the room whose door has finally shut.

At times, these words bring me a sense of peace and understanding. At others, I want to argue with them.

Perhaps my processing of grief is to either come to terms with the fact that the door is finally shut, or instead to keep myself in that room with my parents.

Right now, I am in that room and fighting with every ounce of my being to not leave.