Homesick

Feb. 21, 2012 at 1:30 a.m.

(In case you haven't read any of my previous posts, my mom was admitted to the hospital last Wednesday morning with congestive heart failure and having difficulty breathing, due to low oxygen and the fluid that has built up in her lungs.)

As I am sitting here in the Prayer Room at the hospital, I ponder as to what Mom is waiting for. There must be something left that she desires to accomplish before going home to heaven. One of her wishes has been fulfilled: that all five of her children would be in the same room with her. There's been discordance in my family for several years, and this was a wish that Mom has wanted for a long time.

It was heart wrenching for me to be in her room a bit ago. I had to get away and collect my thoughts, even if it was just down the hall in the hospital's Prayer Room. I feel God's presence and He comforts me. I've broken down several times after leaving Mom's side. I can't control the tears and the sobbing, and I don't want my mom to see or hear me. She is already in so much pain, and the nurse has given her a couple of morphine injections since 9:00 p.m.

I wonder what Mom is thinking as she is lying there: her eyes wide open and staring up at the ceiling. Not uttering a sound except for voicing her pain when both nurses have to turn her every couple of hours. I haven't heard my mom's voice for several days. I miss the sound of her voice and her laughter, and seeing that ornery twinkle in her eyes.

I wonder what Mom is waiting for. My own thought is that she is waiting to at least get well enough to go to her house with the three of us daughters. Her wish is to take us there and go through her cherished treasures and to give us the things that she wants us to have. That's something that she frequently talked about before she went into the hospital this last time. I had been reassuring her that we'd take her when the weather warmed up some. Mom has been ill and treated for some pneumonia/bronchitis for over four months, and consequently had some hospital stays, and was unable to go out.

I lay on a cot in her dimly lit room, wondering what we, as a family, can do to help our Mom, whom we love so dearly. She is on oxygen to help her breathe more comfortably, she is being injected with morphine to keep her pain under control, and she is receiving liquid nutrition intravenously. She is constantly being told how much we love her as we kiss her forehead or hold her hand. Are we doing the right things for her? I don't want her to be uncomfortable or have any pain. I lay here and can barely see her in her bed. I want to ask her what her wishes are. I want her to be able to tell me. Earlier tonight I asked her if she needed anything, and she barely moved her head back and forth, letting me know she didn't want for anything.

I just got home from the hospital. I didn't sleep a wink all night, as I was sitting with Mom. She looks so sad, and it breaks my heart. I journaled, I prayed, I talked to the nurses, I tried to rest, I prayed some more, I tried to get Mom to respond...this is the most difficult thing I've ever had to go through. Losing my dad was horrible (I have no words how horrible that was), but this is going on for months. Only God knows how much longer she can hold on and when He is taking her home. I wanted to stay longer this morning, but I just had to get home. She is still filling up with fluid, probably as fast as the Lasix is ridding it from her body. I can hardly stand to look into her eyes......I love her so much.

I've heard people say that their loved one waits for permission to let go. They wait to hear the words that it's okay to die, that we will be alright....that it's okay to go to be in Jesus' arms and see their loved ones. I just can't bring myself to say those words right now. Maybe I could if I was the only one in the family, but I have to consider the rest of the family's feelings and wishes. Even then, it would be hard for me to release her.....to let her go. Though I know for her sake, it would be the best thing for her. I love you Mom.