Up up and away

It's been a long 6 months, since my mother's health went south.
And it wasn't her fault that it decided to take that trip a week after I got home from the second surgery to my head.
So to say it's been tough time for all would kind of be understating it somewhat.

On the other hand, I had these last six months to prepare myself for what was coming.   I was also a working RN for 30 years, so I've seen my fair share of death and dying.
I knew what to expect.  I got ready in a hundred different ways.
Last week, the finale LOOMED.

At one point, while my first daughter and I sat watching my mother's breaths, I had a revelation.  I told her that we should start cleaning and organizing my mother's belongings, instead of sitting here morbidly waiting for the end. My mother was in the room, but long past communicating.  She was as comfortable as we could make her.
So we sorted and separated, reminisced and remembered, and it seemed like we were sharing it all with her.  There were times we laughed at the bits of things she had stashed. And lots of times we cried when we came across mementos she had cherished.

 Every drawer we opened reminded us of another point in time, another part of my mother's long life.

We kept a few sets of clothes aside, as if a miracle were going to occur, and all the rest we packed up to donate to her favorite church thrift store. 
At one point, my daughter turned to me, and said " I wasn't sure that this was a good idea, but it has actually been very therapeutic."  A couple of times, family and friends came in, and we were aware that our behavior might be interpreted as a little bizarre.  But we weren't doing it for anyone else , we were doing it because we had to keep moving.  We were doing it because it was our way of processing, and grieving.


By Sunday morning, we were spent.  The place looked great, but we were tired, since we had barely a few hours sleep for three days and nights.  Sunday more family came, and we knew the end was near.
It came, with us holding her, and letting her go.

As we speak, my mother is having her most awesome out of body experience.  She is free at last of that old, worn out body that has plagued her for a long while.

I will always love her, and I will always miss her.
But I cheer for her, because I know she is now without fear, without pain, without hindrance.

Rock on, Momma.   Rock on.