A feeling of deep emotional vulnerability permeates my very being. I bask in a constant state of peace, full of deep gratitude, and overflowing with unconditional love. Yet at the same time, little waves of thunderstorms continue to pass through my soul. It is kind of like the weather in Cozumel—one moment I am sunny and smiling, while just a few minutes later another little raincloud floats by and before I know it my cheeks are wet with tears.
I would not give up my growth and experiences of the past two days for anything. Though I have found myself on the edge of physical exhaustion, my heart is full. This entire beautiful week has been a continuous series of one precious moment after another.
You might want to grab your favorite warm beverage, and put on your slippers, as it may take me a while to catch you up on the details of several of those precious moments.
The Internal Battle
I was abruptly startled out of a deep sleep just a few minutes after midnight on Friday morning. My cell phone was ringing, and I could only imagine one reason why. As my feet anxiously hit the floor, my exhausted body nearly collapsed. I was 90 minutes into the first deep sleep I have had in a few days, and my body refused to wake up. Still trying to revive myself from the deepest stages of sleep, I somehow managed to wobble across the dark room to find my phone.
“Hello,” I mumbled.
“Is this Brenda?” the female voice asked. After a quick exchange, she continued, “Your mother has a fever of 102 degrees … blah … blah … blah.” My exhausted mental stupor was so overpowering that I could barely comprehend what she was saying. After a brief conversation, I utilized every ounce of effort I could muster just to thank her for keeping me informed, letting her know I would consider the possibility of driving down.
“Is that all?” I asked myself. “She has been quite warm all day, and my intuition tells me that nothing is eminent.” I waffled with the decision. I was in a sorry condition—I could barely stand up, and felt so dizzy that I knew there was no way I could possibly drive–yet something inside worried that “Maybe I should go now. Even though Mom’s condition hasn’t changed much, maybe, just maybe, this is the universe telling me to get moving.”
“I’ve only had one and a half hours of sleep. I can’t function like this. I am still exhausted from Thursday night.” I had some pretty good rationalizations to keep me from going.
I tried to force myself back to sleep. As I began to meditate in a prone position, I felt uncomfortably hot and sweaty so I climbed out of bed to turn on a fan. “What if the fan keeps me from hearing the phone ring?” I worried, so I slipped out of bed and turned the fan back off.
Moments after resuming my meditation, I again crawled out of bed to retrieve my cell phone. “What if I don’t hear it? … I’ll bring it closer … If I clip it to the waist of my pajamas, I will surely hear it if I fall back to sleep.”
After this silly routine continued for fifteen minutes, I finally realized that I was not going back to sleep without a sleeping pill, but my voices screamed “No … do not take a sleeping pill tonight … you need to be able to wake up when you get your next call.”
I was trapped in a space where I was too tired to wake up, yet too nervous to go back to sleep. Finally, I surrendered, and began to focus my weak meditation efforts toward energizing my zombie body. Finally, after 45 minutes, I felt totally awake, grabbed my pillow and a few personal items and slipped out into the crisp night air. The hands on my watch read 12:50 pm.
Messages from the Radio
While zooming down the freeway at 70 mph, a little intuitive feeling said “Turn on the radio and crank up the volume.” Almost immediately I found myself lost in a type of Tai-Chi movement as I felt the energy of the song radiate through me. As I moved to the tune, I felt an incredible tingling energy begin to fill my soul with a much needed life-force. As the song neared the end, I suddenly realized I was ignoring the words, and I immediately focused my attention as the last four words played out “It’s only a dream.”
I giggled inside as I realized that the universe was refueling me—and reminding me that all is exactly as it should be. “I need to stop taking life so seriously,” I told myself as I woke up and remembered that unconditional love and peace are my real and only goals here.
After a few more songs passed by, I had another strong feeling “Pay close attention to this next song, it is just for you.”
Five seconds later, Rascal Flats began to sing the beautiful song “Here Comes Goodbye.” Chills ran up and down my spine as I recognized the powerful synchronicity of the moment. I knew that this was indeed a goodbye trip.
Final Bonding and Letting Go
As I arrived at the assisted living center, I learned that mom’s temperature was back to near-normal levels. A few other things had changed as well. Rather than her faint effortless breathing of the night before, her breath was now rapid, and forced. Every exhale was accompanied by an involuntary noise—similar to that of a snoring sound. Her overall countenance was drastically different, and a strong feeling settled in telling me that this would be her last day in this mortal body.
As I stood by Mom’s bed, my feelings of exhaustion returned rapidly. Minutes later, I claimed a strip in the unused area of mom’s queen bed, hoping to get some much needed sleep. Lying just a foot away, I reached over and gently held her hand as I attempted to sleep—but I now had new obstacles to overcome.
“What if I she stops breathing while I’m asleep, and I don’t hear her?” was my first worry. Then, there was the nurse. Every hour she checked on mom. In doing so, she switched on the bathroom light. Along with the light came a loud fan, the whirring of which sounded as if an airplane engine were rumbling in the next room. The final element completing my “no-sleep recipe” was the loud, rhythmic breathing noises that continuously emanated from mom’s dry, parched mouth
In spite of the interruptions, I had finally surrendered to the loving experience. I was content and happy to get what sleep I could. “In a few days it won’t matter at all how much sleep I did or didn’t get tonight.” I reassured myself. “Besides, I’ll probably get more sleep here with mom than if I had tried to sleep at home.”
After an initial sleepless hour, I soon entered into a sort-of rhythm of my own, sleeping lightly for 20 minutes here and 40 minutes there—beginning to get some of those desperately needed zzzzz’s.
By 9:30 a.m., I crawled off the bed, brushed my hair, put on a little makeup, and actually felt as if I might survive the day. Not many minutes passed, however, before I was back again, lying on the bed, holding mom’s hand, attempting to get more rest.
As 10:30 a.m. ticked away on my watch, I realized that I was famished, starving with hunger. Making a quick fast food run, I left mom’s side for 20 minutes—the only time I left for the rest of the day. For remaining meals, the staff was kind enough to bring me a food tray.
Most of my day was spent in an up-and-down routine. A visitor here, and a phone call there would get me up—and as soon as the interruption was gone, I was back on the bed, holding mom’s hand, trying to get a few moments of additional rest.
As 5:45 p.m. began to draw near, I noticed a slight hesitation in a few of mom’s breaths. She sounded as if she had congestion in her lungs. I’ll spare you the other details, suffice it to say that I had a very strong intuitive sense (backed by physical signs) that mom’s time was near. Feelings of fear and loneliness began to set in. I was beginning to doubt myself—doubting my abilities.
In my new state of alert, I sat up, still holding Mom’s hand. Thoughts began to run rampant in my head: “Help … I need help … I need to call someone … I can’t do this alone… I should call someone.”
I countered with: “No … I CAN do this … Mom is almost free of her pain … just sit here … hold her hand … speak loving words … radiate unconditional love … caress her cheeks … meditate and commune with her spirit.”
I settled back into the comfort of a deep peaceful feeling just as the phone rang. My dear friend Jeanette called at the perfect moment. As she gently comforted me with her words of reassurance, tears began to stream down my cheeks. I allowed my pent up emotions to finally surface for the first time of the day. But there was no time for this emotion, not just yet.
My conversation with Jeanette ended as a young CNA walked in to check on Mom. “I need to talk to her,” I told Jeanette. I’ll call you later.”
Immediately, I asked the CNA if she would help me clean mom up a little. Her pillow case was getting wet and I needed a cloth to dry her mouth. That beautiful young girl went the extra mile and spent several minutes with my mother, and even changed her pillow case so that she looked peaceful, clean, and comfortable.
“Do you think Mom will make it till my sister’s plane lands in an hour?” I asked her, knowing full well that there was no way this young CNA could answer that question. “I think Mom wants to see my sister before she goes.”
“Sure, she seems to be strong enough, I think she probably will make it,” was her innocent answer before she left to care for other residents.
Sitting by my mom’s side and holding her hand, I gently stroked her forehead and cheeks with the fingertips of my free hand. Speaking softly, I reminded Mom of my sister’s letter that I had read just a few minutes earlier. “I love you mom … even though we are separated by distance, I am there with you … I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
A deep peace settled over me, and an overwhelming feeling of unconditional love filled my soul as I studied the curves and lines of my sweet mother’s face. I sensed a deep connection with her soul, feeling her love, her true perfection—yes I knew that she was already perfect exactly the way she was. While I held her hands in mine, Mom simply stopped breathing. For a minute or two, I continued to sense an energy rising from her otherwise lifeless body. Finally, when I realized that Mom was free, I reached for the “call chain” on the wall above her bed and gave it a gentle tug. Looking at my watch, I noticed the time—6:22 p.m.
Peace
Later, as the evening progressed and family began to gather in the room, I was thrilled when my sister-in-law made the observation. “I’m surprised I haven’t cried—but I couldn’t—because when I walked into the room I sensed such a strong feeling of peace coming from Mom.”
This morning, as I processed my feelings with my dear friend Rose, I told her about the fears and uncertainties that had begun to sink in as Mom had begun her rapid departure. “Brenda, you did the perfect thing,” she reassured me. “By simply sitting with her—alone—you kept and projected a space of perfect unconditional love and peace—free of the conflicting energy that may have been brought in by others.”
As I reflected on Rose’s words, I had a deep inner sense of awareness and gratitude that perhaps I had done just that. My loving peace had indeed been a special gift to my mother. Even though she had no way to physically communicate with me in those final hours—I was blessed with the deep knowing that “Yes, our souls were in constant peaceful and loving communication throughout the entire experience.”
I am filled with immense gratitude for the faith and peace that gave me the courage and the trust to simply hold onto a space of unconditional love for my mother as she gently let go and made her way to the other side.
© Brenda Larsen, 2009