The Congregation

VOCAL: If Walls Could Talk

The Congregation

If walls could talk, they would say that today was a good day for her. At the age of fifty-five she was the youngest resident at Shimmering Pines nursing home. At about the age of forty, she began to notice small changes in herself: her walk didn’t feel the same, sometimes speaking didn’t feel the same, some days she couldn’t remember common words for objects like “bird” or “dish”. But that stubborn Irish will kicked in, combined with a lifetime of danger-denial, which she learned from her mother, and she never said a word, to anyone. And anytime it reared itself in her mind, she just slammed the door on it and banished it away again.

Then in 1998 at the age of fifty-three, while she was secretly using a cane, she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis by the best neurosurgeon on the East coast. Again, she dug her heels in and denied it, along with her husband Jim. Did I mention that the stubborn Irish will and danger-denial could be passed on by thirty-eight years of marriage? Both of them life-long heavy smokers, Jim was retired from the fire department and had been suffering from a persistent cough, combined with severe lower-back pain. No one knew he had lung cancer which had spread to his spine until his stroke on Christmas Eve in 2000. He died three weeks later.

Aside from Jim’s death being a a heart-breaking eye opener, her M.S. was getting progressively worse, to the point that she could no longer toilet herself, shower herself, feed herself, or walk without the assistance of a walker of wheelchair. In a small cape with the only bathroom on the second floor, conditions quickly got worse. Their only child, a daughter who had bought the house next door, simply couldn’t keep up. Trying to work full time, maintain two houses, and care for her mother (and a very needy, confused dog) became impossible. After consulting various family members, two of whom were nurses, and speaking with a social worker, the decision was made that Mom had to eventually go to a nursing home. Insurance wouldn’t cover an “assisted living” facility, and her illness and handicaps were too severe for the living standards of such a place.

Before arrangements were made, she collapsed and no one could get her up, not even a visiting nurse. She was having trouble breathing, and was losing weight rapidly. She was taken via ambulance to the hospital, and never went back home. Her daughter had to sell the house and most of the items in it. Ninety percent of the proceeds from the sale would go to the state for her care on Title 19, the “old people’s welfare”. Her weight loss was determined to be the result of a very painful facial neuralgia, which she also kept secret. It became very difficult to manage through medication.

So today, a random Thursday in February, was a good day for her. She had had coffee with her new friend, Tony, in the common room, and then had her hair done in the facility’s salon. She knew that later tonight, her favorite show would be on HBO. Before her shift at the police department, her daughter had come by to spend time with her. Her daughter told her that she would buy her a new TV, as her current one seemed to be having sound problems, which would often send Mom into a panic, because it was really all she had for entertainment.

If the walls could talk, they’d tell you that last Saturday should have been a good day for her, with family visiting and maybe even getting her out for the day, but it wasn’t. She had been suffering from an undiagnosed urinary tract infection. Many people don’t realize that this can cause a temporary dementia, combined with mania. She believed that the photos on the wall were consistently changing, and when her daughter came to visit, Mom thought daughter was a young girl again, and asked if “Daddy” had come home from work yet. The hallucinations continued, and when medication failed to do its job, she was transported to the hospital. When she awoke, she didn’t understand how she had come to be there, and couldn’t remember the last two days. She was afraid, and thought that this may be it, that maybe she was rapidly deteriorating and that she would die soon.

If these walls could talk, they’d tell you that there were plenty of good days and plenty of bad ones over six and a half years, until the bad had begun to outnumber the good. Some days her limbs hurt, and her mind was beginning to fail. And some days she missed Jim so much, it was unbearable. She once even told her daughter about a “dream” she had had, where she awoke and saw him sitting on the edge of her bed, simply waiting. She had also begun to experience “spells” where she would simply fall asleep, and staff could not wake her. Because of her directives, each time, she would be transported to the hospital.

Hospice finally stepped in and after many meetings with Mom and the family, she made the decision to change her directives, and to no longer be revived. And while that was a sad day, it was also a relief. Hospital trips had been occurring three weeks apart, and that was no way to live. It was existing. Her only wish, which she stated loud and clear, was that she not die alone. She was afraid to die alone. She later would tell the hospice workers privately that she was also afraid to leave her daughter alone. That mother’s love is like super glue. Nothing can break it.

And then on the evening of August 15th, she was on top of her game, better than she had been in years: clearer, stronger, and strangely, in no pain. When her daughter came by to feed her dinner, Mom happily ate her tuna fish and they talked, like it was a regular day. But it was because of the clarity that her daughter knew: this was it. Mom was dying. Shortly after dinner, she fell asleep. And that’s when her daughter whispered in her ear that it was alright for her to go, that she would be ok without her.

The next morning, her daughter arrived early, along with Mom’s sister and Jim’s sister. Mom’s eyes were open but she was not responding. She would not eat, or speak, and barely moved. She seemed to be in a kind of trance. Over the next eight hours, she would occasionally mumble to people unseen. At one point she closed her eyes, made a grief-stricken sound, and seemed to be pleading with an unknown force. And after that, she stared off into the distance, smiled, and began waving. She would point and her face would show joyful surprise at someone’s presence. They had come for her, all of those that had passed before her; friends, family, pets, and Jim. And if the walls could talk, they’d tell you that she didn’t die alone.