Her final days haunt me
Her cries for visits taunt me
Emptiness wraps around me,
Like the darkest of blankets.
I am lost and alone.
Why has she gone “home”?
How do I make the images fade?
How long till the pain ends?
It seems there’s no escape.
My mom’s last week of life was undoubtedly the hardest of my own. The image of her fragile, bedridden body is burned in my mind; forever ingrained are her cries which cued me to administer more pain medicine.
The hospice medical team assured me that I could make no mistakes. I was told her liquid opioid dose was small, but articles I read about the opioid epidemic made me question how frequently it should be given. Overdosing my mom was the last thing I wanted to do. Were the doctors sure the medicine wouldn’t further damage her weak organs? Was she so close to transitioning that it no longer mattered?
With all these worries on my mind, I waited until she audibly showed discomfort (usually 10-15 minutes after a new dose was due) before giving more medicine. I hope I didn’t increase her suffering. Why did she want to be home so badly? Did she know how sick she was? Did she understand the hospital doctors when they recommended a hospice? Why couldn’t those doctors do more for her so she wouldn’t require a hospice in the first place? I’ve had no medical training and felt ill-equipped to handle her late night restlessness and anxiety. It seems there’s nothing to remove those images of her final week from my mind. I hope therapy helps.
It was only after reading about impending natural death that my anxiety ceased. The goal of palliative care is to provide as much comfort as possible to the dying. I hope my fears didn’t stop my mother from resting comfortably in her last days.
Kee Grieves 