So I am three sheets to the wind as they say as I write this. Listening to Anthony and the Johnsons sing “If it be you will” so take that as you may.
I had a conversation with my coworker and dear friend Himani about death and fate. She lost her brother and I my mother. We had different, even opposing view of the matter. She believes in fate, and I prefer chance. She believes her brother left Samsara and that gives her comfort. I suppose I envy that. I believe that where we end up is chance and that in the end, nothing matters. The sun will eventually swallow the planet and this insignificant speck of matter will be re-distributed to the cosmos when the sun goes supernova.
I related an experience I don’t think I have written about before now; the days my mother almost died and recovered. My sister Renee was already at my parents house in Osoyoos. We knew mother was very sick, even dying, although no one dared say those words out loud. My sisters and I took turns visiting our parents and had neighbors keep tabs on them so that we could keep each other appraised of what was going on. I had rented a car from Vancouver to Penticton which was the standard trip for me. (and then rent it from Penticton to Vancouver) which ended up being cheaper since there wasn’t any rental cars in Osoyoos. I believe I had intended to visit my folks and then Renee and I would drive back to Vancouver.
This time my aunt Janie would pick me up in Penticton and drive me home to Osoyoos. I remember Renee rushing to meet me in the work room (the entry of my parents house) relieved that Janie had left. “Mom is in the living room, glaring at me.” she said to me. “she’s naked” I entered the room to find my mother sitting on the love seat with her panties around her ankles. She’d injected herself with 714-X which was some bullshit remedy desperate people who have cancer turn to. My mother had injected it into her thigh and the cancer in her brain swelled shutting off certain parts which left her unresponsive. I had left her in the morning and she was fine and now she didn’t seem to know who I was.
“Mom?” her eyes turned to me. Not glaring, but not the loving gaze of a mother to her youngest offspring. It was like she was looking at me but not recognizing who I was. I looked at the concern in Renee’s eyes. “We should pull up her pants.” she said. So together we pulled up her panties and laid a blanket across her lap. I was not emotionally equipped to deal with this. I had no point of reference from which to draw this most alien of experiences. I sat beside my mother, talking to her quietly in her state and waited for my father to return from his golf game. My mother was unresponsive and as my sister noted, even belligerent in visage.
When my father arrived we ran to tell him the state mom was in. He must have been distressed but looking back I think he took it very well. The woman he kissed goodbye in the morning while standing in the kitchen was now comatose. Together we picked her up and put her in their bed, and then began the phone calls. Family would need to be notified that this was it. She was dying.
Dying.
I was not equipped for this. No religion to console me. No philosophy to buffer me from the harsh reality of situation. The single most important person in my life was dying. And there was nothing I could do but watch. Renee and I took turns reading the bible to her and singing the songs of our youth that she has taught us: “If I had a hammer”, “Tom Dooley“. Anything we could think of. Within a matter of hours the house was full of people. Dear friends and family coming in to comfort us, and to say good bye. Nicole would come the next morning. Our house was full of people cooking and eating and drinking.
Our neighbor, a palliative care nurse, instructed us to wash mom’s mouth with a damp cloth, to make sure she was comfortable. The house is a buzz with people coming and going. It wasn’t a celebration exactly, but it wasn’t exactly a funeral either. People would speak quietly to my father, they would go into my parents bedroom and speak with my mother as she lay there, but for the most part I remember it as quite lively. Lots of stories shared and laughter. But that may be liquor and time, who knows?
I don’t remember how Nicole got home. I imagine Janie or someone picked her up, maybe the neighbors Pete and Sonia. What I do remember is the day after Nicole came home getting up the next morning and finding my mother standing in the kitchen making a cup of tea, like nothing had happened.
She had no recollection of the previous two days. To her everything seemed normal. She had no memory of the people coming into her bedroom to pay their respects as she lay there. No memory of the tears shed over her as she lay in my parents bedroom. She seemed a little surprised in fact that Nicole was home. Only Renee and I were home when she went into the coma.
“This may happen again,” the palliative care nurse told us quietly as we stood in the drive way. “several times.” Se explained the swelling had gone down and brain functions returned to normal. That even if mom didn’t take anymore of the 714-x she could still experience the same comatose reactions.
I suppose it’s ironic I am listening to “If it be your will” which is a very beautiful prayer written by Leonard Cohen.
If it be your will
If there is a choice
Let the rivers fill
Let the hills rejoice
Let your mercy spill
On all these burning hearts in hell
If it be your will
To make us well