"Love Is Like Oxygen, You Get Too Much - You Get Too High, Not Enough And You're Gonna Die"
Someone found by blog recently by googling "What does GNAGB mean?" I think that some use it for Good Night and Good Bye. I've written bout a hundred poems and posts in which I use it to mean Good Night and G-d Bless. A friend thought I was being abrupt in signing off that way to her. I think she took GB as Goodbye. Oh well.
Saying goodbye is never easy, especially when the nurses tell you with confidence that your words will be heard but not understood - and for the moment you buy it.
This is the machine that kept my mother alive by providing her with oxygen for fifteen years.
On Friday, January 25, 2010 my mother - Of Blessed Memory - (I just learned via Mourninng and Remembrance by Rabbi Aaron Felder that while for twelve months when speaking aloud of a parent one should say "Hareini kaparat miskavah/mishkavo"), "if a mourner writes about a deceased parent, one should only add zichrono livrachah." This is the psak of the Rama on Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh Deah, 240:9, in the laws of Kibud Av Va'Eim) woke up and complained to my father (HSLABW) that she was having serious trouble breathing.
Long story short - mom collapsed. And she was out, meaning she had no pulse, heartbeat, breathing, meaning she was dead. My dad called 911 and an ambulance (along with police cars and police men who stood watch on the porch and firemen in a fire truck) came. An EMT brought my mother back to life. She was probably gone for about twenty minutes though before the tchiyat hameitim.
The immediate family followed the ambulance to the emergency room. This was at about eight o'clock. We spent the day there, getting regular unclear reports from happy doctors and nurses wearing fuzzy red Christmas hats. Shabbos was approaching and my brother and I decided to stay. We switched off spending time with comatose mom. And at ten to six on Shabbos morning my mother- zichronah livrachah - breathed her last breath.
Saying goodbye is never easy, especially when the nurses tell you with confidence that your words will be heard but not understood - and for the moment you buy it.
This is the machine that kept my mother alive by providing her with oxygen for fifteen years.
On Friday, January 25, 2010 my mother - Of Blessed Memory - (I just learned via Mourninng and Remembrance by Rabbi Aaron Felder that while for twelve months when speaking aloud of a parent one should say "Hareini kaparat miskavah/mishkavo"), "if a mourner writes about a deceased parent, one should only add zichrono livrachah." This is the psak of the Rama on Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh Deah, 240:9, in the laws of Kibud Av Va'Eim) woke up and complained to my father (HSLABW) that she was having serious trouble breathing.
Long story short - mom collapsed. And she was out, meaning she had no pulse, heartbeat, breathing, meaning she was dead. My dad called 911 and an ambulance (along with police cars and police men who stood watch on the porch and firemen in a fire truck) came. An EMT brought my mother back to life. She was probably gone for about twenty minutes though before the tchiyat hameitim.
The immediate family followed the ambulance to the emergency room. This was at about eight o'clock. We spent the day there, getting regular unclear reports from happy doctors and nurses wearing fuzzy red Christmas hats. Shabbos was approaching and my brother and I decided to stay. We switched off spending time with comatose mom. And at ten to six on Shabbos morning my mother- zichronah livrachah - breathed her last breath.
Good night and G-d bless
You and me and everyone
With continued breath
May we live another day
And not take life for granted
posted by rabbi neil fleischmann @ 11:59 PM
6 Comments:
Your mother--and her loved ones--were blessed with a peaceful death. My mother died gasping for breath staring straight into my eyes, with a startled look I will never forget. Cancer, took her in one month. I am not "comparing" as much as wishing I could have seen my mother just sleep herself away to wherever it is we go, if we go anywhere, when we die. I think we never stop yearning for a mother either. Maybe someday, with time, it will get easier. Let us hope.
How fortunate that you decided to stay for Shabbos, so that you were present at the petirah. She should have a lichtige gan eden.
Your mother, z"l, died on Shabbos. Her neshama was already elevated, being that it was a Shabbos.
You will eternally be thankful that you were there with her when she took her last breath. And she could die in comfort knowing that...
May her memory be for a blessing.
I need a little time to respond properly to these compassionate comments. Meanwhile, thank you.
Is it my computer or did this photo get cut off?
It's cut off.
Miss Trudy, I'm so sorry for your loss. I have no words...
Kishke and Pearl thanks. I explain details in another, more recent post. For better or worse I wasn't there when her neshama passed over.
Kishke thanks for the tip on the picture - don't know how it got cut off. i fixed it (I think).
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