Mom's Birthday, February Twenty-Six-Thril

I have to clear something up from an earlier post. (I don't have to but I want to, it's like when people say, I have to tell you. More often than not these people are Jewish mothers.) My brother and I spent the Shabbos of my mother's death oscillating between a bikkur cholim guest room and the MICU of Northshore Hospital. When my mother actually passed away I was in the guest room sleeping or just waking up again. My brother was in the waiting room soon to go in to my mother's room again to visit, but the nurse came out to him with the news first. A few minutes later I returned from nearby, from the building where we were staying, and re-entered the hospital. I thought I saw my brother walking out and called him, and then ran after him, if it was him he was gone. I went up to the MICU, entered my mother's unit and Noah the nurse said to me, "Sorry about your loss." My brother was on his way to tell me and we soon undid that crossing of paths. e
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A dear friend of mine said something lovely and comforting to me. Many people yearn to be with their loved ones at the moment of petirah - when the soul passes. This often doesn't happen. In the natural world creatures all go off alone for their moment of death. It's only humans who fight that and try to be with the dying person at the moment they die. It seems from studies both academic and anecdotal that people want that last moment alone. Just them and G-d. You often hear stories that a person had just walked out of the room to get the other a glass of water and came back and found the person dead. That's what happened with Shelley and Aaron Bulman. The details are the same but the timing is very often such that the person "just happens" to be alone at that moment.
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Today is exactly two months since my mother died on December 26, 2009. It is also her birthday, February 26th. She would have been 74. She would not have wanted me to tell you that - when she was alive. fd

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I never thought much about my mother's age, would have to think twice and double check had you asked me. That's changed. I never knew my mother's weight. Why would I? Over the time that I spent sitting by my mother's bed I learned a lot. Including my mother's weight which one professional casually announced to another clipboard holding nurse at some point.jk

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At about two o'clock on Friday afternoon we were told that my mother had been moved from the emergency room to the MICU. From then till Shabbos, and then again soon after Shabbos started, I spent as long as I could sitting next to mom's bed. For relief I would pop out to the waiting room and soon return. The afternoon nurse, on till seven was Julie. She needed some formal information and we spoke a bit informally too about life and death and family. I said some Tehillim from there next to the bed and learned/read some Pirkei Avot. As I left the room each time I said a few words to mom, self consciously. The staff said that actual hearing was the last sense to go but that understanding was for sure gone.[

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I make a point not to bring up this question about what my mother on her retroactive deathbed could understand in general conversation. I made especially sure not to bring it up when I shared a Shabbat meal recently with a woman whose husband has been in a coma for months. Recent visitors have reported that they felt that he's responsive. My mother opened her eyes and looked at me many times, but the nurses were confident that it was reflexive and not a response to me. Soul realities are beyond what medical professionals can fathom. In the moment I listened to them. As I look back I realize that I believe that when I whispered to her (so the nurses wouldn't hear) she listened to me.
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I have so much to say, to not say, thoughts run wild inside my head. I will write again, please G-d, about my mother - her life and her sudden death. During shiva and after I passed around a picture of my mother as a young bride. As I ran out from my home with a handful of stuff to wear and have while I was away from burial till Sunday after shiva I grabbed a few photos. Actually, I grabbed a moment to ask if friends could print them for me. One dear friend came to the funeral with a framed version of my nuclear family at my Uncle's wedding. And a few other pictures were printed.[p
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My mother was young and she was old (but not old enough), she was healthy and she was ill. Mom was many things. In later years, the fifteen years she walked around hooked up to oxygen mom was adamant about not having her picture taken. The last picture I took of her was of her feet. I have debated what I am about to do. It's a candid shot, the last photo I have of mom's face. As I paste and post I recall the words of Chris Buckley, "For better or worse it's your call now." May my mom's memory - be for a blessing.