Reprising a Heartfelt Post

You already know Mom passed on June 17, 2022. Yesterday, we had a small family gathering at my home in her memory. I’m posting this to keep it pinned for a while.

This is a reprint of my newsletter sent last month.

So often I spoke of my mother, Marie Kuswa, in my newsletters and on Facebook. The caregiving story in my new book, Middle-Aged Crazy Book Two, is totally about her, although I changed the names. She’s become a part of you, too. So, I’m sad to tell you that on June 17, Mom moved on to a happier place.  I don’t say that lightly. As a lapsed Catholic who has a hard time believing in a primary deity, I am nevertheless feeling pretty certain there’s more after death. Something good. The afternoon before Mom died, the Activities Director, Janet (we love her so much!) went to say, “See you tomorrow, Marie.” When she walked in, Mom was sleeping, but she opened her eyes right away and said, “Hi,” very clearly, with a smile. It was surprising because Mom had been confused the past few days, but she knew Janet right away. Janet sat next to her bed and held her hand. Mom wanted to sit up and talk, so they talked about their day, and Mom was as clear as could be, making perfect sense. She even asked how Janet’s family was doing, and inquired about an upcoming trip. Janet knew my brother would be returning that evening, so she encouraged Mom to take a little nap and rest. Mom was in very good spirits, giggling a few times.

Mom lay back, still holding Janet’s hand.

Janet said, “She continued to look at me, but it was different. It felt different. Suddenly she looks up at the ceiling, her eyes are going everywhere! She was definitely seeing something. Her eyes were bright, she couldn’t take her eyes away from the ceiling. She looked ALL around. At that moment I felt so much emotion, because I think I knew what was going on. I called out her name three times, asking, “Marie, are you seeing something? What is up there?’ Finally she turned and looked at me, squeezed my hand, and smiled at me. Didn’t answer, just smiled.”

Janet wished someone would walk past the door so she could tell them, but no one ever did, leaving her to think, “OMG, what just happened?”

Mom came out of it and asked what time Janet was leaving, worried about the traffic, just like always. Janet wanted to cry. Her words were shaky. She said it was a conversation she would never forget, like Mom was saying goodbye to her. “Like she knew something, someone was here to announce to her that she was ready to go HOME. She was very peaceful, very comfortable. She said to be careful driving home, and told me she loved me. I said I loved her more and kissed her cheek.”

Janet says, “I think about it over and over, and I can’t help but to cry, but they’re good tears. My heart is full. It was so peaceful I can’t even describe it.” In fourteen years of working at the home, she’d never been so moved by a resident’s death.

Later that night, Mom was back to being confused, talking crazy, antsy, not sleeping. The next day, she was sleeping when my brother came in. After a while, he took a call from his son. Suddenly the room became so peaceful, it got Verne’s attention. This couldn’t have been due to the silencing of Mom’s breathing because you wouldn’t have heard that over the huffing and sighing of the oxygen concentrator machine. 

Mom was gone.

Janet and my sister Karen dressed Mom in her cute mint-green tracksuit, and the workers began to file in, crying. She had made quite an impression in almost two years at the Villas. Mom was known for always being a gracious hostess in her little “home”, always offering “a cookie? A cracker? Some pop?” She was appreciative and thoughtful. She lent a kind ear to their concerns, and I told Mom repeatedly she probably helped vent some steam for staff workers needing a break. One of the staff, observing Mom in repose, said, “She still looks fabulous!” which brought tearful laughter. 

So now, we’re crushed and heartbroken, but two things help me cope. One, her poor old body was done. Things were starting to critically malfunction, she wasn’t comfortable, and in the last few weeks, confusion set in and she was frightened. Two, Janet’s account makes me feel certain Mom’s okay now. Better than okay. She’s great. And we will be, too.

Today would have been her 97th birthday. 

In case you’re interested in the video that helped me imagine a bright future for Mom, here it is.

And here she is. Janet took this picture a few months ago.