GRIEVING FOR MY MOM

This is not a memorial for my Mom.  I've already spoken of my Mom's beauty and grace, and my brothers both did her far more justice than I could have.  On October 28th at 10:45 Beverly Rae Bragg, my mother, went to be with her blessed savior. I've written about my Mom's impending death on at least three or four occasions in this blog. Since my last blog, things went downhill rather quickly. I didn't know how it would affect me, and to be honest, I didn't really want to know.  I've always tried to tie my thoughts into the sparrows that inhabit my yard, but I can't do it this time.  I didn't realize how deeply her passing would affect me, and it has taken me a couple of weeks to get my breath.  I've had lots of family members pass during my 66 years on this earth, but I'd been blessed to have my Mom and Dad with me well into my sixties.  I hate it when we say we've lost someone in our lives, because I didn't lose my Mom.  She went to be with Jesus, and her passing didn't happen alone. 

It was a privilege to be with her as she passed this vale.  Her long battle with dementia was difficult to watch, especially because she'd been the brightest light of all of us. Watching her light slowly fade to dementia was my greatest heartache. In the end, death seemed a welcome end to the pain she'd endured.

As I wrote in my last blog, my mother's condition resulted in her having to be put in a Rehab center at a local nursing home. I have nothing against Nursing Homes, but they aren't the answer for some people.  Momma was one of those people.  Because she'd always been a people person all of her life, we assumed that it would be a wonderful place for her to meet, and make new friends.  Boy, were we wrong.  Despite her dementia, she retained her pride, and need to be self sufficient. She refused to eat in the dining area, and slowly diminished before our eyes.  At the end of her rehab, it was obvious that we'd done her a disservice. Our intentions were good, but you know what they say about good intentions.  

We took her home at the end of her rehab,and to be honest, I didn't know what to expect when someone died. I'm reluctant to say I was spared that sorrow for most of my life, because being with my mother in her last moments was a privilege.  Even though the stages of death are well documented, and explained on many websites, each person is different.  My mother began stage 1 almost from the moment we took her out of the rehabilitation center on August 27th. A week later, her kidneys began to fail, eventually she lost her appetite.  She wouldn't eat but a couple of bites of food at first, and then sometimes not at all.  For the longest of time her favorite meal was a Snickers bar and an unending supply of Coca Cola. Go figure!  We would do everything to coax her to eat to no avail.  Both of my brothers came to visit her, and both times she drew upon some inner strength to be there for them. Still, she refused to eat.  Her caregivers tried everything, but she had no interest in food.  Then mystery upon mystery, she would get busy at night and we'd find her on the floor every morning. Next to her we'd find the empty wrappers of snickers bars she'd found in the night.  Of the many things I learned about dying, I learned, you can't force your loved one to eat, and you can't keep them in the bed. Her kidneys were failing, and there was nothing we could do.  That's when the Doctor put her into hospice care.  

 I'm glad we did it.  Hospice allowed her to remain at home and finish her days with dignity. It is hard for me to talk about her last days without mentioning myself.  It is my eyes that saw her waste away to 78 pounds.  It was my ears that heard her ask the same questions over and over again.  It was my heart that felt the intractable hand of death move me aside and take her away from me. I counted it a privilege to sit next to her and hold her hand as she moved back and forth in her tug of war with death. I wouldn't trade the last three months of her life for all the money in the world.  

Every day I would walk the halls of her memories, feeling her joy at my birth, the love for my Dad, and understanding the amazing love she felt for my two brothers. Although the dementia had stolen her short term memory, her long term memories were intact. Most of all, I was able to ask forgiveness for all the pain I'd caused her through the years. There are things that are best left to follow us into the grave, and things that should be dealt with before we leave. If this blog does one thing, I hope it will encourage you to go to your loved ones, and let them know how much you love them and what you appreciate about them.  In Mom's case, we laughed at some of the stupid things I'd done, and at some of the crazy antics she did when I was a little child.  She never knew how much I loved some of her idiosyncrasies until I told her.  

Sunday, October 23rd, she slipped into stage two of dying.  She stopped eating altogether, and her voice became frail. She couldn't swallow, which meant she couldn't have her cokes.  It was my turn to talk to her instead of with her.    

Monday and Tuesday,   On Monday morning, her hospice nurse stood outside with me and informed me that Mom was in stage two and it wouldn't be long.  I heard my Mom on the other side of the door say "It's not nice to whisper."  I went back inside and told her we were just discussing her condition.  "I heard you."  she said.  Which busted me into tears.  Of all the things that failed her, her hearing was not one of them. I called all of the close family and told them that she was not long for this earth.  My daughter Amy, a registered nurse, had been her constant companion for over 3 months.  She would drive all the way from Springfield, Missouri to spend the afternoons with her grandma.  It wasn't as a nurse that she came to see her.  Amy would sit and crochet an afghan blanket for her mother, while my Mom would ask every day who she was making it for.  Amy would tell her she was making it for her Momma, but it was obvious that Mom was hoping it was going to be hers.  Amy got to talk to her about things I didn't dare bring up.  The two of them shared secrets I wouldn't dare ask about. When Mom began to fail, I could see my daughter's anger rise at the cruelty of death.  It is one thing to be a nurse in a cardiac wing and quite another to let your beloved grandmother step into the waiting arms of her savior.  By Tuesday night, everything was failing.  Family were desperately trying to get away to hopefully make it there in time to say goodbye to her.  Stage two can last for weeks, or hours, in Mom's case it only lasted for two days. Her Hospice doctor prescribed a Comfort pack.  Which I won't explain, but it is a final step in the care of a dying loved one.

Wednesday! The day before she left will always be etched in my mind. When I arrived Wednesday morning I thought we'd been given a reprieve.  A thin unforced smile worked it's way across her face.  Everything was bright, and she giggled about the silliest things. My wife, and daughter, along with her home care provider, Susan, spent the entire morning laughing, and joking.  Her voice was weak but her mind, and body had rallied one last time.  It was the most lucid I'd seen her in a long time.  In the face of 86 years of unconditional love, I saw her as Christ saw her.  His lovely daughter, innocent, and full of life.  About 2 pm, she slipped into stage three.  We administered the first dose of pain reliever to take the edge off of her passing.  My daughter Amanda arrived shortly after midnight Thursday morning, and took up residence by her head.  I held her hand occasionally, but by that time her limbs were locking up.  

Thursday! It was a dreary, wet morning. I thought of Psalm 116 where it says 'precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. O Lord, truly I am your servant, the child of your maidservant; you have freed me from my chains.  She passed this vale with Amy playing her favorite hymns on her phone, while Amanda read Psalms to her.  I'd stepped outside to help my son-in-law set up their travel trailer when Amanda came running outside to tell me that she thought Mom was passing.  I ran in just after she'd taken her last breath.  I'm told that she took two quick breaths, and left us. That picture of my two daughters sobbing over their beloved grandmother will forever be etched in my mind.  She walked from love to love.  I'm glad they were there.   

Sparrows can't feel this depth of grief, and I can't expect science to make sense of it. I do know that I was unable to stop touching her lifeless hand.  They were beautiful hands!  These were the hands that bathed me as an infant, changed my diapers, held me up as I took my first steps, and often cradled my face as she declared her love and pride in me.  I will be forever grateful to God for allowing me to be there as she went to Him.  I will forever remember her beautiful hands that held my aching heart as tears splashed over them. She will always be that gentle sparrow to me.  Gentle and kind, loving, and good. 

MOMMA BIRD

This summer has been unusually dry, and hot.  In early July, it looked like we were going to be temperate, and modestly wet, but it was not to be so.  The sparrows have hung out in my yard thanks to a raised garden we put in this year.  They quickly devoured any strawberries that we had, and pecked away at some of our other veggies as they were growing.  I watched as younglings hatched and momma birds searched frantically for food to feed them.  Then I watched the young birds begin to mature and lose their yellow beaks.  Time marches on, and the cycle of life goes on.  I've had to watch this cycle play out in my own life as I've become the caregiver for my 86 year old parents.  

At the beginning of 2020 during the height of the Covid-19 virus, my primary goal was to keep them from going into town.  This wasn't a problem for my mother, who's dementia kept her from driving.  I had to keep stressing the importance of mask wearing to my father, who suffers from Congestive Heart Failure, diabetes, and a host of other conditions.  He could still drive, and he began to take full advantage of the special shopping hours set aside for the elderly.  Then came the vaccines!!  

The vaccines gave my Dad, and my Mom the ability to get out once again.  Sadly, the year of isolation took a heavy toll on my mother's mental state.  Dementia began to steal memories of  mid-life, and slowly erased memories of my early adulthood.  Her amazing career as a computer programmer for the government eventually disappeared into a murky one line sentence that capsulized her experience as a one hour drive there and back. Losing those memories was like losing who she was.  She was the brightest of us all! I was so proud of her for learning how to program with only a High School education.  

As she turned 86 on May the 4th of this year she could sit up, walk with a walker, and carry on a conversation, even though you might have to answer the same question at least ten or twelve times in 30 minutes. At least she was still there. She made eye contact, smiled, and laughed at my teasing.  At the same time, my Dad's health began to fail rapidly.  The heart failure combined with A-fib forced him into a recliner. "I can't breathe," was almost a daily refrain.  He got on a first name basis with the ER doctors and nurses at our local hospital.  

As part of my daily routine, I would drive six miles to their house early in the morning to ensure that they were both alive and give mom her meds.  At the end of July I came in and found my mother on the floor in front of the couch, covered up by quilts and comforters so that you didn't see her at first.  Only a soft moan alerted me to where she was.  My Dad and I tried to lift her, but she screamed in pain so we had to call the paramedics.  (I'm no spring chicken myself.) Against her protestations, we had them take her to the hospital.  She'd suffered severe Digoxin Toxicity due to her taking pills without us knowing.  The hospital admitted her for two more days to hopefully cleanse her system.  The digoxin poisoning led to a heart rate of 40bpm which in turn meant she was getting reduced blood to her brain.  As she became physically better, it became apparent that the dementia was much worse.  At the advice of the doctors, we put her in rehab for 21 days.  During that time they got rid of the severe edema in her legs, and gave her back some mobility that she'd lost. What they couldn't give back was her mind.  So, we brought her home.

I can only speak from a man's point of view, but I do know that most men hope to die "with their boots on," or at least pass away in their sleep suddenly. There is a great sadness in watching my delicate mother waste away. I've cried more in the last two weeks than I have in a long, long time.  It doesn't take much to send me over the edge. My mother was a powerful woman of God, a spiritual powerhouse of prayer, empathy, and tenderness.  My childhood friends adored her, and would often stay till all hours of the night sharing their deepest feelings to her.  She was my refuge when my Dad was being a jerk, and when my peers were being jerks.  Outside of my wife, no one knew me better than my mom.  That person is gone.  

Why did I write all of this?  Today, as I was working on a drain line in their kitchen, I heard her call out for her mother.  "Mom." she said softly, and then a louder call.  I came in, and she said; "Mom, I don't feel good."  I held her hand and asked her softly what she needed.  "I don't need anything."  she replied, "I'm just cold."  So, I put another blanket on her.   

I don't know of many animals that grieve their aging parents.  It is nature's way to let the sick and frail fall prey to the ravages of predators or harsh weather.  Yet, humans seem to anguish over their ailing parents till the day of their passing.  I don't think any of us pass this vale without God taking notice.  He cares for us.  Glenda, my wife, asked me if those with dementia still have the anointing.  As I watch my mother slowly depart this vale, I have to say, no. Her spirit has left the tent that is her body.  The body, and mind are there, but the spirit has gone home.  I am grieving as I watch her give way to the physical death we must all partake of, but I rejoice as I think of her spirit resting from its labors.  

And with that, more tears, and a terrible sadness.  

AS a sad side note, the need for home care providers has made it almost impossible to get her professional end of life care in our community. Covid, especially the delta variant has wreaked havoc on the health care community.  My Dad can help her to some degree, but she needs more care than he can provide.  I still have a business that I must attend to, or I will lose it.  Many nursing homes are short staffed, and some won't even open their doors to allow family to visit. I can't help but wonder how many Momma Birds will pass this vale alone, and fearful.  

THE FREE AND THE BRAVE

 It is very difficult to write this blog in light of the political upheaval we are facing as a nation. It is about 4:30 in the morning, Sunday July 4th 2021.  There is a faint blue band of light out on the eastern horizon, and I can hear the sparrows in the neighbors tree begin to stir.  They have no clue as to the significance of this day for me, and millions like me.  

It is refreshing for the fourth of July to be on a Sunday!  This nation was was founded on Christian principles, and that it still endures is a testament to the foresight of the founders, as well as the plan of God. It's easy to look at the current state of affairs and assume that this is the worst it has ever been.  I believe today's political climate is bad!  The social upheaval we're facing is terrifying to those of us who believe in liberty, and this great republic.  As a nation we've been through this many times before. The path of liberty is always and ever toward progressive societies. Fear, and liberty are the two monstrous forces always at work in any republic, and it is foolish to ignore either of them.  It takes great bravery to resist the desire to surrender your liberties for the illusion of safety. 

At the end of the Star Spangled Banner there is a very stirring line that has become a descriptor of the people who live in this great nation.  If you go to a sporting event where they still play it, or if you are in a school  where they sing it, the final line always seems to be sung louder and with more conviction than the entire song. 

"O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave, O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave."  

No other nation on earth has enjoyed the liberty this nation has experienced for over two hundred years.  Freedom is not an easy choice!  It takes a brave people to live free.  The history of mankind isn't about freedom. The history of mankind is replete with fatalism. Societies, and governments were often built upon the idea that there were people born to lead, and govern those who were born to live in subjugation to those leaders.  When a human being gets a taste of power, they want more, and the only way to get more is to take it from others.  People have experienced moments of freedom throughout the history of the earth, but it is quickly given up because of fear. Throughout my lifetime I've seen the growing threat of Marxism around our globe as nation after nation tries to implement the idea of big government being the solution.  It takes brave hearts to stand against it.  There is a desire within all people for someone to take care of them.  It takes bravery to resist its allure.  Liberty implies that you alone are responsible for you.  That concept requires immense bravery.  Liberty is born of a belief in God, and His concern for your well being. Christians use the word faith to describe their belief in God, but I like to think that faith and bravery are the same thing.  God doesn't offer any of us a guarantee except the promise that we are free.  We are free to choose Him and live by His tenants, or we are free to live in unbelief. No matter what choice you make, He allows you to choose your own path, do what you want to do, and be what you want to be.  It is people who subjugate one another, and it is people who suppress each other.  

I am okay with my fate being in my hands.  I'm a self-employed handyman who picks up small jobs, and I'm happy with what comes my way.  No other person is responsible for my life. I can live in wealth, or I can live in comfort.  I can choose when to work, and when not to work.  The idea of being 'employed' by someone else is abhorrent to me. At the same time I don't want to be responsible for anyone else.  I don't want to dictate to anyone else how they should live their life.  Whether my days end in ease or pain, I want the liberty to live my life with my own convictions.  Socialism is not liberty. 

Outside my glass storm door, the sparrows are beginning to pick through the grass in my front yard in search of food.  They live in total freedom, and I envy them.    

My hope for this great nation as the sun begins to break on the horizon is that we are brave enough to live free.  Let the fireworks begin!