That Last Breath

Our entry into this world is a rather violent one. One moment, safe inside your mother's womb and the next moment (or hours) you emerge into a loud, bright, and scary place where your first breath must happen quickly as fluid in your lungs is exchanged for air.

That last breath though...that last breath in a natural death is quite a contrast. Our bodies, beautifully and wonderfully made, know how to operate. They know what to do at the beginning of life and at the end. It's quite beautiful really, I only wish I wasn't witnessing it through the lens of my mother's death.

There are things that we know happen at the end of life, we sleep more, we stop eating and drinking, our circulation and our breathing change. Those are the physical manifestations and I'm seeing these signs in my mom. I'm also observing spiritual changes. She is seeing someone or something that makes her happy and unafraid. She is now seeing beyond her earthly life and will soon be leaving for her eternal one.

That last breath will be a moment of pure joy for her and utter despair for me. Even if I'm in a room surrounded by family and friends for that instant I will feel total isolation as the person that brought me into this world leaves it. Try as I might, I can't prepare myself for it. I'm sorting through photos, making funeral plans, selecting songs, reading scriptures, and sitting by her bedside. Sitting there, holding her, and watching her breathe, because soon, that last breath is going to happen, and unlike the gasping first breath of an infant, this one will be quiet. Instead of emerging into a loud, bright, scary place she will go back home where it's safe, and she's well, and with my dad.

I've given her permission to do this. Mom and I have always been able to tell each other anything that needed to be said so we have no unfinished business. I've told her it's ok to leave and that we will all be fine. Last night as I was telling her this, with tears streaming down my face she had this confused look on her face, not dementia confused either. Her expression said, "Why are you crying, can't you see this? Don't you see where I'm going?"

I Love You, forever and for always.

Of course, she can never truly leave me because she lives on in me and in my daughters (cue Lion King music.) And that woman, the one that grew up in the depression, the one that outlived two husbands and a son, that woman will deliver a swift kick in my ass, all the way from heaven. That kick will be to remind me that I am my mother's daughter and I will pick myself up, and I will carry on, and I will make her proud, up until I take that last breath.