COMFORTS: POST 17

                                        This is not my house 

We arrived back in Mobile nearly a week after Mom had died. I was still in a state of numbness and my body ran on autopilot. We spent the first few days after Mom passed making arrangements and waiting for siblings to come into town. There was about a 100 mile radius that we were working in that week and now I was exhausted.


The car was loaded with funeral flowers and things from Sandy’s house that had belonged to Mom, such as her shoes, some clothing and things. On top of that stuff, my sisters all felt the need to buy Shanon more junk to make up to her having been there when Mom died, though Shanon counted being there as a blessing. I think her biggest relief was that Mom didn’t actually jump up and do the dramatic death scene that I had described in the last post. Later I had asked Shanon what she expected, and ironically, she described a scene similar to the wild ones in my head before Mom died.

It was Monday night and we pulled in the driveway at about 8:00. A couple of neighbors met us at the car with hugs, a plant, a card, and a bottle of wine. Once again, I felt I had won the lottery – that Mom died while I was living in Mobile. They helped unload my car and carry everything inside. I asked if they would like to sit on the porch and share the bottle of wine. They gladly accepted and we spent the next couple of hours talking about Mom, Shanon’s ministering spirit, and the peaceful death. We talked about the stars and Barry, our neighbor and biology teacher at the School of Math and Science, in his soft voice, explained the phenomena in the skies the night Mom died.

We laughed and cried as Georgia, who lives next door and is my age, told her story of losing her own husband in an accident 12 years before. She was able to relate in a way that even I couldn’t. The more she shared, the more I knew I was blessed! We ate cheese and crackers and Spooky (see my earlier post called “Spooky”) took turns laying on our laps.
The night was warm and the sky was lit up with stars still remnant of the show a week before. The muffled trains sounded in the distance and the sweet scent of ginger plants permeated the air. I thought about how much Mom would have enjoyed their company; how much she would have enjoyed this night. At around 11:30 p.m. we went our separate ways and I was grateful not only for their nice gifts, but for their friendship, their presence, and their time that they so graciously shared.

       Les went back to work the next morning and I was up doing routine chores. It was as though I were testing myself, testing reality, to see if life really would go on without Mom in the world. I felt like I was walking on eggshells, as though at any second, the world would shatter into millions of pieces. I decided to go outside and do yard work. Upon walking out the back door, I noticed a chiminea on my patio. For those who don’t know what it is, it is a clay fireplace that is somewhat bottle shaped, with a hole in the side to put the wood in and it forms a bottleneck shaped chimney; kind of a southwestern look. I knew they are somewhat costly, more than one would spend for a casual gift but I had no idea where it came from. It didn’t take long to find out.


After a while, Barry was coming home for lunch. He stopped to ask how I was doing and I asked him if he knew where the chiminea came from. He said, “Yes! That is for you! We know you love the outdoors and will use it!”

       We have used it many times since then, though never as much as I want to. And when we do, it reminds me that it was given from hearts of love in my time of loss. Though Mom can never be replaced, I can not help but to count my blessings. I know that with every loss, there is a gain. With every minus there is a plus. When we lose a person we love, God will send just the right people to walk us through the valley, to give us the strength to carry on, and to breath fresh new life back into our spirits. The dark night will be laid to rest and the sun will shine again!

Casualty - Post 16

       When we got to the hospital, I took one last look at the blue sky and palm trees, and breathed in the warm ocean air; that which I had done so many times with Mom, before going inside. Mom was unconscious and it was evident that, indeed, she had taken a turn for the worse. It was about 11:30 a.m. and all we could do was sit and wait. It was Les and I, Shanon, my brother Chuck, my sister Sandy and her husband Ken. The minutes ticked on like hours as we measured her every breath. I thought of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemanes, when he knew his dying hour was drawing near and yet his disciples could not even stay awake to keep watch with him. Perhaps they, like us, were agonizing over minutes that dragged on like hours, dreading what the outcome would be.

All kinds of things ran through my mind and I wondered if there was a protocol for appropriate deathwatch thoughts. I thought back to when we were kids and we would mimic a death scene, wrenching our stomachs, stumbling around the room saying, “Uhhhh! Iiiii’m dyyyyyyiiiinnnnngggg!” The thought crossed my mind of Mom hopping up and doing just that, making her grand exit out of this life. I really didn’t know what to expect, yet, in true Deaton/Lovejoy form, my sense of humor kicked in, unsolicited, with various such scenarios. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism, one that I knew Mom would understand. Minutes turned into an hour, then two hours..

       That day, the stars were supposed to do some type of alignment that is only seen every 75 years. I don’t remember the details now, but at the time, I knew them word for word because Mom was dying and I had considered the possibility that she would die on that day. As I looked at Mom in her last fight, I knew she needed to know that we would be okay. I told her, “Mom, today is the perfect day! The stars are going to align tonight in a way that only happens every 75 years! There is going to be a great show up there and we can meet tonight under the stars!” Chuck could not tell her himself, so he asked me to tell her that he is okay and that she could go. Seeing my grown baby brother sitting next to our Mom, holding her hand and balling broke my heart.

       Sandy is a nurse at the same hospital and there was a jewelry and gift sale going on in another wing. She had taken Shanon just to give her a break from the monotony of minutes that seemed like hours. Yet in the whole scheme of things, the time was so short. Too short! A little later, they returned and Shanon – thanks to Aunt Sandy – had bought Mom a bracelet, necklace, and a little pink, velvet box that was designed to look like a bible. She then put the necklace around Mom’s neck and the bracelet on her wrist, then the box in her hands, which were placed one on top of the other. Ten minutes later, after assessing the emotions in the room, Shanon asked if she could give Les and I our Christmas gifts. Aunt Sandy – also known as Aunt Spoily – said yes. Shanon gave Les a watch. Then she gave me a blue, iridescent beaded necklace and earring set. As Mom lay dying, my own little girl comforted me by taking my own earrings and necklace off and put the new ones on me.

       It was about that time I decided to paint Mom’s fingernails, as she and all her sisters were known for their beautiful nails, hands, feet and skin. I wanted her nails to be as she would have wanted them. Shanon then got out Mom’s makeup bag and began putting makeup on her, careful to work around the oxygen mask. It was less than an hour after Shanon presented her gifts to her dying Grandma and grieving mom that Mom’s breathing slowed down and, after fifteen moments she breathed her last breath. It was 4:15 p.m.

      I don’t know why I was shocked! I knew it was coming! Yet none of us were truly prepared. We cried as though she had just suddenly dropped dead.   At that time, Shanon was sitting on Les’s lap. Somehow she had missed the fact that Mom had passed.   However, she did notice the oxygen mask was off and decided to complete the makeup job and put lipstick on Mom. Now, as far as death goes, Mom’s was about as glamorous as they come, with her own personal makeup artist, hair stylist, and nail tech right on hand.

       Sandy was talking on the phone and told someone that Mom had died 15 minutes before when Shanon, putting on the lipstick, jerked her head up! “Wait! Did she die?” Me: “Yes! 15 minutes ago!” I had expected her to run out the door or something. Instead, She looked back down at Mom in shock, then pulled the makeup bag back out and went on a mission to make Mom look perfect. We stayed with mom, primping her, holding her hand, and styling her hair for over two hours. It was hard to leave when her body was still warm. It never cooled down while we were there.

     Chuck and I  had told Mom over and over in those last couple hours to meet us under the stars, hoping she would hear us. We wanted some sign that she had a front-row seat to the starry show in the night sky. We said our last goodbye at around 7 p.m. We rushed out to see the stars only to find a cloudy sky. We headed to the beach – surely the skies would be clear there! Nope! Thick clouds. We wondered if Mom thought we had stiffed her! But later I found out, Mom had another appointment under the stars; with my sister in Oklahoma City. Like the other siblings who lived too far to come again before Mom passed, Kare was brokenhearted that she was not there. I shared with her earlier in the afternoon what I told Mom about the star phenomenon for that night. So Kare went out to meet Mom under the stars and, in OKC, the skies were clear and beautiful, and yes! It was a sight to behold! A night meant for Mom and Kare!

Coffee, Casualties, and Coastal Comforts: Conclusion of Mom is Dying!

NOTE: For those who are just starting to read this blog, I recommend going back as you have time and doing them in numerical order. This section, Coffee, Casualties, and Coastal Comforts, is the continuation of the story before the Mardi Gras section, about when Mom was dying. These entries will be much shorter and talk about the simple comforts – many from living in the south- that kept me grounded.

COFFEE AND THE COAST! POST #15

We had gotten home late on the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Once again, we had been in Panama City because Mom was dying. In early October, she had gone into the hospital and we were told that she was going to die. The choice was this: surgery would prolong her life 2 days at the most, enough time for all of the kids and grandkids to fly into town; not having surgery would mean death before daybreak. We thought we had a choice in the matter – not that any really made that much difference. However, the doctor who, an hour before seemed resigned to her immanent death, came in and told us they were doing the surgery. We didn’t fight it. My siblings and all of our children began flying in one-by-one. After a few days, Mom woke up and was pretty adamant that she didn’t want to die. We knew it was inevitable, yet her valiant spirit fought against her broken-down body. Miraculously, she survived nearly two more months, giving us treasured time to prepare for the unavoidable.

It was Monday morning and Les had just left for work when I got the phone call that Mom had taken a turn for the worst during the night. Once again, the doctors said to call in the family. This time, only three of us kids (out of 8) could be there and only two grandchildren out of 12. I called Les and he rushed home. Shanon, who hated to miss school, quickly got ready with no complaints. Suddenly, here I was, pulling out the clothes that were set aside in the closet for this very time; an outfit for calling hours, a dress for the funeral, along with a weeks worth of clothes.

The morning was bright, warm, and sunny, not the grey gloom and doom it would have been in Syracuse, had this happened there. It was December 1, 2008. A friend, Paul Johnson, whom I hadn’t talked to since we moved, happened to call to see how we were doing as Shanon and I were getting ready to go. In my rush, calling people to share my pain wasn’t an option but I was sure glad Paul was on the phone. I was packing as we talked casually and he shared the past six months of his life. Then I shared ours and finished by saying, “and that brings us to this morning. I received a call 10 minutes before you called and….. “His comforting words and calm voice helped pull the pieces back together in my spinning, and out-of-control world.

I hadn’t had my coffee yet and, believe it or not, we stopped at Krispi Kreme on the way out of town. Food is never an option when I’m nervous or upset. For me, coffee is a comfort food, especially knowing that Mom and I shared a love for it. The drive is 3 ½ hours down the coast. With many trips back and forth trying various routes, we discovered that it takes the same amount or less time to drive the coastline rather than the highway. On this day, I needed the coastline because this holds many memories of days-gone-by with Mom. As the inevitable final goodbye awaited me on the other end, this drive down ‘memory lane’ was more important than ever.

Little things like coffee and driving the scenic route were what kept me grounded. Every half hour I called to make sure she was still alive. As we drove the coast from Pensacola on, memories flooded in of earlier days we had been to those very spots. In Destin, back in 2003 to visit a friend of Mom’s who lived right on the beach and had suffered a stroke. And then there was Greyton Beach, and Seaside, where Mom loved and we dreamed of living. As strange as it sounds, Seaside is off the main road by about 2 miles, yet, once again, that coffee call came as I knew we would be at the hospital in 20 minutes and it seemed so important – perhaps like a security blanket – to walk in with coffee in hand. Also, to connect with one of our favorite places, one that we had spent way too little time enjoying together.

We went to Seaside Starbucks and ordered 'to-go' coffees for Les and I and hot cocoa for Shanon and continued on the journey to Panama City, where death was waiting......