Grief comes in very huge packages

Tell me, what are the odds of a blogger posting entries about the passing away of a loved one twice in a row? It's practically nil, right. That was what I thought until I realized I have not blogged anything since my friend's, Arlene's, death. Now, I have to post this painful entry over the loss of my mother and realized I am wrong. But then, I have been wrong all the time about my mother's passing. You see, she has been suffering from alzheimer's and arthritis a long time that I thought the news of her death would not come as a surprise to me anymore. She's 87 years old, did nothing else but lie on her bed or sat on her wheelchair. She would not recognize anyone, much more, me, who could only come on Sundays for a visit.

My eldest sister would often call the house to tell me our mother has been looking for that bald, big man sitting by the tv. She can only surmise it was me she was talking about. Who really knew?

At any rate, that morning of the 23rd still came as a shock as I received a text message from my nephew that my mom has gone. I immediately went to her home in Marikina to find out what happened. She was no longer there. My only brother has taken her to the morgue. It was my sister and her grandchildren who greeted me. They were waking her up and she would not respond. They tried everything to revive her to no avail.

It was a long wait. My nieces and nephews and their families started to come and we all helped in cleaning the house for her arrival.

I couldn't find the tears when she arrived. I watched her peacefully lying in her coffin assuring myself that that was the way to go. Die in my sleep. No struggles, no painful goodbyes. We have been deprived of a memory of a doting mother, strong-willed, assuring for a very long time. She was deprived of her dignity, being bathed, clothed with diapers which probably irritated her as she continuously divested of them in spite of our incessant demands not to. She was tied in the hospital or she'd hurt herself getting rid of the dextrose, tubes stuck in her nose to feed her.

And yet, during the interment, it finally hit me. She will no longer be with us and she's buried six feet below the ground. Nobody could ever go away from there. The coffin entombed in sealed cement and buried with thick dirt. I cried. The person I loved most, the person that brought me into this world, the person that cared and nurtured me is no more. All I have left are memories of a distant past. Memories of me growing-up, being taken in front of the tv and fed with landing airplane spoons just so I would eat my food, being taken to and from school, watching plays I was a part of, a memory of a loving, responsible mother, who did her very best to rear her children the only way she knew how. Memories of my teen-aged years which were barely a parent's pride. How I wish alzheimer's did not touch my mother that robbed her of her dignity, her pride. She was robbed of her talent for cooking, baking and all that stuff that mothers loved to do. My only consolation was, she probably did not realize how much in pain she was in. It would have been more painful knowing her children suffered with her.

When she arrived in her coffin, I thought the box was too small. Her legs were bent like as if she was made to fit the coffin. And then I remembered, even her toes were bent. Her toes were all curled up, the big toes landed on top of the other toes and yes, her legs were bent that way causing her too much pain everytime we straightened them up. If you could bear with me for much longer, I would like to share two poems I wrote (not the only ones, you know) about my mother as a tribute to her.


A STRANGER IN HER OWN HOUSE

She wouldn’t have minded
the stranger for he feeds her,
helps her bathe and dresses her up,
puts talcum powder on her back

But he ties her hands…

Moves her every two hours
just when she is about to fall
asleep. Says he has to
or she will wound herself scratching

her itchy body. Her healing wounds
feel like a thousand ants
crawling, biting, nibbling her flesh.
He may look nice.

But he ties her hands…

She wonders who he is.
He seems to know everyone.
Talks to them, laughs and tells jokes.
By her count, there are at least
five adults, two children
and a frequent visitor.

And he ties her hands…

“Who are these people?”
she wonders. They say this is her house
she sleeps on her own bed
eats off her own plate,
but strange as it may seem
she feels she is
the stranger...

a stranger in her own house

Is She Really?
(Working title)
This is where alzheimer finally takes me.
My mother - alone in her bed

with neither memory nor care.
She is nothing but a shell

fleshy mollusk meat gone
the soup down to the last gulp.

Like the debris found in the morning
of a full night's revelry

confetti strewn thick on the pavement
amid trash of firecracker paper.

A birdcage without the bird
or a flower without the scent.

This is what she finally seemed to be
until...

With probing eyes and withered hands
she held my face!


Nay, goodbye for now and always remember, I love you very much!!!

Knockin' on heaven's door

I just visited my mom yesterday and I just realized how bad her dementia is getting to be. For those of you who are not yet in the know, she's suffering from alzheimer's disease. I've written several poems about my mther's condition. If you care to have a look at one of them, you'll find one here I know it's dementia as she's seeing people not visible to us, more often now. Yesterday, while I was playing mah jongg with my siblings and a cousin, I overheard my mom softly moaning, crying in despair in her bed. My kuya told me it's just natural for her to be doing that. I stood up to check her out. She said she didn't know what to answer the "lady over there." I asked, "Why? What's her question?" "I don't know. She keeps on asking me questions. Told me she's my mother."

That gave me a scare. No, I don't believe in ghosts. I am not outrightly rejecting the possibility of their existence but I have yet to see one and at this time. (I don't want to be disproved, though hehehe) At any rate, this reminds me of my dying father. He was in my sister's arms inside the cab enroute to the hospital during that fatal first heart attack. He told my siblings that he was seein his mother (my grandmother) and some relatives long gone. Now, I've heard that story quite too often now and not only here in the country but in other cultures as well.

What does this tell me? SEveral things. First, this death experience must be true. It gives me a glimpse of what death is all about. To me, it is a passing on to another dimension. A dimension that we have yet to learn fully about but will never do. If I am to believe there's another dimension out there, then what is it? Heaven? Probably. Isn't it nice to know that there's life after death? I'd like to believe that. Although it won't eradicate my fear of death, it alleviates its existence.

Going back to my mother, she kept on insisting that there's a woman by the door. I told her there's nobody. Then she cried in terror and asked, "what is she then, a ghost?" "No, didn't she tell you who she was?" "YEs, she said she's my mother. I think I'm going to die!""No, you're not! I am here," held her hand and brushed her hair with my other hand. And she was probably soothed as she kept quiet. Then I realized, in spite of my mother's age, she is as clueless as a teen ager when her time will come. I've heard people talking in wakes about how the departed had managed to say goodbye to their loved ones before dying. Maybe we do realize it at the last moment, I don't know.

Looking at my mother, healing bed sores and all, the third thing I realized is that if this is what getting old is, I don't want any part of it. I want to live as long as I am lucid and kicking. But once I become a burden to my family, then, I think it is time to go. God help me, but I hope my dead relatives pick me up immediately. In the meantime, I have a mother to attend to. A mother who will be celebrating her birthday tomorrow. (A birthday that doesn't mean anything to the celebrant.) A mother who embraced me during the times I was afraid. Took me to school, took good care of me. Cooked me wonderful meals, teased, encouraged and most of all, loved me very much. God! I want my old mother back.

Enjoy her while you can

I have not been very active lately. I have a lot of backlogs in work and in blogging. I have a very good excuse. Last Sunday, I went to visit my 85 year old mother only to find her weak and not her old self. I tried talking to her but she would only nod and kept on sleeping. i thought she only wanted to rest and so I left.

As you may know by now, I celebrated my birthday last Tuesday. Birthdays are supposed to be happy occasions but on this one, I had the greatest scare of my life. I thought I was going to lose my mother. It turned out that she had not been responding to my brother and sister when talked to and wouldn't wake up. They called for an ambulance and took her to MCM where it was found out that she was suffering from bed sores. Apparently, my siblings did not know how to move her while in bed. Dr. Redentor Pagtalunan, our surgeon for so many years, God bless him, attended to her. He took charge and ordered for some sort of an operation to take out a lump from my mother's back. This created a big hole. I didn't know this could happen. Anyway, the doctors even asked us that should my mother have a cardiac arrest, would we allow them to resuscitate. A very painful decision was on our hands. After some careful deliberations, it was agreed that none of us wants to see my mother in that sorry state and so, we said, let's leave it to God. But in the meantime that she's still alive, we want them to do all the best that they can do.

Hallelujah! My mother is now awake and even giving us a hard time because she would keep on taking her IV off her hand, touch the tube on her nose that we had to tie her when we have to fall asleep so as to restrain her from causing her more damage. Her vital signs are okay which I believe means she will still have a long way to go. Boy am I relieved!!!

So, to all of you who still have your mother around, enjoy their company for we do not know what the future has for all of us. I did not go to school today to be with my mom. Funny, but when the doctor asked her if her condition was "gumaganda o pumapangit" She smilingly said, "pumapangit" then laughed. Yup folks! That's my mom. She may have forgotten who I am or who the people in her room are but she never lost her composure and her sense of humor.

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In a different story, I was watching Dateline news (I don't know if that was current or a replay) the other day, and I found out that Americans go to Canada to purchase medicines because it's a lot cheaper there. However, this austerity measure will soon be gone for guess what? American drug companies like Pfizer, etc. have forbidden Canadian drug stores from selling drugs to Americans or face repercussions. hmmm, and I thought America is land of the free. Well, it's true that they have not prevented Americans from buying elsewhere but they have restrained the sources from selling them. So what's the difference? And all for the sake of profit. Shame! Shame!!