Farewell To My Mother

When I finally got to St. Croix, I told my brother I needed to go straight to the hospital. I needed to see my mother. I had practiced what my sisters and I thought would help her come back to us. I had rehearsed it in the plane, all the way from Chicago to Puerto Rico. I had so many things to tell her. I wanted my mother to hear how much we still needed her in our lives and we were not ready to let her go.

I wanted her to understand that we had truly forgiven her and accepted her apology for all the years of abuse; that through it all we understood that she loved us and we needed her love to keep us strong. I wanted my mother. I knew that I didn’t have control over the outcome but I was willing to do everything I could to bring her back to us.

We picked up my youngest brother and went to the hospital. As I walked into her room I was in shock. My insides was torn apart and I felt my heart cry but there were no tears, no sobs. Not one sound came from me.

Walking into that intensive care unit room and seeing my mother was the most horrific thing. The worst punishment you can give a human being. I would like to take you into that room with me.

Imagine yourself walking down the isle. The smell undeniable alerts you that this is a hospital. As you get closer to the room, you can hear the constant rhythmic beeping of the machines getting louder. Finally, you are standing right by the door. The first thing you see is all these machines and hoses which you follow as they lead you to the body of your loved one. Then you look at the person; your mother, who has been a special part of you. In fact, you were conceived in her womb and the walls of her insides kept you warm. You developed and got to know that in her, you were safe and loved.

You look at your mother but can hardly recognize the woman lying on that hospital bed. You knew every wrinkle on her face. You knew where every mole was located, especially the one on her ear which everybody thought was and earring. You knew what it looked like when she smile or how it felt when she looked at you but none of this was there.

Instead of the beauty she always was to you, this is what you see: Her eyes, they are rolled up, and the color? Off white, beige looking and some wet substance that looked liked mucous filled what was once a pair of beautiful big, dark, brown eyes. Her eyes were always filled with expression were now filled with an unfamiliar liquid.

Then you look at the rest of her face looking for something familiar that might reconnect you to this being and you noticed that her mouth was open. Her tongue was swollen, extremely dry, looking like a piece of old dried out beef, hanging out of her mouth. A tube pushed inside her mouth and her lips swollen beyond recognition.

Continue to look down, her chest is also swollen and bruised. Her skin was discolored with black and purple spots all over as though the blood was clogged up, not flowing through her veins. Her hands were motionless and stiff. Can you see her? Can you understand why I was in shock?

I touched my mother and I felt like my heart split in half. I held her left hand and it was cold, lifeless. I wanted her to hold my hand. But she didn't move. I wanted to feel her warmth but it was no more. I wanted my mother but she was gone. At that horrendous moment I wanted to die. I realized my mother was dead. I didn't care that some machine was beeping or that she was still plugged to all these tubes and hoses. She was dead.

Everything I wanted to say to her vanished. The moment I laid eyes on my mother, my thoughts went up in smoke together with any hope of seeing her alive again. I kept asking myself, "Who is this woman and where is my mother?" Where is the woman I knew who was filled with such fire, energy and strength? How can this possible be her?

I couldn’t cry for this woman. There was nothing in me to connect me to the person laying on this bed. Maybe I was in the wrong room; someone had to be mistaken because this was not the person I expected to see. It took me a while to get over how distorted she looked. I had to find something familiar that would create a bond to what was left of my mother; an empty shell that spoke nothing to me.

I remembered that the last thing we cried about together was her hip surgery so I lifted the sheets and examined the wound. It was so dry it looked like it had been done months ago and yet it had only been days. It was enough though. I remembered our last conversation and the prayer I prayed over her as she listened
on the phone.

This did not cause me a mayor reaction it helped me bring together my spirit to the essence of her life and to the reality of her condition. This was my mother, the way she was now. My sisters arrived and all together we decided to honor my mother's wishes not to be hooked up to machines. As it was, we had already allowed it to go on for too long according to her request. The doctor asked us to leave her room while the process took place so we waited outside in the corridor.

When she was ready, we went back into her room. Everything had been removed except the machine that monitored her vitals. Her chest raised and lowered as she breathe but it was more like there was a pump inside of her, pulling in air and blowing it out forcefully. This caused a wheezing sound to come out of her.

Little by little, the swelling began going down and she looked like she had lost more than fifty pounds compare to when I last saw her alive. Her pressure kept going down but very slowly. Her tongue went back to normal but it kept sticking out with each exhale, like when children mock each other. It was one of those things that happen and cause you to question how or why such things take place. Pay attention to the following story.

One day while still in Washington, she got upset with one of my sisters. She told her that if anything ever happened to her, she did not want my sister to show up; not at the hospital or the funeral. My sister then asked her, “if you are sick in bed or dead, who will stop me from coming there? They ended up laughing about it. Then my mother made a face –stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes- and said, “If you show up this is how I will greet you.

Well, when we saw the how her breathing made her tongue stick out, it reminded us about what she told my sister she would do. . It was weird but it caused us to laugh because my mother was a very stubborn woman and often had to have the last word.

With this happening, my youngest sister and I looked at our sister and just laughed. I asked her, “Do you remember how she said she would greet you?” She jumped off her chair and let out a screech and laughing she said, “She is terrible, even in death she has to have the last word. Funny how some things just line up unexpectedly, huh? This was a popular topic among us for a while and a source of joy to see that even though she was clinically dead, something in her created and occasion to remind us who she was in life.

I had been there from the time I got to the island, about a day and a half and needed to go home to rest. So, we asked family members and friends to stay in case there were any new developments and left that night wondering if we would get a call saying it was over. People stayed but they were out in the waiting room.

I couldn’t really sleep but I lost track of time because I was on the phone talking to people that were off island; calling to find out the status of her condition. I called the hospital that morning around six a.m. and they said the numbers (her vitals) had just began going down real fast. I woke my sisters and we drove to the hospital.

By the time we got there, her body was already still. Her chest was no longer swollen and her tongue was back in her mouth. My sisters touched her and caressed her head. I don’t know what they were thinking but I couldn’t take not getting a response to my touch. I watched my sisters as they cleansed her body with such care and I couldn’t even talk. I just contemplated them.

It is customary for family to show up at the hospital to the person dead. Humans are so funny, when you really need them, you could never find them. When you're no longer living, then they all show up as though it makes any difference to you. Anyway, my sisters combed her hair and fixed her up real pretty. Now that her body was not swollen, she almost looked like herself again. So, we called everyone to let them know that it was over. My mother was no more in the land of the living.

The doctor came in and pronounced her dead. He looked at us and said, "You do know that she is dead, right?" I guess he was surprised to see that no one was crying. We didn't even seem in pain for her death. We knew she was dead but we were not ready to face that reality. Not fully, not yet. If anything, to us she had died days ago while we were too far to run to her side.

The family came and saw the body. Some cried and wanted to see us cry but we were like stones; no expression in our faces but that of anger. This is not something we planned but we were all mad at something or at someone for my mother’s death. Even though we did not talk about it, I could see that my sisters and brothers were hurting and each one of us grieved quietly and separately in our own way. It was almost like it would not be real if we didn’t say it.

I cannot speak for my brothers and sisters and how they each felt at the time but I tried my best to be strong for them. I hugged them and comforted them without making a big issue of it. I allowed them their space and time to grief.

I dealt with it by writing my thoughts, expressing my anger and pain silently on paper because I felt betrayed by my mother. Of course, it was the easiest way I found to deal with the loss. It was too great to face it head on. We were supposed to die together like we had always wished for. No one was to leave the other behind to suffer. Yet, she betrayed our pact by leaving me behind to endure her absence. All my life, we spoke about death and how we didn't think we would ever be able to cope without the other.

For two long years, this became my reality. I knew not how to cope. I drowned deeper and deeper in the pain becoming severely depressed. I was lost but I couldn't find myself. There was no me, not without her. How could I function without what I thought was the best part of me? My very essence was missing; I was just like a shell, still alive but only carried by grief.

Every night I prayed and cried to God that I would dream my mother's face but not even the simplest request was happening for me. I needed her to comfort me if only in my dreams. I needed something to hold on to.
For an entire year, all I did was lay on a couch. Sometimes I ate, sometimes I didn't; sometimes I showered, sometimes I didn't. Sometimes I wanted to die and then other times, I must have been dead because I had no wants, no will. I didn't care for anything or anyone. I just wanted my mother back or I wanted to go be
with her. There were times when I remember curling up as if I was in the womb and crying myself to sleep; like a baby, I cried for my mommy. My only prayer was for God to allow me to see my mother at least one more time and I didn't care how or where. I begged for a chance to at least dream her.

My life did not make sense anymore because I felt so empty without her. I was clueless as to what my life would be like without my mother. I knew that she was in a better place, resting and free from sickness and disease. Free from strife, from anxiety and from the cares of the world. Still, this offered me no consolation.

I even tried thinking of my mother’s death as though she had gone on a long trip but that only complicated things because when something exciting or scary happened in the family, I would run to the phone to call her. Then I would realize that I didn’t have her new number and would fall deep and hard, regressing back to where I started.

It took me a while to get over the anger and the feeling of being betrayed. Once again, it all stems from wanting hat I perceived for myself and fighting against what was. I guarantee you, that is not the way to living a life filled with peace. I allowed myself to continue that rebellious path only to find my own demise.

I thank God for His mercies and for His patience. He stood by, waiting until I called on Him for help. He didn’t force Himself on me, he didn’t judge me and certainly, He didn’t condemn me. Unlike man, God sees beyond the pain and is willing to allow us the time and space to work through our issues while letting us know that He
will be there when we need Him.

Losing my mother was a great loss and a devastating blow; difficult to recover from but not impossible. After surviving this, I know that I can conquer all else. Not alone, but with God’s help because He is my only source.

Poem: “Without A Farewell”

I saw your lifeless body, tortured like.

What a confusion my soul felt when I saw you in such condition.

I thought my presence would awake you.

I tried talking but you didn't hear me,I called your name but you didn't answer.

I thought just maybe you were still there,

when I touched you and your body trembled.

How mistaken I was; it was but a muscle reflex.

My heart was shredded to pieces;
I felt the pain but couldn't cry.

Tears rushed to the corners of my eyes
But none ran down my cheeks.

A profound cry invaded me;
But with a tremor my heart was silenced.
I was afraid you would hear my cry.
I didn't want to break your heart.

I wanted to shout, I wanted to yell…
“Don’t leave me, come back, look into my eyes.

Wait for me, remember our promises.”

I wanted to feel your warmth;
The warmth of your lips and arms.

Your beautiful hands were cold and they didn't move;

They didn't interlace with mine

Your beautiful eyes no longer shined
They no longer expressed your emotions;

Love, sadness, tenderness in your eyes, were no more

All I wanted was to find the love in your eyes, one last time

But you were already long gone,
Without saying good-bye.

You closed your blessed eyes
Without giving me your blessing.

You left me without a good-bye,
Without a farewell
You left me desiring, that I too would die.