Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Goodbye to Mom and the Grand Marquis

We are seniors but many of us are still children of living parents.  One of our most difficult senior tasks is often saying our final goodbye to our very elderly parents.  This story is about my goodbyes to my Mom.

Grand Marquis

His Mother explained it many times. They bought the Grand Marquis because of it’s bench seats:

“Of course, honey. Only the Lincoln and Ford have the big bench seat.”
That way your father and I could fit three couples comfortably in the Car.”

The dealership never mentioned that a burned out headlight for the car would cost three hundred and fifty dollars to replace or that the beast averaged 12 miles a gallon.  Nor did they mention that the resale (salvage value) of the car would or could never equal the unpaid associated secured debt.  

All of these facts were now relevant since he owned, if not the car, the car loan. A car that drove level on the road, but to the bank was “upside down.” A car representing for him a new monetary black hole that so far even his craigslist hyperbole was not able to ameliorate.

This danced in his mind as he started the odyssey from West Palm Beach to Westin Florida; his condo to the Cleveland Clinic where his Mother now resided.  Exactly fifty seven miles and four tenths away (22 dollars in gas) unless you took the Sawgrass Expressway which added 9 more miles and two dollars to the toll but subtracted eight minutes. Timed, the trip was exactly one “This American Life” podcast and one quarter “Fresh Air podcast” away.  With traffic add a few of Bach’s English Suites.  His mother’s apartment was “Love Me Tender” away from the Hospital.

Last week the trip to the condo had been about the new microwave and oversized toaster oven he had purchased to replace it.  Since his father had died twice he was now in control of his mother’s affairs.  His older brother, his only other sibling, had died from bad doctoring and cancer about nine years earlier. 

His Dad’s first death occurred shortly after he believed he had become a lawn mower.  Al’s in Heimer can do that to you.  In the new Heimer world his normal response to any question was the lawn mower noise and then, if he felt particularly frisky, repeated pinches to your belly.  The second death, (you might say the more conventional one) involved a massive stroke that occurred within twenty-four hours of the traveler announcing to his father (who then sat locked in a highchair in an isolated floor for people who had lost their minds from any of the entire catalogue of extreme mental ailments), that he would not be coming home soon.  That was three years ago and a few other deaths away.

The four hundred dollar microwave he had purchased for his mom had many options but if you just wanted to keep it easy only three buttons at the bottom needed to be activated.  And they were all in a row.  Reset/Quick-Min/Start. 

 “Mom, you push the first one to clear it.  The second one for the cook time.  Push it once for each minute.  And then just push start.”

But what if I only need a ½ minute?”

“Just open the door early.”

After a lot of practice, she actually got it.  He put tape over all the other controls so she would go directly to clear/reset.  For someone who lived on frozen food, the bounty could now continue, led by Stouffers Chicken Pot Pies. 

The new problem was she was not strong enough to activate the buttons.  She had become push-less.  Ever enterprising, he had bought the giant toaster oven thing because it had a simple twist on knob which was also the timer which turned the mini oven off solving the problem of the “big boy” oven which lacked this feature and consequently had almost burned the condo down.

The “I love Lucy” show could have been shot in his mother’s apartment.  All that was missing was Fred and Ethel living downstairs.  The place was frozen in 1954. The walls were painted peach to better explore the coming color- TV  phenomenon.  The drop ceilings in the kitchen and bathrooms celebrated the amazing new plastic technology.  The eclectic lamps all shared one common theme:  prodigious.  (You needed a crane to lift them). Her famous chotchkies took two forms: those that were silver plated and those that were pottery.  The silver plated items would take an army of 1954 negro maids to polish properly.  As to the pottery lets just say if you have seen one “Balloon Lady” you have seen them all.  Royal Dolton to the traveler was not regal and clearly dull. And then there was the kitchen.  She was not a baleboste.  There were no signs of a former if ever home cooked meal.

But Lucy did reign on her throne.  His mother at 91 still knew how to crack Dentyne gum and multi-task. The TV was on loud enough for the neighbors to enjoy and the “clicker” remote stood ready.  She wore her peignoir in the classic way (sans underwear) and rarely left the bed.  Vanity on display, she made sure her shapely legs remained visible at all times.  Wasn’t Lucy a dancer before she met Ricky?

So his mother in her Ruth Gordon style begins, Midwestern but more formal:

“I know you think I’m stupid. 

I Don’t.” he says

“But I am.  I can’t remember how to work anything. The truth is I don’t like food anymore except peanut butter”.

“OK Mom, so my truth is I only like pizza and black coffee and I am not even sure coffee is food”.

“But you can work a microwave”.

“You can Knit”.

“I just feel awful that you have to come over here to feed me.”

“STOP BEING SO NICE TO ME?  I was a shitty mother”.

“What are you talking about.”  He kisses her,” you were the hottest mom on our street.  “That counts too”.

Next to her bed was a hands free phone with an alarm that sounded like an Eisenhower “duck and cover” air raid with a flashing light built in.  His mother couldn’t hear that well but refused a hearing aid.  “Go ahead and get me one if you must” she’d say “ but the second you walk out the door it will be out of my ear.”

“Look Mom, get dressed and let’s go get dinner, hit the grocery store and the drug store.  And we need to talk about getting you a little more help.”

“OK but I’m fine.”

“Humor me, mother.”  He notices her smile is not “full flash” anymore.  He thinks its because she had some teeth pulled and no longer liked her smile aesthetic.  To her if it didn’t look good it wasn’t of value.  But it was probably because in truth she was not fine.  She was in heart failure.  But the doctor said it was the good kind.  Right side or left?  He couldn’t remember.  Was there really a good kind?

For now the heart problem was merely a wardrobe problem.  She had a belly for the first non-pregnant time in her life and worst of all her ankles were swollen.  Refusing to associate this with a heart issue she was now dieting as a solution.  Fortunately pork ribs were on her diet (as was Chinese and pizza.) And then there was the issue of the nasty sore on her arm which was, to even his generous grading, unsightly.  This meant long sleeves even if it was 83 outside. 

“I can’t understand why this thing won’t heal?”
“The doctor is lousy, I’ve been there three times and it just gets worse.”

He knew, as she probably also understood, that it got worse because it was not your every day sore.  At first he guessed the fair skin beauty had skin cancer.  He was wrong it was a “sea monster cancer” that had sought the surface for air.  Probably she had lung cancer.  But whatever the cancer’s name, it had now metastasized.  He’d talked to the oncologist.  After a review of all the options the plan was to do nothing.  Eat ribs.

He watched her walk down the hall aimed in the direction of the maroon monster.

“These damn shoes stick.  I can’t find comfortable shoes. Nobody has my size 7.5 quad.  My arch is supreme.”

So was her ram-rod posture.

“Mom, why not wear tennis shoes like everyone else?”

“I’m not like everyone else.”  “I will drive.  She goes for the keys.

You’re too busy on the phone or playing with the CD player.  I’m scared to death driving with you.” She says.

Like many seniors she can’t remember her last accident but many anonymous drivers have been witness to accidents her driving has caused.

“Mom, how did I possibly get here without your help.” He won’t give them up.

 “We’re just going a few blocks.  I’ll drive.  Besides your license has expired and your uninsured not that any of that would stop you.”

“Fine but go to Walgreen first.  That’s where my real business is.”

When he walked with her the whole world slowed down.  If he walked behind her she would stop and get distracted.  If you walked ahead of her you were rude. 
So it was kind of a buddy date walk into the drug store directly to the cosmetics department.  Why a woman 91 who rarely left her bed cared about anti-wrinkle was a mystery to him.  But there they were with adjectives like replenishing, restructuring, correction line repair, cellular, re-moisturizing, lift firming, interventioning all for only $150 USD per ounce.  Ouch! And of course none of them were effective and she needed one with the most sun protection although she never left the house.  Of course he got it for her.  It was called “FREEZE 24/7”.  He’d think about that name.

“Can we eat? Please.  I’m hungry and have a long ride home.

Lunch at the rib joint required parking temporarily in a wheel chair spot, without the proper credentials, while he got his mom out of the car and walked her to the door and hopefully found a place to park her while he parked the Mercury.  This had to be done quickly so he didn’t get a ticket.  His now deceased wife who had committed suicide by alcohol had once decided if she parked her small foreign car in the space between two handicapped spaces that was somehow ok and did not warrant a ticket.  The 250 dollar fine he had paid for her was not a lessen to her but kept him ever diligent about respecting the few benefits afforded to the disabled.

After he watched her very slowly eat an entire slab of ribs but no salad, potato or drink a single sip of liquid she was ready to listen.  She began:

“Ok, so what’s up”.  She smiles at him and bats her eyelashes just for fun.

Are you getting married again?  Did you knock someone up?

I should never have told you that sex was great.  Where’s your father when I need him?

Mom, your 91!  He is embarrassed.

So!

Did I ever tell you how gentle your father was with me?  You know he was very big and I was very small.

MOM…just stop now please! You need more help.  We paid for home health care so please can we use it.

Sure.  The last wonderful lady you had over for me probably stole the few valuable pieces of jewelry I still have.

We can’t prove that Mom.  I though you told me your ring just fell off.

I can tell you anything I want!  You were always a little gullible.”

Come on, you like Miss Jeannine.  I am just going to ask her to come on the weekends now as well.

Fine.  She concedes.  She is my new black daughter.

On the way out of the restaurant he gets appreciative stares from the older women. Such a good son!

Ironically the Sunday Jeannine began her first weekend Mother duty, she found his Mom on the floor with her head wedged between the nightstand and the frame of the bed.  She was breathing but not responsive. Her job began and ended with a 911 call.

It had been two weeks since she moved into the Cleveland Clinic. After the 911 call he had raced there, even paid for the valet, and found her silent and paralyzed on the left side. Now just a few days later, she could talk but sounded like she’d had a few but could still not move her left side.  This seemed to his mother a mere inconvenience.

Just get me home.

He knew that would not be possible.  Even with home health care, she would need 24/7 attention.  A few weeks ago he had taken her to the oncologist to try and learn a little more about her cancer.  He told the young doctor to waive the preliminaries and just tell him the bottom line.  Was she going to be around for Christmas. 

“We have no way of knowing.”  Actually I am not sure what kind of cancer she has.  But at 91 I can guess it will be slow growing.”

So in other words, there was not much guidance for future planning.

While he was pondering his lack of options a young Asian doctor entered.  Curiously his name tag read “Dr. Herschel Cohen”.  Noticing the reaction the young doctor began:

YUP, its my name.  Surprised?

Stammering:   Oh no.  I guess….”

Yah.  Well its worked well for me. 

Now here’s the deal rehab needs to start immediately if she is to get her functioning back. 

The doctor picks her up until she is standing next to him but supported by his arms and starts letting herself support her own weight.

Ha.  You are one hell of a dancer.  slurs Mom.

Ok, your in good hands, Mom, I’ve got to talk to someone be right back.  He leaves her with the doctor.

Racing to the front desk, he assumes that a hospital that has valet parking must have some kind of a patient ombudsman.  Finding her on the floor beneath his mother he starts:

“Help.”

“My 91 year old mom is here with a stroke and I don’t have a clue what happens next.”

Her name tag red “Ms. Rodriguez”.  Frankly he was hoping for Ms. Schwartz.

Three months later, he would stand in this same room and argue with Annette and his mother’s doctor whether his mom should be transferred to hospice.  By then he was on a first name basis with Ms. Rodriguez.

But that first meeting when she was Ms. Rodriguez proved to be a font of information.  A proper rehab place was selected aka nursing home and all the financial rules were explained including how he might cleverly qualify for Medicaid. This was followed by his mother’s transfer to the nursing home, the many interesting lessons he learned visiting her there, the experience of a completely dedicated and caring underpaid staff who seemed to love her as he did.  But then the inevitable return to the hospital.

When he got the call from the nursing home that she had taken “a turn for the worse” he asked that they take her back to The Cleveland Clinic as opposed to the hospital across the street.  They humored him and agreed. 

The Clinic staff only knew that her vitals were very bad and that she did not have too much longer.  The operative word to him was what is “longer.” A day? A few hours?

She was in room 709 looking less regal.  He knew there was grey hair hiding there somewhere and now you could see it: surprisingly little.  She felt warm to his hug and she spoke to him only with her eyes.

Mom, do you know where you are?

Almost a whisper responds:  Hospital!

Yes, but we will get you out of her soon as we can.  He lied.

His Mom seemed to be fading. Her skin was opaque almost translucent.


Wasn’t there a movie where the character started to fade if you ceased to believe?  A children’s story?  He grabbed her again and said:

I love you Mom.

Was that enough to keep her here?

Did she respond:  He wasn’t sure.

I will be right back Mom.  I have to talk to Ms. Rodriguez.

That talk began:

Look Annette, I don’t care if they want the room or not, she is too sick to move to hospice.  I’m not sure she will make it another night.

Her doctor thinks so:  Let me get her. Annette has that very concerned professional look that probably was sincere.

The floor doctor appears who is not discourteous but also not in the mood to counsel a 91 year old patient’s son.

He echoes Rodriguez: 

I’m sorry its time for hospice.  We can’t do much more now.

He responds: You might be right but she is too sick to move.  Come look at her.

As they entered 709 and he approached the bed, he knew that she died while he was briefly out of the room. The form in the bed was no longer his mother.  Her eyes were fixed open looking empty or maybe at the heaven he now wished existed.  He tries to close her eyes.  They do not close.

He stared at the empty form.   A life size doll without a battery. He hoped her soul had flown into him where he could protect it and safely pass it to his children and grand.

As she had wished he cremated her.  He placed the notice in the paper, said the appropriate prayers and then was alone with only his memories.

His brother, mother and father were now all dead. 

He was the last one standing. 

The Grand Marquis’s radio was playing an oldie station. The great songs never disappear.  He’d keep the car a while longer.

The End