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Requiem: May 8, 1935 - May 21, 2003
May. 21st, 2003 07:53 pmI got the phone call at 1:40 AM this morning. My Mom had passed away.
She had been admitted to the Agapé hospice on Saturday and everyone assumed that she would be there for several weeks. As it turns out, it was actually really quick. Monday night we got a call from the hospice staff telling the family that Mom was fading fast. We all rushed to see her.
Needless to say, she was not at her best. My Mother was never particularly healthy, but to see her in the hospice bed, nearly skeletal from the wasting of cancer, and largely incoherent from pain killers was easily the worst thing I've ever had to do. But I'm glad I did it because it gave me the opportunity to say good-bye.
There were times when Mom regained consciousness. It was during one of these spells that I managed to say what I needed to.
I have a lot of regrets and wishes. I wish my Mom had seen the condo she helped me to buy. I wish that she could meet my future wife and children. I wish I could remember what her laugh sounded like.
Tuesday night we visited again and this time she was out of it the entire visit (though according to my sister Trish, she was coherent in the afternoon when some her siblings - my Uncles and Aunts - came to visit). All she was getting at this point was painkillers. No saline, no water - she was now quite literally at the end of the line.
I wasn't there when my Mom died. I had to take care of my Dad. My sister was there, and bless her for that - As terrible as it was for me to hear that my mom had died, I can't imagine what it must have been like to be holding her hand as it happened. But I'm glad Trish was there and Mom wasn't alone during her last moments.
It fell to me to tell my Dad the bad news. But he had hear the phone and my end of the conversation (My Father may have an excess of ailments, but his hearing is not among them - he can hear a spider crawl up the wall) and knew what it meant. Of all of us, my Dad is taking it the hardest.
Well I cried long and hard - eventually I cried myself to sleep. Sleeping helps - today I'm still sad, but I'm keeping it together - it's like the sleep has turned this into grieving day two, instead of grieving day one. Tomorrow we're going to make all the arrangements for the memorial service and cremation. Today was a day for being together as a family. In addition to my siblings and in-laws, my Uncle Rick and Auntie Sharon also came by to lend their support. I'm glad they did.
Writing helps too. I've felt a little numb today, and writing this entry has helped me to get some of my feelings out in the open. This means frequent breaks as I reach for the tissue. It's hard, but it's something I promised myself I'd do. This page, and the hardcopy/album I'm making from it, will be a sort of remembrance of my Mom. Not the best start though because I want to remember my mother they way she was when she was before the cancer, rather than the shell of a woman I saw last night. Naturally the first thing I did was described how she was last night. Time to start describing her, rather than what she had become.
For me, the perfect year for my mom was 1995. It was my last year at home. They were growing old, but weren't yet unhealthy. My Dad had not yet had the stroke that brought the great man down and forced my Mom into a life of servitude. They were both enjoying the first year of their early retirement, with flush cash, no debts, and a moterhome capable of spending three months in Arizona (which they did!). In short, they were enjoying the rewards of a lifetime of hard work.
It would have been beautiful if it had lasted.
There were so many things about my Mom that I just didn't know until recently. I intend to find out more as time goes on.
Mom was the youngest child in her family. The other kids called her "buttons" growing up - I only found out about this from my Auntie Ev two nights ago.
She saw Bambi when she was a child and the forest fire scene scarred the daylights out of her. She cried when Bambi's mom was shot.
Until only a year ago, I though my Mom had had scoliosis growing up, which resulted in her having a hump on her back that I never really noticed. It wasn't scoliosis - it was polio. I found this out when we were discussing chiropractors, and my assertion that they're quacks. Turns out that my Grandfather had sent her to a chiropractor when she was young because they claimed they could cure the curvature of her spine that was brought on by the polio. What she really needed was a back brace and physiotherapy. Physiotherapy being largely nonexistent in the 40's she didn't get the proper treatment. She did come away the experience with the same opinion that I have: Chiropractors prey on the gullible and their treatments are as effective as doing nothing, with the added bonus that they may actually make you worse.
She went to St. Mary's High School right here in Cowtown where she was taught by the nuns. Being shy, she had a lot of the same experiences growing up that I had - namely being picked on. Ironically, in many of the same places as I was.
I inherited my sense of humour from my mother - though being Generation X, my sarcasm is much more acute. There was a time (when I was a teen) that My Dad was, very tongue in cheek, trying to illustrate the difference between Cyrs (my Dad's side of the family) and Agnews (my Mom's side of the family).
Maxine Lorraine Cyr (nee Agnew) May 8, 1935 - May 21, 2003.
I will miss you until the end of my days.
She had been admitted to the Agapé hospice on Saturday and everyone assumed that she would be there for several weeks. As it turns out, it was actually really quick. Monday night we got a call from the hospice staff telling the family that Mom was fading fast. We all rushed to see her.
Needless to say, she was not at her best. My Mother was never particularly healthy, but to see her in the hospice bed, nearly skeletal from the wasting of cancer, and largely incoherent from pain killers was easily the worst thing I've ever had to do. But I'm glad I did it because it gave me the opportunity to say good-bye.
There were times when Mom regained consciousness. It was during one of these spells that I managed to say what I needed to.
"Mom, it's James - We're taking good care of Dad. Don't ever doubt that I love you and I'm going to miss you."Her eyes turned towards me and for just a moment she focused on me. I knew then that she heard me and understood.
I have a lot of regrets and wishes. I wish my Mom had seen the condo she helped me to buy. I wish that she could meet my future wife and children. I wish I could remember what her laugh sounded like.
Tuesday night we visited again and this time she was out of it the entire visit (though according to my sister Trish, she was coherent in the afternoon when some her siblings - my Uncles and Aunts - came to visit). All she was getting at this point was painkillers. No saline, no water - she was now quite literally at the end of the line.
I wasn't there when my Mom died. I had to take care of my Dad. My sister was there, and bless her for that - As terrible as it was for me to hear that my mom had died, I can't imagine what it must have been like to be holding her hand as it happened. But I'm glad Trish was there and Mom wasn't alone during her last moments.
It fell to me to tell my Dad the bad news. But he had hear the phone and my end of the conversation (My Father may have an excess of ailments, but his hearing is not among them - he can hear a spider crawl up the wall) and knew what it meant. Of all of us, my Dad is taking it the hardest.
Well I cried long and hard - eventually I cried myself to sleep. Sleeping helps - today I'm still sad, but I'm keeping it together - it's like the sleep has turned this into grieving day two, instead of grieving day one. Tomorrow we're going to make all the arrangements for the memorial service and cremation. Today was a day for being together as a family. In addition to my siblings and in-laws, my Uncle Rick and Auntie Sharon also came by to lend their support. I'm glad they did.
Writing helps too. I've felt a little numb today, and writing this entry has helped me to get some of my feelings out in the open. This means frequent breaks as I reach for the tissue. It's hard, but it's something I promised myself I'd do. This page, and the hardcopy/album I'm making from it, will be a sort of remembrance of my Mom. Not the best start though because I want to remember my mother they way she was when she was before the cancer, rather than the shell of a woman I saw last night. Naturally the first thing I did was described how she was last night. Time to start describing her, rather than what she had become.
For me, the perfect year for my mom was 1995. It was my last year at home. They were growing old, but weren't yet unhealthy. My Dad had not yet had the stroke that brought the great man down and forced my Mom into a life of servitude. They were both enjoying the first year of their early retirement, with flush cash, no debts, and a moterhome capable of spending three months in Arizona (which they did!). In short, they were enjoying the rewards of a lifetime of hard work.
It would have been beautiful if it had lasted.
There were so many things about my Mom that I just didn't know until recently. I intend to find out more as time goes on.
Mom was the youngest child in her family. The other kids called her "buttons" growing up - I only found out about this from my Auntie Ev two nights ago.
She saw Bambi when she was a child and the forest fire scene scarred the daylights out of her. She cried when Bambi's mom was shot.
Until only a year ago, I though my Mom had had scoliosis growing up, which resulted in her having a hump on her back that I never really noticed. It wasn't scoliosis - it was polio. I found this out when we were discussing chiropractors, and my assertion that they're quacks. Turns out that my Grandfather had sent her to a chiropractor when she was young because they claimed they could cure the curvature of her spine that was brought on by the polio. What she really needed was a back brace and physiotherapy. Physiotherapy being largely nonexistent in the 40's she didn't get the proper treatment. She did come away the experience with the same opinion that I have: Chiropractors prey on the gullible and their treatments are as effective as doing nothing, with the added bonus that they may actually make you worse.
She went to St. Mary's High School right here in Cowtown where she was taught by the nuns. Being shy, she had a lot of the same experiences growing up that I had - namely being picked on. Ironically, in many of the same places as I was.
I inherited my sense of humour from my mother - though being Generation X, my sarcasm is much more acute. There was a time (when I was a teen) that My Dad was, very tongue in cheek, trying to illustrate the difference between Cyrs (my Dad's side of the family) and Agnews (my Mom's side of the family).
"We should have a coat of arms describing showing how much better we are. On each side there would be a clenched fist showing how strong we are"Here my Dad demonstrated with the standard Hulk pose, clenching his fists towards each other.
"But we're also smart, so between the fists there would be a brain. Brains and brawn, what do you think of that?" he said.There is so much more I want to write, but I think it's time to sleep again. I hope I dream of my mother in happier times.
"Squish!" replied my Mom as she giggled to herself.
I will miss you until the end of my days.
