rafc
New member
- Joined
- Nov 11, 2008
- Messages
- 5
- Reason
- CALS
- Diagnosis
- 10/2008
- Country
- US
- State
- New York
- City
- Brooklyn
On Nov. 17, I was on my way to the ALS Assn support group meeting, which was to be dedicated to caregivers. While on the express bus to Manhattan from Brooklyn, my mother's aide called me on my cell to say that there was a problem. My mother (diagnosed'ed with bulbar onset ALS in Sept., '08) wasn't responding. I immediately got off the bus (which happened to be in front of Ground Zero in lower Manhattan), and tried to get a taxi back home. Of course, no available taxi, so I waited for the next bus going back home.
I called a neighbor (who is also a dear friend of ours) to run in and see what was happening. Phone calls back and forth between myself, the aides, the neighbor. The hospice nurse was called and arrived very quickly. She pronounced Mom as deceased about an hour after I had left the house. When I left the house for the meeting, mom was sitting on the living room couch. She seemed to be ok, although she was depressed (that happened a lot, especially towards the end, inspite of the anti-depressant and anti-anxiety meds she was taking). After I left, evidently, her lungs just gave out, as the hospice nurse had warned would happen. She died without me, but holding the hand of our neighbor, our angel, who had been there for both of us.
During the last 3 months, the ALS had progressed very quickly and viciously. I was away from home only to go to work. And I wasn't there when she passed away. Everybody keeps telling me that she waited for me to be gone, that she didn't want me there to witness her passing.
Mom was 88 years old at the time of her death. She did not fit the typical profile of someone likely to get ALS, but she got it. And it ravaged her. She lived a long, happy, and healthy life. It seems so unfair that it had to end this way, that she had to suffer the way she did with this insideous disease.
Although I wasn't at home when she died, her body was still there when I got back from the city. She was on the couch, with a blanket covering all but her face. All the wrinkles were gone, the stress was gone from her face as well. She had a look of peace and tranquility on her face that I will never forget. It was as if she were saying, "It's OK, I'm at rest now". I asked the nurse to tell the funeral director to wait a little while to come and get her body. Mom was at home, where she wanted to be, and I wanted her there. There were no hysterics, there was sadness, of course, but there was relief that her ordeal had ended peacefully, quickly, and without pain. And I have the memory of her, and that look of serenity on her face.
I called a neighbor (who is also a dear friend of ours) to run in and see what was happening. Phone calls back and forth between myself, the aides, the neighbor. The hospice nurse was called and arrived very quickly. She pronounced Mom as deceased about an hour after I had left the house. When I left the house for the meeting, mom was sitting on the living room couch. She seemed to be ok, although she was depressed (that happened a lot, especially towards the end, inspite of the anti-depressant and anti-anxiety meds she was taking). After I left, evidently, her lungs just gave out, as the hospice nurse had warned would happen. She died without me, but holding the hand of our neighbor, our angel, who had been there for both of us.
During the last 3 months, the ALS had progressed very quickly and viciously. I was away from home only to go to work. And I wasn't there when she passed away. Everybody keeps telling me that she waited for me to be gone, that she didn't want me there to witness her passing.
Mom was 88 years old at the time of her death. She did not fit the typical profile of someone likely to get ALS, but she got it. And it ravaged her. She lived a long, happy, and healthy life. It seems so unfair that it had to end this way, that she had to suffer the way she did with this insideous disease.
Although I wasn't at home when she died, her body was still there when I got back from the city. She was on the couch, with a blanket covering all but her face. All the wrinkles were gone, the stress was gone from her face as well. She had a look of peace and tranquility on her face that I will never forget. It was as if she were saying, "It's OK, I'm at rest now". I asked the nurse to tell the funeral director to wait a little while to come and get her body. Mom was at home, where she wanted to be, and I wanted her there. There were no hysterics, there was sadness, of course, but there was relief that her ordeal had ended peacefully, quickly, and without pain. And I have the memory of her, and that look of serenity on her face.