My cousin Pat is the closest relative I have (cousin) and he’s almost like a brother but our bond isn’t that complicated.
Pat keeps to himself and the weeks leading to mom’s passing he was instrumental in getting breaks from the hospital and someone I trusted to make any major choice should thongs turn south. I had lots of friends bring me food and lend their support including getting me away for a few hours if only to goto a surprise b-day party.
I’ll talk about Cassie and Stacia more later as they are no small part of the 10 days leading to mom’s passing.
Shortly after mom passed and Patrick and I sat in an empty waiting room with everything on card from her room including glasses, books, bible, teeth, and stuffed cat. We made 2 phone calls as it was about 1am to let the word out that mom wasn’t able to support herself and died. I had chosen not to post it online originally but everyone had been so pardon my lack of words “well behaved” that once I got home I announced it.
I typed up lots of stuff here if you look back warning it’s dark.
But Patrick whom I consider the most introverted guy I have ever seen posted a very raw and heart felt post.
Due to its very sensitive nature I’m posting it now so I have the strength to as the next 10 days will be rough.
Below I give you Patrick’s post:
Dear friends, family and coworkers, As you know, the only people on my friends list here are people I know personally and only seldom hesitate to call my friends. Monday the 22nd was my birthday, and as always, I truly thank you all for the best wishes in person and here on Facebook. It was a bittersweet day, running the gamut of elation and abject dispair, those emotions ofttimes butting right against each other.
My meticulously planned vacation was cancelled without remorse and I am very grateful to have someone with me who understands why and how plans can evaporate in one phone call.
Those plans were altered, without any regret, so I could be with James and his mom in their time of need. Lucidity is in the eye of the beholder when it comes to sedation levels. Each of the many times I sat beside her, she was absolutely herself behind those eyes and handholds, smiling and shaking her head, as she always does, at my off-color and somewhat morbid jokes about her predicament and responding with genuine affection as she knew James and I were there together for her and each other.
Tuesday the 23rd was set aside for family visits, as was her wishes. She knew the outcome was grim and I believe she held the reaper at bay until she was ready and had her time to share with her loved ones.
I thank my family, yes all of them, for making the day easier on her. There were a few tears, lots of praying, and she was happier in those times that I’ve seen her since the weekend. Everybody should be commended for their actions yesterday, for the cordial and respectful way the visits were handled.
The nursing and other hospital staff praised the visit as one of the best they’ve ever seen considering the situation and the sheer number of people in and out. James is a master at logistics and overwatch and he handled this terrible appointment with dignity and aplomb. After the heart checks were completed in the afternoon, the family visits over, the excitement of the day and the psychological stress of potential goodbyes settled, Linda slept and welcomed the auto-vent in a rarely comfortable state of slumber.
Later that evening, her body began the slow process or letting go. In the end, every single one of her wishes were exacted to their letter and she succumbed to her final breath alongside her favorite music playing softly from my phone on her pillow and James’ hand in hers. In fact, the 1950s classic, Wake Up Little Suzie by the Everly Brothers carried her to her final destination to be with her mother, father and a host of loved ones she has lost in her incredible and unforgettable life. “Wake up Little Suzie, it’s time to go home.” Godspeed Aunt Linda. I love you still. You finally made it home.
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