Family sorrow

I haven’t written in a while, not because I haven’t had anything to say, it’s just that this is a particularly difficult time of year for me and for many friends, some still here and the families of some who have passed on.

Today, December 10th is the anniversary of my Mother’s death.  Even though it was in 1995, the pain and the emptiness are as fresh as the snow that is falling in many areas back home.

While this may not seem like an EMS story, it is. I’m not talking out of school, but my mother died way too young from emphysema. She LOVED (and I mean loved) smoking.

Many of you know this. I am the eldest of 7 kids (I know…good Irish Catholic family) and my youngest brother has Down syndrome. (Another story for another time). It stuck us all, around the same time, that as much as my mother loved her smoking, none of us smoked. Perhaps it was because we struggled so hard, countless times, to get her to quit, knowing full well the fateful outcome.  Please don’t misunderstand me, she was a wonderful, loving, sometimes harsh, funny mother & grandmother who loved to knit and watch the Mike Douglas show while, precisely at 5 pm, we ate dinner. Just the kids. My Father got home, depending on the day, anywhere between 6 & 7 and she always cooked a second meal for the two of them. My dad was a smoker too, but he went “cold turkey” (I’m guessing somewhere around 1970) and never smoked again. Perhaps he too saw the inevitability or perhaps he was trying to lead by example. I was and still am so proud of him for that leap of faith.

We lived on a small street in Westport, CT and at the end of the street, less than a 5 minute walk was Christies Country Store. It was run by the Masiello family and was the neighborhood “hot spot”. My mother used to send me up to Christies to buy her cigarettes. There was never a problem selling them to me. Christie new I didn’t smoke and knew they were for my mom. Frankly if Christie saw me smoking, she would have not hesitated to put me over her knee & let me have it. One day, after countless pleadings with my mom to stop smoking, I finally refused to go get her her cigs. Bold, perhaps. @5 days later, when I could finally sit again, I had held my ground. Ok, remember there are 7 of us. The memory is unclear after all these years, but I am sure she recruited another of my sibs to run up to Christies for her. Having 7 children makes you a master of logistics and she was pretty darn good.

Fast forward to 1995. Things started to go downhill rapidly. The coughing was relentless despite “puffers” & oxygen. She could no longer sleep flat, speak in full sentences, cook like she used to, gave up her passion of knitting and suffered as her body just broke down. Swollen legs, she had a special shower that my Brother Brian and my Dad but in for her so she could maintain some sort of dignity through her incontinence. I moved back with my parents for a few days prior to what I knew would be the end. I slept in one of the back bedrooms lying awake, listening to her die. Her shortness of breath was markedly worse, almost by the hour. Lying in bed, I thought about what I could, yet should not do based upon her wishes. She had a DNR and a health care proxy, so 911 was out of the question. I remember sitting at the kitchen table, just my Dad & I as he felt helpless and frustrated and I tried lovingly and with the utmost respect what the hospital was not an option. “Dad” I said “If we take her to the hospital, I guarantee thy will insert a breathing tube, put her on a ventilator and the likelihood of her ever having that tube taken out or breathing on her own again would be nil.”  He was so frustrated and sad and confused and I was helpless to make either one of them feel better.

It was about 3 am when I heard her call either “Joe” (my dad) or “Jeff”  We both went in to her and she needed to pee. My father lifted and carried her to the bathroom and when she was done, carried her back to bed. She was ashen, breathing shallowly, diaphoretic, and kind of staring off into space. I told her she was a good mother and did an amazing of a job raising 7 successful hell raisers, and that she should have no regrets. We all loved her for all that he was. She accomplished amazing things in her lifetime, not the least was going head to head with the Connecticut Governor Ella Grasso to get kids with Down Syndrome “main streamed” and not isolated in corners of schools, with no potential for growth.

My mother asked if we could say a prayer. She was laying on the bed, my father sitting on her left, me on her right and we prayed the Hail Mary. Just the three of us. 5 minutes later, she was gone.  My father, through his tears said “I can’t believe she is really gone”.  

First time I ever saw my Dad cry.