Lillian Secrest Buie's Weblog

With Mother's Peaceful Death, A Prayer Is Answered

October 27, 1982: I am grateful that Mother took one deep breath, turned her head, and slipped easily into eternity, that she was surrounded by her own things and ina place she felt was home, that Hattie was standing by the bed speaking softly to her, that I kissed her goodbye this am, even though she seemed asleep and that I could kiss her still warm, peaceful face when I arrived from school just minutes after she died.

My prayer to be able to keep her at home and for death to come easily and painlessly have been answered, and through my tears I breathe a prayer of thanksgiving.

September 23, 1982: Mother is restless, agitated, full of unspecified fears...

and confused over place and people. When old age and illness deny one the right of peace and dignity, then there should be some way to induce euphoria and relieve the ugliness of dying. Dr. Blazer has promised a prescription. I await it eagerly!

September 16, 1982: A milestone, Mother's 90th birthday

Mother has been anticipating this day, sensing it's a milestone, and feeling that we'll put on a big production, honoring her as author, Of Cabbages and Kings. Her fantasy reaches heights at times. She's had me to call Helen Lockhart, and was able to talk to her, asking that she "be the one" to coordinate the affair. Last week she said to me, "Honey, I think you'd better prepare for around 600!"

I laughed and replied, "How about six?"

Now only a week later, she is so weak and confused, she may not be able to mark the occasion at all.

Catherine Jackson says she thinks it's a matter of days and that I should get a nurse. She spent last night with me -- always the dependable foul-weather friend, giving tangible, practical help.

I'm awkward with nursing chores, and feel like an extra wheel in the sick room. I do much better at rejoicing with those who rejoice. I work at the ideal -- a friend is there when you need one. And I've said before, friendship may be the greatest of human relationships.

Dr. Womble has been here today, relieved Mother of a bowel block, which made her more comfortable. Now her inaudible mumble has turned to a feisty "Lil" every 10 minutes. For the moment, she has pushed death aside.

September 15, 1982: Anticipating Mother's 90th Birthday, in the valley of the shadow of death

Unlike Aunt Eve, Mother will make it to her 90th birthday. Tomorrow we will celebrate with a small cake and one candle shaped like a 9 to mark nine decades of life. She may have the breath to blow one time, and I'm sure her wish would be to exit this life in dignity, surrounded by those she loves.

Most of her life, she has emphasized loving others, often telling her children that loving is more important than being loved, because loving makes you lovable. Now, like a small child completely dependent on others, she again feels the need to be cherished. Yesterday, when I greeted her after school and then headed for my room to relax with the paper before Hattie's departure, Mother whimpered, "Don't leave -- I just want people who love me near."

I'm sure she senses that she is dying, and her eyes beg me to walk with her through that valley of the shadow. Instead, I run the other way, finding excuses to busy myself in the kitchen, at the telephone, with school work or civic duties. I don't want the smell, taste, and feel of death -- but neither do I want my mother to feel alone. So I told Hattie she could leave early, grabbed The Charlotte Observer, and settled down on the big bed adjoining Mother's small one, a purring cat perched on my stomach. Burr's happy rumbling sounded so alive!

September 12, 1982: Mother reacted to our weekend absence with her usual anger

She was full of tales of how "they" mistreated her, and of demands to go "home." But I reacted better this time -- soothing, reassuring, and gently saying I knew it didn't seem like home with us gone, and expressing appreciation. Soon she was calm and pleasant again, and went to bed willingly.

She dozed through Mac's unexpected visit (he'll see her again tomorrow). She called me only at 10 and then again at 11 for commode.

September 12, 1982: Ocean restores my tired soul

When John picked me up after school on Friday, I experienced almost jetlag weariness...slept almost the entire two hour drive to the beach. I've felt good since. The ocean felt warm Friday but the air was cool, and drizzly. Gray skies and a dull green sea have marked the week end. But dividing a mudbank with John, walking two miles on the beach Saturday at a steady clip, conferring with Bruce Kristofferson about jacking up our foundation, watching football and dozing off in the afternoon have added up to a pleasant, relaxing weekend.

Sunday was all a beach day should be -- golden sunshine, wide uncrowded beaches, and a perfect ocean just cool enough to be invigorating, with "ginant" waves to ride over smoothly or to send you sailing to shore. It was great!

September 9, 1982: the school days fly by, but I find double-duty caregiving exhausting!

Light sleeping combined with 6 am rising makes a dull teacher! I like getting out early and the days fly by as I have wall-to-wall kids from 8 am to 12:35, duty during lunch, and then a delightfully small "Writing about Literature" class. I like my young companions, and I'm glad I'm here, though I'm nearly as happy as they are when I hear the 2:08 bell ring.

I either doze off between 4 and 5 in Mother's room or retire early. The weekend of caregiving -- double-duty -- is taking its toll. I'm exhausted.

September 9, 1982: Awakened from a peaceful dream of my favorite place, to restless stirrings from the adjoining room

What I thought was the gentle lapping of a tranquil ocean against a sandy shore was really the restless rustling of covers in the adjoining room. Mother was stirring and if I didn't awake from my drowsy dream of a favorite place, it would be something more than ocean water disturbing my peace!

Dragging out of bed, I spoke quietly so as not to frighten her, and helped her gently to the bedside commode. My mind went back to other dark mornings long ago when I led a sleepy toddler to the bathroom to assure us all of a dry bed. It was too late to go back to sleep, so today I was uncharacteristically waiting on the porch for my usually earlybird carpool to pick me up. I'll probably yawn all day, and tonight No. 5 UNC plays No. 1 Pitt in a televised game. I can't sleep through that!

...We stayed up past midnight to watch the game. When a no. 5 team holds no. 1 to a one-point victory, the former ought to feel good, right? Wrong, of course. Nobody ever feels good about a loss, especially in a game the Tarheels might have won if they had been more careful about penalties.

September 7, 1982: Labor Day weekend found me laboring, taking care of Mother, but taking time for a wonderful visit from my friend Becky...

Now I rejoice whenever both Hattie and Carol appear for their respective shifts. We're fast approaching the point where we'll need a third caregiver. Weekend duties exhausted me, but I enjoyed the visit with Becky and Stephanie all the same. Becky is one of the dearest, finest, most natural people in the world, and knew just how to turn Mother's non-conversation into a visit a confused old lady could enjoy. Of course her knowledge of family and Union County helped.

I hired one of my students, Kim, who ironically played the role a a hospital aide in our Dramatic Literature class, to sit with Mother from 1 until 5 Saturday and Sunday afternoons, and that gave me time to show my guests Wagram's high spots, introduce them to close friends and relations, and tour the woods of Riverton.

Becky looks good, and in spite of the inevitable sadness of separation, seems serene in her decision. Living apart is less lonely and emotionally devastating than living together in constant discord and resentment. Stephanie has always been unusually mature -- she seems to be weathering the situation quite well, involved in her own activities.

September 1, 1982: Mother's deteriorating condition is so sad. Even so, there are still funny moments....

If she'd died of a stroke at 88, we would rejoice that she kept her bright mind and scintillating personality without ever knowing the ravages of senility. I'm sure some day the memories of these stressful days will fade and I will again cherish happy memories of a parent I adored and admired, just as I now recall funny and delightful aspects of Daddy's personality.

He raged against the miseries and frustrations of illness and fought death until almost his last breath. Mother suffered with her difficult patient, and now she is just as difficult in spite of her naturally more even, gentle temperament. Both my parents were born leaders and liked being in control; neither has been able to accept helplessness gracefully. And maybe I won't either.

I wish I could shower her with the spontaneous affection my children and grandchildren give her on their visits, but I exhaust my energy in answering her constant calls and attending to endless requests -- and often I find it hard to muster patience, much less tenderness. Yet I know it's the latter she really needs, and at night I find myself in tears instead of in prayer.

Yet I can laugh, too, for our conversations or attempts are so absurd. When I got home from school Monday, she'd been looking at old letters in her scrapbook.

"Did you know I got a nice letter from Harry Golden?" she asked with obvious pride.

"That's nice. I'm sure you enjoyed that."

"Yes, but the girl staying with me (Carol) told me he was dead," she said, her voice faltering.

"That's right. He died about a year ago -- maybe more. He'd been sick a long time."

"Well, I don't understand. He certainly doesn't write like a dead man!"

Now where else can you go with a conversation like that? I just laughed and commented on its being a nice letter. I hope, like Harry, that my letters sound alive even when I'm not!

Today she's weak and wistful and I've had to get John to help me lift her on and off the commode. Both Carol and Hattie want Labor Day weekend off, and I've gotta find someone. Becky and Steph are coming for Saturday and Sunday, our first get together in two years.