My Three Mother's

I’ve been quite lucky in my life to have more than one mother; my birth mother, my adopted mother and a sort of surrogate mother, my aunt. Each has been special and wonderful in their own ways and I wouldn’t have changed anything about them. But as I am in the process of losing the last of them, I can’t help but think of the way they each has passed*. Each different and unique – all distinctively special to them. *or will

My adopted mother, Kathleen passed in1986. All was fine until one Friday morning she felt very ill. Her stomach. She stayed in bed all day, which was something she never did. I remember going down to the house have having lunch with her. I wore a bright red shirt and I remember her commenting on how much she liked it. I ate tuna with red cabbage.

The following morning my father called and said he was taking her to the hospital because she ‘really didn’t feel well”. This I knew was bad because she hadn’t seen a doctor in years. She hated them.

Around 11 am, my father called and said I should come down – they were going to take her to surgery and they thought she had appendicitis. As I hurriedly got it together, I found on the way to the hospital, about 10 miles, there was a huge traffic hold up on the highway. It took me over an hour. When I finally arrived, they told me her blood pressure had dropped so low they could not do anything until they brought it back up.

After seemingly hours because these situations seem to have no definite times, they wheeled this woman, swollen so much I could barely distinguish her as my mother past me.

Upon completion of surgery the doctor advised us that she was very, very sick. It was not her appendicitis but rather, a tumor, the size of a golf ball in her colon that had burst. His outlook was not good.

My father and I took a break for a couple hours as she lie in intensive care and came back to the hospital around 7 pm. There was no change. Her blood pressure remained low and continued to drop.

Around 10 pm, the surgeon came to us and told us that we should prepare to lose her. My father could not believe it. Neither could I for that matter. We stood by her bed for a while. She did not resemble herself. The toxins in her body had caused her to puff up like a blowfish. This was not my mother. At 12:01 am, they pronounced her dead. Acute Sepsis. Colon cancer that could have been detected and treated. The following days were a nightmare. Fine on Thursday, dead on Saturday.

Aunt Theda collapsed during a tour of the White House during the Clinton administration in October of 1998. She immediately flew back to the Bay Area and visited her doctor. Pancreatic Cancer, for which there was no treatment.

Her younger sister, Doris, came from Delaware to be with her. Christmas was hard. We knew the inevitable. She gave me a pewter teapot I had always played with as a child. I knew it was special to her, as her aunt had given it to her. Knowing of her demise she made sure she gave me everything she wanted to. Each day she shredded personal files and love letters she had kept for many years. She had always been a private person and wanted to keep it that way. She arranged her funeral, re-wrote her will, and lived each day the best she could. As she approached her 8th month of the illness, she began to show signs of wear.

On her birthday, June 22, I threw a cake and ice cream party with all of her friends. Over 50 people came that day as well as her priest, who said a special blessing. It was warm and we all could tell she was having a rough time, but she looked fairly well and was the warm, gracious, wonderful lady I had always known.

I saw her about a week later and the pain medication had finally taken its toll. She was not the Aunt I grew up with. On July 5th, she passed peacefully around 5 am.

Knowing I had done the party for her gave me such satisfaction and such a wonderful memory – it couldn’t have been a more satisfying experience.

I gave a heart-wrenching eulogy at her service. As my mother had gone so suddenly before her, I had time to mend any wounds and spend good time with her. Sometimes I wonder if this was a healing for me.

LindaMom, my birthmother, who came into my life at the age of 42, began to fail in December or January of this year. My sister and she didn’t tell me anything until February when they were taking her into surgery to remove her collapsed lung. After surgery, they found she had cancer. Stage 2 – T3. There was a large tumor behind her heart and partially attached which could not completely be removed. Not only was there a diagnosis of lung cancer, but emphysema and a cardiac condition as well.

My sister, Melanie and I discussed her options quite openly. The odds weren’t good. I felt the treatment plan should be thrown away. I think Melanie did too. But Miss Linda was not one to give up. The surgery was rough. Rather than laproscopically removing the lung, they had to dissect it, piece by piece. The surgeon said he knew he didn’t get all of the cancer.

Treatment was the standard radiation and chemotherapy. Would Miss Linda do it? You bet she would. I believe she thought it would be a “cake-walk” and all could then return to normal. This, however, was not the case. Because of the need for oxygen, she could not return to her home in Walden, some 3,000 ft. higher in elevation than Denver. She moved into my sister’s house. Since her first round of treatment went fairly well, she resumed her glass of wine each night. This has become problematic because she has put herself at risk of a heart attack, a stroke or death. At this stage in the game, I really can’t blame her for drinking. I know I would. Her blood levels continue to be nowhere within the margins and the entire family has seemingly been “on alert” since February.

She is sad, angry and of course; no one wants to die. She is certainly not ready to die and this is something she has no control of.

You see, my mother was Miss Linda to the entire town of Walden. She tended bar at the local saloon, knew everyone, cooked Sunday brunches for the bar as well as had holiday meals every holiday for “her strays” as she would say. This was a lady in control. I can’t imagine the emotional and mental pain she is going through.

When I met her in Walden, there was a dance band at the bar on Friday night. I didn’t quite realize it but everyone was out to kind of check me out. Make sure I was good enough for her. They were, and still are quite protective of her.

As of today, she continues to fight. Possibly the cancer has gone into the bone and possible affecting her thought process. Whether it is through denial or anger or sheer exhaustion. My sister has earned her wings in heaven. She is a Godsend. So caring, so on top of everything. Thank God for Melanie.

We can only hope the pain and suffering will not be long endured and her medications continue to kill the pain of this terrible disease.

I’m lucky to have had three mom’s in my life. I spent time I guess I’m thankful that the easy passing’s are behind me. It gives me strength to deal with all that is today. Everyone is different, yet we all have one thing in common…life ends.

My own history since 1991 has led me down an interesting path. I discovered The Center for Attitudinal Healing in Tiburon in 1991. A place where terminal illness is dealt with in a complete atmosphere of love and understanding. I was fortunate to spend a weekend retreat at the Santa Sabina Center dealing with death and love and teaching only love. I trained as a Peer Support Group Counselor for the San Francisco Aids Foundation and led one of the longest ongoing weekly support groups in the history of the program. Death has been all around me for almost 25 years now. I still don’t understand it. I never will but I know I am poised to be the best support I can be during these times.

I pray LindaMom will be free of pain and full of love and know that those around here care deeply for her.