My mother died Sunday afternoon after suffering for months from cancer.
As I think about all that she endured this year, I also think about a prayer attributed to Will Rogers: “Lord, let me live until I die.” For me, this simple prayer sums up my mom’s final months.
Early this summer, following surgery and the first of three lengthy hospital stays, my mom received the pathology reports. She had stage four cancer. I’m told that when she and my dad and sister got to their vehicle, my mom remarked, “Ain’t that the shits.” She borrowed the phrase from the late Jim Gaukel, a retired lawyer and long-time neighbor who made the declaration as he was succumbing to congestive heart failure.
My mother was not afraid to talk about death. She also wasn’t afraid to live until she took her final breath, even as she suffered greatly along the way. When my mom made the decision that it was time to stop treatments and begin hospice care, she told visitors that she had one foot on earth and the other in heaven. During her last month with us, she had a steady stream of guests who came to pay their respects; so much so that my dad had to run interference.
“LORD, LET ME LIVE UNTIL I DIE”
There are many ways that this simple prayer summed up my mom’s final days.
In the weeks and months to come, there will be plenty of women in the Mapleton area wearing a coat, necklace, or bracelet that my mom owned. She gave away a number of possessions these past few weeks. (My dad was handing out more of the same on Monday and Tuesday for her as well.)
As my mom’s cancer spread, it became increasingly clear that the handwriting was on the wall. She was more than ready for hospice. As a matter of fact, there were several advantages to it. For one, she could again eat grapefruit for the first time in years. She had a simple bucket list.
My mother was a fifth-generation National Weather Service community observer. It pleased her greatly that her friend Michelle was willing to take over this duty. Another item crossed off her bucket list. (In a way, this volunteer position stayed in the family. Michelle’s husband Joe has farmed the Wasmund land for the past thirty-six years.)
My mother was a fabulous cook. Her holiday feasts were a true treasure to behold and taste. My sister shared an interesting tidbit with me on Tuesday. Last week, my mom was still collecting recipes.
Months ago, my parents ordered a new vehicle. It is due to arrive any day now. Even though my mom was confined to bed for the last week of her life, she told my dad that perhaps he could help her get into the wheelchair to go out to the garage to sit in it.
My brother and sister-in-law visited my mom last Friday. She had one request of Brad. She was interested in listening to some Christmas music. He was able to find a radio station in Omaha that was playing it.
Early last Saturday afternoon, my mom called me for what turned out to be the final time. It was mostly small talk. If my memory is correct, she told me what she planned on having for supper. (Later, my dad told me that her last meal turned out to be a piece or two of cake.)
Just 24 hours before she died, my mom texted her granddaughters, Jenny and Amy.
Up until the end, my mom was herself and trying to do all she could to assist my dad when her end came. Late last week, she contacted Alaine to tell her that they had cancelled their Sam’s Club membership (which we had benefited from for decades).
My mom was a very humble, low-key person. When it came time to work on her obituary, I sat down with my sister, Peggy, and niece, Amy, to polish up the rough draft completed at the funeral home. My dad listened in, at one point interjecting that we were overdoing it, which mom wouldn’t have wanted. He was right, but we wanted to add a few details for future generations.
As my mom contemplated her death, she voiced out loud that she didn’t think that there would be many people at her funeral. We think otherwise. My dad first estimated 125 when placing the catering order. This has now been upped to 150. I guess that we will find out soon.
Below you can see my mom in her natural element. She had a true green thumb.
She didn’t want flowers at her funeral; choosing instead two memorial designees. But I have a feeling that there will still be more than a few blossoms at St. Matthew on Saturday morning. I know that some decorate her urn.
Rest in peace, mom, until we meet again. You showed me how to keep the faith through your final, bittersweet days.
“Lord, let me live until I die.”
Nicely to know. sad to loose. Well written Brian. Thanks & ofcourse my condolances. May there be lots of joy for what has and is and can be
Rest in peace, Brian's Mom!
My condolences to Mom's survivors.