I said goodbye to my mom on Friday

Sunday would have been the day I saw my mother, Carol. She might have been wearing her Russell Wilson T-shirt in honor of the Seahawks as we lunched in the dining room of Fred Lind Manor. Our talk would have covered a familiar range of topics:

• The betrayals of her body.
• A movie she watched or walked out on in the Fred Lind theater.
• What she was eating for dinner and snacks (she loved potato chips, crunchy Cheetos and anything sweet).
• Recent interactions with Fred Lind staff and other residents – these often proceeded by, “I’ll tell you something funny . . .”

I’m guilty of tuning out the repetition of our conversations. Now, I’d do almost anything just hear her voice again.

We said our goodbyes Friday afternoon. This goodbye wasn’t her playful “See you later, alligator,” to which I’d reply, “In a while, crocodile.” This goodbye was final. This goodbye was preceded by an apology for leaving us and a lethal and bitter-tasting cocktail of drugs that would stop her heart — A death with dignity because her body hurt and could no longer get out of bed.

My mother — who never smoked but worked in offices with those who did – found out she had lung cancer during an emergency-room visit for shortness of breath over a year ago. Her regular doctors missed it, assuming that the rattling in her chest was a result of her bent-over posture.

The diagnosis of lung cancer, confirmed by her contrite physician, put her on hospice. Given three months to live, she lasted 14. The only treatment she accepted was palliative care. She never expected to make it to 90. Her three siblings all died young or relatively young. I hope she’s enjoying a reunion with that part of the family, including a beloved older sister, Jean, who was like a second mother to her.

My mother could be wishy-washy, but when she finally decided it was time to go, she didn’t waver. Volunteers with End of Life Washington came to her room and took care of everything while I, my husband, Mark, and sons, Casey and Charlie, gathered at her bedside and held her hands and each other.

A shout-out to the earth angels with Kline Galland Hospice and End of Life who made my mother’s end as painless and peaceful as possible:

• Jennifer Thomson, the hospice nurse who visited her every week, taking her vitals, seeing to her needs, and listening to her stories. Jennifer always had time for the stories. On Friday, she cleared her schedule to be with my mom at the end.
• Hospice Chaplain Carly Misenheimer, whose instinct for connecting with people nearly three times her age is a gift and a Godsend.
• Kathy Spring, a volunteer with End of Life Washington, whose knowledge and sensitivity helped our family get through what would have been a traumatic experience if not for her reassurances. The dying body isn’t silent or still.
• The staff and residents at Fred Lind who became fond of my mother. They marveled at her intellect, sharp wit and skill at cornhole, a game where players try to toss bean bags into a hole on an inclined board some distance away. My mother was the undisputed cornhole champion at Norse Home, where she lived for nine years before it shut down. There’s more to that story if you care to read it.
  

They say that losing a parent changes you. I now know how true that is. Carol McGaffin was the last of the grandparents. Mark and I are the oldsters now. It feels both freeing and frightening.

While my mom was dying, I clutched her hand, overcome by grief and some guilt. The woman who could frustrate me no end, who could be maddeningly stubborn and childish, who was the subject of more complaints than I care to admit – was leaving me.

All at once I saw her as brave and strong, two words I wouldn’t have necessarily used to describe her before. I didn’t give her the credit she deserved for having the courage to leave my abusive father before he could scar me. I was a baby. My grandmother, another strong woman, helped raise me while my mother worked secretarial jobs. I learned Friday that she could type 70 words a minute.

This I know: She loved her only child more than anything. Once asked what she considered to be her greatest accomplishment, she pointed across the table at me. She was proud of my writing, my books, and kept my newspaper articles. She and her walker came to the 2018 launch of my first book, The Leaving Year, at Third Place Books Ravenna.

She will be there in spirit for the launch of my second novel, Shade of Wings. I have a date now. Thank you if you’ve read this far. It will be Thursday, June 4, at 7 p.m. at Third Place Books Ravenna.

Shade of Wings is a story about survival and redemption staring a family of crows in New York City. I’m grateful my mom lived long enough to hold an advance reader copy and read the dedication:

“To my mother, Carol, and all the single parents bravely doing their best.”

That was her answer when I asked how she wanted to be remembered. “Just say that I did my best.”

You sure did. I love you, Mom.

Two of my favorite pictures. 1) Mom with her dog, Elmer. 2) Mom (left) with friends