Ma has fought the good fight, she has finished the race

My beloved mother, Jean Elizabeth (Reamer) Harbold, known to her friends as "Betty" and to her sons as our dear, wonderful, and much-loved Ma, passed out of this mortal life and into "a brighter light, upon a further shore" at about 8:15 p.m. this evening, Tuesday, February 27th, 2007.

Although she had been in considerable respiratory distress the last two days, and this afternoon and evening was particularly difficult, her final passing was a peaceful one, as the Lord she has loved and followed all her days sent His angels to safely escort her kind and gentle spirit home.

She never made it to hospice, but was given comfort care at Carroll Hospital Center, and she passed into the next world attended by all three of her sons -- my brothers and myself -- along with one of her daughters-in-law and her youngest niece. My brother John and sister-in-law Susan had prevailed upon me to take some time from Ma's side and come home to have dinner with them, which I did... difficult though it was to leave her. In the meantime, we later learned, my other brother Mark had been joined by his daughter Hannah, who read Ma some of her (Ma's) favorite poems from our "Big Blue Poetry Book," as we always called it -- thus undoubtedly easing her grandmother's final time on this earth.

When John, Susan, and I returned, it was to find Ma breathing far more slowly -- and, thankfully, entirely without distress. Her skin had lost its feverish flush, and was in fact already beginning to fade to pale. Realizing that the end was very near, we rallied around her, holding her hands and resting our hands upon her. I read the final commendatory prayers at the time of departure from the Book of Common Prayer. At some point during or shortly following those prayers, Ma breathed her last, slipping quietly away in utter peace, with prayers in her ears and poems in her heart.

She spoke no word, nor did she open her eyes -- but earlier today her eyes were wide open and tracking, drinking in everything she could of us... perhaps to strengthen herself for her final battle? She even fought her way through the fog of morphine to look deeply into my eyes, communicating her love without need for words. We, all of us, were given a final opportunity to say "goodbye." What a blessing. What a grace.

Those of you who know my mom, and the struggles, pains, and travails she's been through in the last year-and-a-half, especially, and really since the accident in 1999, will understand that while our loss of Ma is a loss that cannot be mended -- she was such a major presence in my life, especially, and the solid core and pillar of our family -- and I am suffering great grief and deep sadness, I am also experiencing feelings of relief and gratitude, that her long suffering is over.

There will be no more interminable visits to the doctors, no sudden hospitalizations, no poking and prodding and IV "sticks," no dressing changes or walkers or unappetizing nursing home food. She will not suffer pain in her back, her legs, or anywhere else; there will be no more pyoderma gangrenosum, no more osteoporosis, no more piles of pills to somehow swallow. Her lungs will never again fill with fluid, her legs swell, or her poor vertebrae compress. She will have no fear of atrial fibrillation or congestive heart failure. She will be in no danger of falling, and will suffer no difficulty swallowing. She need not fear the loss of her mental acuity or her dignity with the progression of dementia (which I think would have particularly appalled her). No nurses or techs will bother her at odd times of the night to check her vitals, and she won't have to wait for somebody to help her when she needs it.

She is free, and at peace. The "long goodbye" is over.

Now it just remains for me to learn how to live without her... and that won't be easy.

I have been Ma's caregiver for so long that I have nearly forgotten how NOT to be her caregiver. I will undoubtedly have more time to myself in the days ahead, and the nights too. I will undoubtedly have more freedom of action, of travel. But I would gladly trade it all for the sight of Ma's smile, or the twinkle in her eyes, or a hug, or the chance to read poetry to her again (or, going further back, one of her home-cooked meals, or a fresh-baked cake with homemade icing). As I used often to put it, modifying the familiar saying, "She's not heavy, she's my mother." I threw myself body and soul into caring for Ma, and it will take some time to learn to drag myself back out.

Please pray for me, friends. And for all the family, as I am not the only one who will be suffering grief and sadness at her loss. But please also rejoice with me that Ma's pain and suffering is at an end, and she is at peace.

And if you possibly can, please do love your parents, and show them that you care. They gave you life -- and if they're even halfway decent, very much more, often at great sacrifice to themselves. You never know when they'll be taken from you. Give 'em a hug, for me.

Tom