The Last Goodbye

I’ve been reading a little book by Henri Nouwen. In Memoriam is a tiny volume that he wrote in response to the death and life of his mother. In it, Nouwen describes his mother’s last days, and her death in a hospital bed, with all of her family around her, making her comfortable, talking with her and with each other, and with God. It beautifully expresses his love for her and his gratitude for the life of faith that she shared with him.

As I read it, I have this horrible, selfish sense of having been cheated out of something precious. Mrs. Nouwen and her family knew without doubt that she was dying. She heard and felt their expressions of love for her during her final days and hours. Her family got to say goodbye in word and actions. My mom died suddenly, unexpectedly. While she had not been well for some time, no one, not even her doctor, thought she was so sick she was in imminent danger of dying. So while I had spoken with her on the phone the day before, I hadn’t been with her, and if I had known just how sick she was, I would’ve been.

And yet, I can’t justify complaining too much. Several of my friends have mothers who have recently died or are now struggling with Alzheimer’s. Can anything be more heartbreaking than not being recognized by your own mom? And anyone who has seen someone lie in a hospital bed for months knows that the manner in which my mother went Home was in most ways a blessing. Those who die long, drawn-out deaths, tubes invading their bodies, pricked with needles and in a drug-induced stupor suffer indignities and physical and emotional torment that ought not be. My dad’s mother died that way, and her children suffered greatly right along with her. My mom did not have to endure such agony. She died where she had lived: among her pets, in her living room, comfortable in her own chair. Her best friend, who was called to the house before Mom’s body was taken away, remarked that she seemed to be smiling. I think it may have been the first time in many years she was not frightened or worried.

Would I rather she had become ill enough to go to the hospital, where she would have been poked and prodded, robbed of her privacy and dignity? Would it have been preferable for her to have spent her last days or hours worried about her pets at home without her? Would I be happier now knowing I had been with her when she died, in spite of all that? No. I hope that I could never be that selfish. As precious as it would have been to have been able to pray with Mom, to have held her hand and kissed her goodbye, it is far better that she died as she did. God knows best and He did what was best for her and for us. My last goodbye to my Mom was on the phone, the day before she died, and that will have to do for now.