On Saturday morning Molly died.
Molly had a good birthday on the Fourth. Made it to 42, like she wanted to. She was conscious for minutes at a time, able to interact briefly. We don't always understand her. I was able to brush and braid her hair, first time in over thirty years. Deb was holding her hand recently and Molly responded, took Deb’s hands for a long, lovely moment.
Two days ago Deb and I and the nurse were helping her stand—sometimes she just wants to, at least until recently—and she started grabbing the air between us. I had kissed her hands just before, while she was lying down. I went closer to her and she gripped my hands—she can hardly see right now, the brain tumors have hampered her vision for a month—and pulled me toward her. She then slowly, gently, kissed my hand, over and over. I said “I love you” and she said “I love you”.
In the midst of this very hard time there are transcendent moments. Few, and very brief, but we stay simple and calm, so we don't miss one.
A few weeks ago, just before her cognitive decline, she and I sat all day and formally apologized, asked for and gave forgiveness, for any and all. We declared what was most important, our love and gratitude to each other. Shared funny memories, watched Animal Planet. We said to each other that if for any reason I am not there at the moment she goes—unlikely—we have said all the things, and are at peace, in a place of love and acceptance with each other. A very good moment in this, the hardest weeks of my life.
And I was there, every minute during her very difficult final weeks, days, hours, Held her hand as the last breath passed through her.
She was amazing. We say so, the hospice folks say so, and so would Molly, too, if she could, with a wiseacre sideways grin on her sweet face.
Love is everything.
Swelling
Our Mum
Dementia and clock changes
