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Actively Dying

May 08, 2020
by Caroline Miller
Andrew Wyeth, coronavirus, dying, Great Pyramid of Khufu
24 Comments

Courtesy of https://www.darlenekaplan.com/shop/

“I remind you, your parent isn’t actively dying.” The woman in charge of the assisted living facility where my mother resides spoke crisply as if intending to discourage my request for a visit. I wasn’t discouraged.  By now, I’d lost patience with the medical parsing of words. At 104, my mother was close to the finish line and I hadn’t seen her for six weeks.  When I promised to observe the necessary precautions, the woman relented and we agreed upon a time and date for my arrival.  When the next Friday rolled around, I was ready and presented myself at the reception desk wearing rubber gloves, a head covering, and a mask.

A girl at the desk took my temperature: 98.1.  “Proceed,” she intoned as if I were gaining entrance to the Great Pyramid of Khufu.

Fifty paces along the linoleum corridor, I found my mother.  She was seated in a dining room reserved for private paying residents. It was larger than her customary accommodations, with a bank of windows that framed a garden scene plump with blossoms. A domestic worker sat nibbling her sandwich in one far corner. Otherwise, the cavernous space was empty. As long as the coronavirus remained a threat, guests didn’t share meals in congregate but ate from trays carried to their rooms. On the day of my visit, my mother was the exception.

Pale light from a cloudy day seeped through the glass panes where she was waiting for me.  Outside, the flowering plum-tree, a mound of pink petals, seemed wilted by it before the light itself died in the dark corners of the room– diluted like a drop of milk in a bucket of water.  An Andrew Wyeth scene, I thought.

She didn’t turn her head as I approached, though she’d been waiting for me. Her gaze was fixed on a far horizon as if she were drawn to an invisible demarcation line, not of geography, but one between the mind and the outer world–a horizon that beckons when someone is turned toward eternity.

Seating myself across from her but at a proper distance, I noted that the gravy pooled upon a hill of mashed potatoes in front of her had congealed. My mother hadn’t eaten that day nor, by the hollows in her cheeks, for several days running, I suspected. She wasn’t interested in food, she said as if to answer my unasked question.

“I’ve brought a peanut butter cookie,” I said, pushing the unwrapped confection toward her. The woman opposite me smiled, broke off a morsel, and put it into her mouth to show her appreciation.   Then she slid the cookie back to me. “You finish It,” she murmured, rewarding me with a momentary glance.

Coaxing her to eat would be futile, I knew, so I let the silence fall between us as my mother returned her gaze to the window, past the plum-tree and the red camellia standing bellicose beside it, past the Rhododendron and the azaleas, budded but not yet in flower, past the clouds that hung like soggy cotton balls in the slate sky. My mother was fragile, bent, and barely aware of me. I call that actively dying.

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24 Comments
  1. Emily McKinnon May 8, 2020 at 7:19 am Reply
    I would agree that she is heading in that direction. My father lost interest in food shortly before his passing, with the exception of ice cream. A couple of my friends have also noted the same of their parents prior to their death, sans the ice cream. You are fortunate that they made an exception for you to arrange a visit.
    • Caroline Miller May 8, 2020 at 7:33 am Reply
      Thank you for your comment, Emily. You are right. I was lucky to see her. Maybe I'll get another chance. I hope so.
  2. Wendy Ice May 8, 2020 at 8:58 am Reply
    Thanks for this lovely post. It must be so hard not to be with her during this period.
    • Caroline Miller May 8, 2020 at 9:52 am Reply
      Yes, it's very hard,especially with Mother's day two days away. If she makes it, it will be our last together and all I could do was send flowers. A personal loss is wrenching, as you well know.
  3. Val Jack May 8, 2020 at 9:10 am Reply
    I’m so glad you got to see her. It’s so hard on all of us when we can’t see our loved ones. ❤️❤️❤️
    • Caroline Miller May 8, 2020 at 9:53 am Reply
      Thank you, Val. I know you are going through a good deal, too. Hugs.
  4. Susan May 8, 2020 at 9:19 am Reply
    If you want to go the route of more intervention in the process....They should be routinely weighing her. You have a right to those numbers. If she is not eating, they should be giving her Ensure which tastes like a milkshake. My sister in law was dropping weight because she wasn't eating and they ignored it. When she was moved to a foster home, with more attention, she gained the weight back and was definitely happier. I am so sorry you are going through this. It must be hard.
    • Caroline Miller May 8, 2020 at 10:03 am Reply
      I think the community is doing it's best for her. She is getting Ensure. This week, they've assigned someone to feed her meals to her as she has lost the capacity to use utensils. Loss is a part Life's contract, as we all know and most of us have experienced. Even so, its difficult to be the one who stands and waits, especially when it must be from a distance.
  5. Erin Donley May 8, 2020 at 10:38 am Reply
    I am floored at the beauty and honesty of this piece you’ve written, Caroline. Thank you.
    • Caroline Miller May 8, 2020 at 11:44 am Reply
      It seemed an appropriate time to share such feelings. Thank you for your comment, Erin.
  6. Maggi White May 8, 2020 at 2:03 pm Reply
    Beautifully described.
    • Caroline Miller May 9, 2020 at 9:39 am Reply
      When a writer stops to compliment another writer, that is high praise, indeed.
  7. Betsy May 8, 2020 at 8:50 pm Reply
    Beautiful piece about your mother, and I'm so glad you shared it! Betsy.
    • Caroline Miller May 9, 2020 at 9:40 am Reply
      Thank you. I hoped it might speak to the experience of others and by the response, apparently it did.
  8. ALC May 9, 2020 at 9:59 am Reply
    Carrie, my heart aches for you . It is so difficult to stand by and watch a loved one transition to whatever lies beyond. I have always admired the loving and respectful way you have cared for your mother. I hope you find peace in this final phase of her long life.
    • Caroline Miller May 9, 2020 at 5:27 pm Reply
      Thank you for your kind words. What's truly sad is that the message speaks to people because most of us have experienced this oss. If i had the power to create a universe, it wouldn't be this one.
  9. Brad Mersereau May 9, 2020 at 4:26 pm Reply
    Your beautiful writing laced with powerful imagery spoke to my experiences with family members, most recently with Janet. Perhaps through grace, our final Hospice nurse, Bethany, who visited twice on July 31, 2019 declared that my dear wife (no longer speaking) was "actively dying" which allowed for immediate medicare-approved hospitalization and a slow medically supervised "care and comfort" passing as August 5th began. I'm so glad that your mother has a proactive daughter who takes care of business regardless of officials and their terminology.. Thank you for sharing such thoughtful honest words. I hope you will have the opportunity to share another peanut butter cookie's loving significance ... eaten or not.
    • Caroline Miller May 9, 2020 at 5:29 pm Reply
      Yes, my life is one, not of coffee spoons, but peanut butter cookies. You understand.
  10. Oliver Phillips May 9, 2020 at 4:31 pm Reply
    My heart aches for you right now. i am also reminded what a gifted writer you are. I am not a writer but my praise is high indeed.
    • Caroline Miller May 9, 2020 at 5:31 pm Reply
      Thank you my friend.
  11. Kitty Snyman May 11, 2020 at 10:21 am Reply
    I am very sad to hear the news but know only too well that from the experience with my elderly parents, that when they stop eating it is near the end. The body just packs up. It is especially sad to lose a mother. You are both in my thoughts for a gentle landing.
    • Caroline Miller May 11, 2020 at 11:44 am Reply
      Thanks for your comment. This blog, coming near mother's day, seems to a struck a poignant chord with many.
  12. Kathy Anderson May 11, 2020 at 8:38 pm Reply
    Caroline, I've been a motherless child since 2005, and I still think of my mother and miss her every day. You've been fortunate to have your mom for so long, although I can imagine how hard these past couple of months have been for you. My grandmother was 105 when she died; when she was 104 she had an illness that the doctor insisted on treating, against her will, because she was ready to go. The doctor, a family friend, said later if he had it to do over, he would have respected her wishes at that time.
    • Caroline Miller May 12, 2020 at 7:32 am Reply
      Your comment raises the question, "When does someone die?" Thanks for sharing.

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Contact Caroline at

carolinemiller11@yahoo.com

Portland, Oregon author Caroline Miller had distinguished careers as an educator, union president, elected official and artist/advocate.

Her play, Woman on the Scarlet Beast, was performed at the Post5 Theatre, Portland, OR, January/February 2015

Caroline published a serialized novelette, Marie Eau-Claire, on the website, The Colored Lens.  She also published the story Gustav Pavel,  a parable about ordinary lives, choice and alternate potential, on the website Fixional.co.

Caroline has published four novels

  • Ballet Noir
  • Trompe l’Oeil
  • Gothic Spring
  • Heart Land

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