And I honestly need to let this out, catharsis if you will.
I killed my mother.
Not literally. I'm not Norman Bates. However, I had to "make the call."
They day she died, I was working a football game. Right after halftime, I got an odd call from a doctor at the hospital she was in at the time. Mostly odd because he was hard to understand. Anyway, he was telling me that she was having breathing problems, and that they wanted to put her on a respirator. However, she didn't seem to be in her right mind, and so they were calling the people who were in her living will. My aunt, and me. They couldn't reach my aunt. I immediately froze up, and had no clue what to do. The doctor told me they could temporarily use CPAP as a form of respiration until we could assess it better. I okay'ed that, then after a few minutes of frantic contemplation, called my aunt. Between the two of us, we figured she needed to go to the hospital (she was much closer, I was 30 minutes away) and figure out what was happening.
The next 20 minutes or so was agonizing. I sat on the floor of the 3rd floor of the Unitas Stadium press box, by the windows near the elevators, outside of the Presidents private suite. Thankfully I knew the woman manning the door, and the woman who basically organized those suite events during games. They both "took care of me" during that time, getting me water and stuff, while my awesome game day crew shouldered the load of the game.
About 20 minutes later my aunt called, and her message was to the point. "You need to get down here." I went to my crew and told them I was leaving, and they assured me they could handle things, and then I broke quite a few speed limits on my way down there. I was having deja vu from when my father died. I was also called by my aunt, and I also sped like hell to get to the same hospital, but in that case, I started from halfway to Wilkes-Barre, PA and didn't make it in time. I didn't want that to happen again.
When I got there, my aunt made it clear that it wasn't very good. The doctors wouldn't give a 100% assurance that she could come off the respirator if they put her on one, nor would they commit that a respirator would even work, though they were "confident" that it would. And that was something she didn't want, to be on a respirator on any sort of permanent basis. But at the same time...doctors never give 100% assurances on anything anymore. They have to be careful and protect themselves. So after talking to my aunt, and briefly talking to the doctor about what exactly was happening came the moment of truth.
My aunt and I looked at each other.
Finally, she said, "You have to do it...I just can't do it." For anybody who knows my Aunt Sherry, that might come to a surprise to you. She's a very strong woman. But when it came to making the tough call on her little sister, she couldn't.
I stood there for I don't know how long. Felt like forever. Was probably only a few minutes. Finally, swallowing my selfish pride, and trying to look at it clinically as I could, I said, "she wouldn't want the respirator. We can't do it. I really wish it were other wise...but this goes against her wishes." My aunt nodded in agreement, and we notified the doctor.
That's when we "robed up" and went in to her ICU unit. She was in and out of coherent consciousness, both according to the doctor and my aunt. But when she saw me, she gave me a weird look, and said "What are you doing here?"
She knew. I know in my heart that she knew. I was rendered speechless and looked helplessly at my aunt. I had just made the decision that would kill my mother minutes before, and now I was face to face with her, and she knew by my presence of what was going on. Aunt Sherry helped by saying something like "he wanted to come see you," something generic. Something I'm very grateful for her for, because I jumped on that to have something to say. Luckily she didn't stay that coherent long. I spent most of the rest of the time adjusting her CPAP mask, it was a bit small and kept creeping off her chin. It didn't help that she obviously didn't want to be wearing it in the first place.
I took a few moments to call her oldest friend, my godmother, and told her she should drop everything and get up to the hospital. She was there within 15 minutes. I think Mom recognized her when she came in, but its hard to tell, she didn't last much longer after that. From that point things are something of a blur, but I do rememeber hugging her, sobbing, and pouring my heart out. I don't even know if she was still alive at that point. I'm not sure I want to know, I'd rather believe she was. But it wasn't long after that the nurse came in and told us she was gone.
That was about the point where I grew numb for awhile. The next day I started writing her eulogy, and that helped "dethaw" me.
But, it still haunts me that I had to make that call. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. I'm not sure anybody should ever have to be put in that position. Her life was in my hands. I'm pretty sure I made the right choice, but there are times when I look at my beautiful child, and I wonder...I wonder if I had decided to be selfish, maybe she would have seen her granddaughter. She was so looking forward to that. I was so looking for that. I wouldn't have admitted it at the time, but I was very much looking forward to "presenting" Erin to her grandmother.
And then, as I fumbled my way in to parenthood, I realized I also wish, again for selfish reasons, that I had my mother around for the advice. I've leaned a lot on my wonderful mother in law (I lucked out in that regard, big time), but I never realized how much I expected at least one of my parents to be there when I became a parent. I could have gotten advice ahead of time, but I didn't. So now, I'm flying almost blind, trying to just think of what my father or mother would have done.
Luckily I have a wonderful wife, and I also have an astounding child who makes it easy for me by being absolutely fascinated by her dada. I think I'll be okay.
But I did kill my mother. Not directly, the infection that ran rampant through her system was the direct cause. But I was given the decision to extend her life. It's very possible that she might still be alive today.
But. What if. Maybe. This tale is full of a lot of those words. A person who I respect a great deal, when I told him about this stuff, told me that I shouldn't second guess myself about this. That, in the end, things probably worked the way they should have. But he also admitted that he had never been in quite the same position.
I don't know. I'll probably live with this for the rest of my life. One day, when Erin is much older, and ready, I may tell her this story, as I promised my mother on her deathbed that I'd tell her all about her, and her grandfather, and thats obviously part of it, and an important part of her own fathers life. I'll tell you this though, writing it down (or typing it out, as it were) and putting it out there for mass consumption does help. It doesn't change the past, or the future, but it does make me feel better in a way. Catharsis.
Happy Mother's Day (a bit early), Mom. I never thought I'd miss you as much as I do. You and Dad.
