Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
- Dylan Thomas
My mom is in transition. After ten and a half years in a nursing home, it seems she is now close to the end of her days on this earthly plain. She is slipping away in inches while we sit and watch, unable to do anything to ease the way. It has been a couple of weeks since I've seen her eyes open. Yet, she is still eating, still drinking almost as if it is a reflex. Parts of her body are now covered in sores as if the tissues and skin holding her frail bones together are now just too tired to do the job and are protesting. She can no longer sit for more than two of every twenty four hours.
It is a sad time for me and my sisters and we are all dealing with it in our own ways. In truth, I mourned the loss of my mother long ago in the days when she first stopped knowing who I am. I mourned for the loss of my best friend, biggest supporter and most reliable sounding board. I mourned for the loss of Jacob's chance to know his only surviving grandparent. I mourned for the ability of Alzheimer's to rob my mother of her brilliant mind and her abiding dignity. And though I thought I would not, I find myself mourning anew.
I do not spend my days wishing for my mom's life to be extended or spared. I want her to go when she wants to go. I want her to be free, to be with her sisters and her mom and dad and with my dad. Clearly, she already has a foot on the other side. There will come a day in the not too distant future when she pulls the other foot over. She has not gone gentle into that good night but I'm praying that she goes into it peacefully.
