“Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.” - Emily Dickinson
My chosen sister Marg's mom died in the early morning hours on Tuesday with Marg curled up at the foot of her bed and me resting in the chair beside her. It was a privilege to be with her as she drew her last breath and a blessing to share the moment with Marg.
Marcella was just down the hall from my mom, at the same nursing home on the same floor. As children, Marg met my sister Cathy on the first day of elementary school. I have known her since I was four. She has two blood siblings left, having lost her eldest brother seven years ago. Marg moved to Toronto more than forty years ago to attend graduate school. My parents brought her here. Cath and I followed a year or so later. Marg has always been a part of our family. Not wanting to keep explaining exactly how we are related, I came to introduce her as my chosen sister. After we both lost our dads, we moved our moms here when they needed more care than we could provide from a distance. My mom has been in the nursing home for eleven and a half years. Not needing the same level of care, Marcella was in another facility until her physical condition deteriorated. Ultimately, she ended up in the same place as my mom. Though they shared no genes, my mom and Marcella began to resemble one another over time. I think people assumed they were related. After all, we were always all together. It was a natural assumption.
Unlike my mom, Marcella was in full control of her faculties. She was interested in my life and in the world. Funny and engaging, Marcella came into herself in her twilight years. When she developed pneumonia last week, it quickly became clear that she wasn't going to survive. Marg kept vigil for five nights. Her blood siblings visited a couple of times and Marg's husband Bob kept everyone fed and watered. I hated the idea that Marg would be alone if Marcella passed in the night so when I visited on Monday I decided to stay for the duration. I told Marg I would do it in whatever way she wanted. If she wanted to be alone with her mom in the room, I would stay in the family lounge. If she wanted not to be alone in the room, I would sit by Marcella's bed until the end. She opted for the latter.
Marg and I took chairs on either side of Marcella. Around 12:30 we turned out the lights to try and get some rest. Marcella's breathing was loud and laboured. A few minutes after 1:00, Marg got up from her chair. She was unsettled. She crawled onto the end of Marcella's bed. The room became silent. Marcella died.
There was little to do once she had passed. Marg alerted the night staff. We stayed for about a half hour while they repositioned her body and tried to close her mouth. We said our goodbyes to her and headed out into the night, sad, numb and peaceful.
The last couple of days have been difficult. I had a morning meeting with a client just a few hours after I got home following Marcella's death. I worked all day until the evening. By the time I fell into bed at midnight, I was exhausted. The experience left me drained and a day of painting and pennying seemed to be the right tonic for healing so yesterday, that is just what I did. I had another client meeting this morning but decided to give myself the afternoon to rest. I haven't found the heart to go back to the nursing home yet. My sister Nancy is holding down the fort with my mom. I gave myself permission to be gentle with my heart and Nan gave me her full support to do that. I am grateful.
