She is gone

My mom last summer, on a trampoline. This is how I will remember her.



I still can't believe my mom is gone. I dream about her at night, I think about her all day, and  I am all consumed by sadness. I don't want the pain to end because then I feel like I've accepted that she's gone and I don't want to accept that she's gone, it will never be OK with me that she is gone. I am 31 and I still need my mom. She was supposed to dance at my children's weddings and be there for them when they couldn't see eye to eye with Brad and I. My grandma was always there for me and loved me even during my rebellious teenage years and I wanted her to be that for them. I'm not even sure how much Abi will remember about her. "Why is grandma JoAnn in heaven?" Abi asks, and I have no good answer.

In hindsight I'm not sure my mom would have done the major heart surgery back in October that caused the massive brain stem stroke. But she wanted to live, that's why she did it. She went from living life to being disabled, not being able to walk or see or speak very well. She couldn't do anything without help, but she never complained. The odds of having a stroke during surgery are 4% and she fell into the poor 4%, it was very unfortunate. In December we had so much hope that she was recovering from the stroke and would be walking in no time. Then January came and there wasn't a lot of progress, February she started going down hill, and in early March she got Endocarditis which is a bacterial infection of her new heart value. By the time they figured out what was wrong she had bacteria in her spinal fluid and blood and was extremely sick. The doctors told us there was only a 50% chance that the antibiotics would clear the infection so another major heart surgery to replace her heart value was a possibility. During her week and a half hospital stay she didn't seem to be improving instead she seemed to be declining and we were getting worried that more was going on than we knew about (maybe another stroke or abscess somewhere else in the body). Last Monday my sister was with her in the hospital helping her eat breakfast when she became unresponsive, vomited a little, choked on it, and had a seizure. They called a code and rushed her out to intubate her and take her to the ICU. At first we thought maybe this is a good thing because they'll now run more tests to see why she is not improving. They did an MRI of her brain that evening and I got a phone call from my sister at 1:30am, I was just getting home form work and had just walked in the door. The neurosurgeon told my sister that my mom had a massive brain bleed and there was so much blood in her brain and her brain was so damaged that she was brain dead. He thought the best thing to do would be to gather the family and let her go by taking her off life support. We knew that these were her wishes as well. This is the moment I knew my life would be never be the same.

I drove down the next morning and we held her and kissed her and told her we loved her. When she passed I was holding her little face in my hands my forehead touching hers while my sister and dad each held a hand. I didn't feel her go but when I opened my eyes and looked at her I could tell she was gone. I can't remember the last time I sobbed, or cried so hard I never thought I would stop.

I am left wondering why. My sister said the nurse gave my mom a large injection of heparin before everything happened that morning so we know they made her blood too thin which caused the brain bleed. The nurse even told my sister she didn't feel quite right about giving my mom the heparin, not that we have any interest in pursing this possible medical error. We'll never know if there was more going on that was causing her to decline. Did the fatal dose of heparin help end her suffering or did it end her life way too soon? With how much she was falling at home it was probably only a matter of time until this happened at home, but we'll never know. I even wonder if she already had some bleeding in her brain that we didn't know about (from falling at home) but was small enough to have minimal damage until the injection of heparin blew open the clot. We will never know and I'll always wonder.

I am full to the brim with regret. I should have taken more time off work to spend with her, helping take care of her. I should have told her how much I love her and what a good mom she was. I would do anything for more time with her. I can't remember if I told her I loved her the last time I talked to her, but Brad was there and he said I did.

No one loves you like your mom and now mine is gone.