It's quiet in my mother's house. We don't really want to say or do anything. Our lives just changed forever.
She had been in a coma, unresponsive since last Wednesday when they sedated her. Day after day we went to the hospital and desperately clung to every piece of good news the staff gave us and then we were equally destroyed by every bad report. Definitely an emotional roller coaster.
We hoped and prayed we would have a chance to look into her eyes, hear her voice, tell her we loved her but that didn't happen. The doctors told us she was dying. The infection in her blood was too strong for her but perhaps a procedure might save her?
"Go for it."
One last chance. One last hope.
30 minutes into the dialysis her heart dropped dangerously low. We only knew that because we saw the nurse wheeling the machines down the hall.
Questions. Anger stirring. Why isn't the doctor speaking with us? Why so little communication?
As my sister and I stepped back into the hall, perplexed, we heard...
CODE BLUE
For a split second I couldn't connect that with my mom, but then I turned and went back into the ICU.
They began the resuscitation. As they frantically tried to get her heart started we had only seconds to decide whether to release her or to try and hold on.
Stop. It's over. Let her go.
Tears. Sobs. Quietness. Confusion. Papers to sign. Prayers. Decisions to make. It's not what I imagined.
We walked back in to say goodbye. But all I could see is it was my mother but it wasn't.
It's just a body. Just a shell.
This is what I said to my children,
It's just a body. Just a shell. Mom is with Jesus. No more lupus or steroids to wreck her body. No more walker and frustration. No more pain and asthma. She is dancing and rejoicing. She's on the other side and we will see her again IF we stay the course.
As we drove to her house from the hospital we all agreed Chicago would never be the same for any of us.
