Orchestrated Concerto: Authored by GOD

Co-Authored by Yours Truly

Happy Mother’s Day

I chose to repost my first article today in honor of my mother, who has been gone for many years.

If your mother is alive, celebrate. If your mother is gone remember her with loving thoughts. She’s never far away… even if only in your dreams.

The author and her precious Mother shortly before she left the Mother Earth

Mother and I rehearsed dying like we sang our favorite tunes, until we were sick of it. The melody had worn itself out.

You told me you would never forget me. Not ever. And not to stay sad after you were gone. I’ll try and remember everything you taught me to do. Set the table correctly and lead by example.  Don’t leave as quickly as dad left us, okay? He was here and then poof! He was gone.

I stepped out of the hospital into the bright sunlight. It was a warm, balmy spring day. I wept tears of relief, thankful to be alive. I inhaled the sweet aroma of orange blossoms and freshly cut grass, taking in several deep breaths to clear the smell of bittersweet sorrow from my nose.

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“I’m here for Mrs. L,” I breathlessly called out, aware that the hospice was quiet, unlike the noisy hospital we had just come from. 

“Oh, Inez?”

“Yes, she came here from Largo Medical Center.”

“We’re cleaning her up right now. We’re washing her hair, bathing her and giving her a fresh gown. We’ll be there for a few minutes… if you’d like, you may drop your things off in her room.”

“May I stay with her?” I asked hesitantly.

“Oh, certainly, you have your own bed. Her room is on the right,” the nurse said, as she pointed down the brightly lit hallway past the front desk.

I strolled around the grounds impatiently waiting for mama to settle into her new digs, before I came in and made a mess of the room with my luggage. I never traveled light.

A glorious bougainvillea bursting forth with hot pink petals leaned up against a residential window, stopping me in my tracks with its flamboyant beauty. A large fountain splashed sprinkles of water droplets sparkling like diamonds over a giant pair of praying hands, holding an infant. Something akin to comfort began to wash over me.

The nurse called me inside. I had arrived at 35 Magnolia Way and held my breath, as I opened the door.

Mama was lying peacefully in the middle of a large cherry wood bed bathed in soft, indirect lighting. I glanced across the room and spied a bay window. 

The bougainvillea tree and the praying hands were right outside our window.

God had set the stage, nothing but the best for Mama.

She looked beautiful. Her face was no longer etched with pain. They said her hearing would be the last to go.

We left a place that boasted heroic life saving measures, regardless of quality; and found a sanctuary, which gave us comfort and assistance with transitioning her into eternal life.

The door opened and the nurse came in with the dinner tray.

“Mrs. L., here is your evening meal; we have leg of lamb with mint jelly, roasted red potatoes and chocolate pudding for dessert. There is coffee and herbal tea, your choice.”

The nurse set the tray down gently and stood quietly beside mother’s bed observing her.

Maybe she can eat. Maybe she will get better. Maybe a miracle was coming; maybe not.

There was no saline drip laced with morphine being pumped inside her arm.

“We are not here to prolong life.”

“Oh, my God, is she in pain?”

“No, here we use sublingual morphine. It’s less invasive, and we can give her what she needs.”

“Can she have a saline drip?”

The nurse gave me a compassionate look and did not reply.

I couldn’t resist the tantalizing aroma and dove in, devouring the delicious fare.  Mama always worried about my being hungry. She needed me. I needed her.

I watched the rise and fall of her chest and couldn’t stop staring at her.  I waited for her to open her eyes and tell me everything was going to be okay. As she lay peacefully on her back, I prayed out loud for both of us, maybe she would hear me. We always said our prayers at bedtime.

I told her I loved her over and over, but didn’t encourage her to let go, I wasn’t ready, yet.

I slept soundly in the tranquil room that night, for the first time in four days.

I woke up to the hiss-cush of the O2 machine I had demanded from the night; here it was comforting, in the hospital it was annoying.

The doctor stepped inside the room and examined Mama. He said death was imminent. I didn’t understand the word imminent.

Photo by Jonny Gios on Unsplash

I circled the grounds around and around. I walked, paced and prayed. I checked her breathing over and over and prepared for imminent death.

Nothing happened.

I called a minister in for prayer and asked for music. The minister brought in a recording of Amazing Grace and played it on a boom box. It didn’t have the same effect as it did in church.

And then it came. As she lay on her side the fluids began purging, and oozing out of her nose and mouth as her body began convulsing, as it tried to stop living on its own.

I didn’t smell anything as I dabbed, swabbed, patted, rubbed and loved mama for hours, until the fluids stopped coming.

I walked and paced and jogged around and around the grounds. I was in frenzy. I waited and prayed and bargained with God. He didn’t hear me.

I found a labyrinth of life on my way to the outdoor chapel and began circling the maze offering up prayer and release each time I made the rounds, finding each time a different route to the metaphorical heaven.

I rocked back and forth in the worn rocking chair and cried out loud, “How long?”

Minutes turned to hours as I rocked, walked and prayed.

Death was imminent.

Dear God, what does imminent mean?

It was taking too long. And then I got scared.

I told her it was okay to go… and asked her to hold God’s hand, as I held on tightly to the other one. Her chest continued to rise and fall. 

The night shift came on and introduced themselves. They sat down with me and explained “the process.” I steadily grew frightened of the process. Mama was imminent not pre-imminent; she could go at anytime, except her vitals were strong.  Her O2 saturation levels peaked at 93 percent, heart rate and pulse were normal, just like Dad’s were nine years ago, when he died suddenly... only Mother was still breathing on her own. We had to pull the plug on Father. 

It was a good thing Mother and I set up her living will; it was written in stone. This time we were prepared for the grim reaper to come knocking (again) on our back door. 

Mother knew she wasn’t going to cheat death, but “By God, her precious Patti wasn’t going to go through what she went through with Father.”

I was worn out from worrying, pacing and praying.

The night nurse came in for vitals and took the time to sit with me at bedside and gave me insight into the process of dying. Sometimes people hang on, their bodies still function, spirits lag behind, maybe there is unfinished business, but there are signs. If the O2 levels dropped below 70 before morning, it was imminent; if not, she may not go for two or three weeks.

Say it isn’t so.

I woke up at dark thirty weeping. I felt heaviness on my heart, a crushing weight, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

I felt her spirit. She was sad, and not ready to go. I checked and rechecked, as her chest kept rising and falling steadily, softly inhaling and exhaling, her heart beat marched on, as I tried to comfort her; but my words seemed to be falling on deaf ears.

I began to panic.

It was then that my vision began to take shape; Mom’s old Eastern Star Ritual book, the one she lived by for nearly 60 of her 87 years. She had never revealed why she used to go out alone, into the dark night during most of my childhood and nearly all of my young adult years.  She used to say her secrets were kept in the name of the Heavenly Father.  

I knew inside the book, hidden with our important papers, that I would find words of guidance and comfort as I had watched her do for so many years of her precious life.

I found the book and opened it to the sacred text and began to read.

“Aida represented by the color blue symbolized Fidelity and moral obligations. Ruth, whose color is yellow, stands for Constancy and duties of obedience to the entreaties of honor and justice. Esther is embodied by the color white, which is the symbol of Light, Purity and Joy, instructing a life dedicated to honor and respect. Martha’s color green, signifies trustful Faith and Hope of Immortality, and the teachings of moral excellence, standing before the hours of trial. And Electa, whose color is red, signifying fervency and service of Truth….”

The five points of the Eastern Star’s secrets were revealed to me in the final hours of mother’s life. I wept uncontrollably and gained clarity. She was an unsung heroine.  She had worked relentlessly within the radiant dimensions of the star for God. I was blessed and honored knowing the secret she and God were carrying together, to her grave.

I found the funeral rites in the back of the book; the ritualistic words for the brothers and sisters, family and friends, when a sister dies, and goes home to be with her Heavenly Father.

I began reading the familiar passages to her (out loud) repeating the tidings and prayers without ceasing.

Moments later I began again, weeping again uncontrollably. I felt her slipping away. I called the nurse into the room. He retook her vitals.

The O2 levels had dropped to 62.

She was dying.

I was playing a part in the Orchestrated Concerto conducted by God. He had revealed her purpose here on earth and entrusted me in playing a part in her ascending home.

“Good morning, Mrs. L, your breakfast is here. Let us know if you need anything else,”the nurse said to my mother.

I ate to keep my strength up pretending “as if” eating slowly, savoring each morsel from the steaming hot breakfast tray, knowing it was probably the last meal.

I jumped back in bed and continued reading aloud from the secret book. It was a far cry from yesterday’s frenzy.

The minutes turned to hours. 

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At noon the drapes were still drawn and I started to cry again. I held on tightly to my bible and her beloved secret book.

The day nurse didn’t come in with the lunch tray. She knew Mama wasn’t hungry but she did stop in offered what was left of the soup they served for lunch.

I stepped out of the room and got a bowl of steaming hot liquid.

The hair raised on the back of my neck.

I didn’t have to look under the cover of the bowl to know with certainty in my spirit that it was Mother’s and my favorite:  Greek wedding soup.

I sat quietly at her bedside sipping the soup and murmuring to her that she had been the best mother in the whole world and thanked her for everything she had done for me and her family and for making the world a better place to live in. God could not have hand picked a better mama for me. 

I prayed and moved away from the bed.

She needed privacy.

I turned around for a moment, paused, and turned back around to face her. Her chest was still. I laid my head on her heart and listened. It was silent. I checked her breathing and it had stopped. I carefully removed the O2 tubing and gently caressed her hair and kissed her soft, warm cheek goodbye.

We both had come full circle understanding He was our Father who art in heaven and that she was only here on earth for loan.

I thanked God for taking her from me, as gently as He did.

I went out and got the nurse.  She said she was busy.  I told her my mother had just died.

She came inside the room and confirmed it.

The coroner came and stripped her body. She removed Mama’s wedding band and gave it to me. I placed it on my pinkie finger.

I took a last look at her body from head to toe and then we gently placed her body inside the canvas bag. We zipped it up to her chest and slid her on to the gurney.

The coroner wheeled her down the long hallway to the ambulance. Mama’s eyes were closed and her head was slackened as if she were sleeping, as I proudly accompanied her to the end.

People stepped aside and quietly watched us as we proceeded to the backdoor. I didn’t watch the coroner zip up the hood over her head. I had rehearsed the goodbyes hundreds of times over my lifetime, and now she was really gone.

I turned around to look up one last time at the praying hands of the fountain, and they were gone.

In loving memory of my mother Inez May 31, 1922 - May 10, 2010, may she be soaring high with the angels, and flying free.