Revisiting a day…

It was a Wednesday afternoon. I left work early because I had a lot to do. I was leaving for vacation the following day, had yet to pack, and had a million errands to run.

I walked to Penn Station and boarded the train to my farthest location on my errands run. This wasn’t really an errand. It was the most important thing I had to do before departing. When I got off the train, I stopped at the florists to pick up a bouquet of flowers.

As I walked to my destination, the dread of what I was about to do, began to consume me. Little did I know the dread I was feeling was going to be eclipsed in just a matter of days. And while rare, it was days like this when I wished I wasn’t an only child with no other family to turn to/rely on for help. I always have my friends, who are like family, but sometimes I just wish I had a bigger family.

The date was Wednesday, January 16, 2008. I was on my way to visit my Mom who had been in a nursing home for a few weeks. The hope was, like previously, she’d be there for a few weeks, rehabbing and regaining her strength before going home. But that just wasn’t happening. It was time to have “the talk…” the one in which I was going to have to tell her that she was going to have to stay there permanently.

When I arrived, she was in bed. It wasn’t a good day. She had no strength today. There would be no physical therapy or no walking the halls talking to the nurses — something she had come to enjoy.

My Mom worked at the nursing home where she was currently a patient at for more than 25 years. This was both a blessing and a curse. While she had been retired for some time, there were still many staff people there who remembered her and treated her like royalty. That was the blessing. The curse was the fact that she was now a patient at the place she worked at for those many years.

I set up her flowers in a vase and fetched her some fresh ice and water. I cleared away the lunch she had barely touched and sat down in the chair next to the bed. We talked about my pending trip to Florida for two days, after which I would hop on a 7-day cruise. She loved when I went on vacation. It made her happy to know I was taking a little time to have some fun with my friends.

She started to ask some questions which at first seemed odd, but then as we conversed a bit more, it seemed that we were destined to have the talk. Not “the talk” I was there to have with her. The talk about my being gay. I always knew that she suspected, and in recent months had become more brazen about asking me certain things without actually asking me “the question.” I went with the flow, because while I hadn’t told her, I wasn’t hiding it from her or lying to her about who I was. I came to the realization of my sexual orientation “late in life” after a very long relationship with a woman who I was on a path to marrying. My High School sweetheart. Mom loved her, and when we broke up, I think it hurt her as much as it hurt me. She always wanted grandchildren, and part of me was always sad that I would never be able to give them to her. Once I finally came out, Mom was very sick, and I just didn’t want to burden her with it. And by burden, I mean give her something else to worry about. I never once for a moment thought she wouldn’t accept me for who I was. I just didn’t want her worrying about me. Like I could ever really stop that.

As quickly as it seemed we were headed down the expressway of my finally coming out to her, we just as quickly took an exit ramp. And that would be the closest we would ever come to actually talking about it.

She asked me if I would brush her hair. No matter how ill she was, Monica Johnson always wanted to look presentable. I got out her comb and brush, and started brushing it out. The moment wasn’t lost on me. How close we had just gotten to discussing my sexuality…and now I was “doing her hair.” Perhaps this was another subtle way of her letting me know that she knew? Na…it’s not like I was a hairdresser. But the thought did come across my mind.

As I started to brush her hair, I started to tear up. Suddenly, the moment was upon me. The time had come to begin the discussion. But before I could, I noticed her roommate on the other side of the room staring at me while I was brushing out Mom’s hair. She was crying. She looked away as soon as she discovered I noticed her looking at us. I’m not sure what it was that made her cry in that moment, and I guess I’ll never know.

I regrouped and began slowly. I updated her on her insurance and her finances. I had recently paid all of her monthly bills and taken care of some things at her apartment and wanted her to know all was in order. Then, as the saying goes, I went for it.

I told her the time had come for us to make some serious decisions about her well-being. That her insurance would no longer provide her coverage for a personal aide at the house. She was too sick for that now. She needed round the clock care and supervision and the only choice was for her to move somewhere where she could get that assistance. She laid there quietly as I spelled out what I knew she knew in her heart.

I made it clear I wasn’t going to make this decision without her consent (I had recently become her power of attorney and had been her health care designee for several years) and that I wasn’t “putting her away” and throwing away the key, but that I also couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room. It was no longer wise for me to think of her pride first and well-being second. I also told her she didn’t have to stay where she was…that I completely understood the blessing and curse it was, her being there, and that there were other facilities on the Island that she could go to.

Of course her first thought was of me and how difficult it would be for me to get to some of these other places, but I assured her that wasn’t a factor. I would find a way to get to where ever she was, as long as she was comfortable being there.

The talk was going far better than I had expected. I don’t know if it was because she was resigned to the reality of the moment or if it was because she just wasn’t feeling well enough to put up a fight. We also weren’t making the decision that day. We still had a few weeks before we had to make a decision. We ended the talk with my saying, when I got back from vacation, we would talk about it more and decide together where she would go.

I knew she was sad. Even though the talk had gone well, it was still a terrible blow to her pride. I didn’t know how to comfort her. But before I could even think about changing the subject to something more uplifting, she started to shoo me away. She knew I still had much to do to get ready for my trip, and she was pulling the Mom card.

I didn’t fight it. Part of me was glad she was pushing me out the door. It almost seemed normal. Mom being Mom. I fought her for a little bit. I wanted to see the floor doctor before leaving to get a sense of what was happening with her today, and had been told the doctor would be in to see me when I first arrived. As it turned out, the doctor walked in just as Mom was beginning to shoo me off.

We spoke for a few moments, she updated me on the fact that they were increasing her breathing treatments and putting her on a dose of steroids and monitoring her very carefully. She spoke with Mom for a few minutes and examined her while I stood there. I was fairly certain this was more for my benefit, but I was very happy she did. When she was finished, she told me not to worry, that “your Mother is in excellent hands.”

As she left, Mom sat up in bed just a little bit and refocused her attention to shooing me off. It was successful. I started to pack my things up, and suddenly I realized I had forgotten I brought some puzzle books for her (her favorite past time). I took them out of my bag and left them in her night table.

I gave her a hug and a kiss, squeezed her hand and told her I would call her later that night after I finished running around and getting ready. As I walked out of her room, I waved at her roommate and said goodbye.

Of course hindsight is everything. Had I known this would be the last time I would ever spend with my Mom, I would have never let her shoo me off so quickly/easily. She passed away five days later while I was out to sea — on my cruise.

But I guess we never really know these things in advance.