Once I had moved in with my mother, patterns of interaction quickly arose. My mother was used to getting up fairly early, often before 7:00am. I was used to sleeping a bit later, generally getting up around 8:00am.
With two dogs, and a cat, we would put a baby-gate across the door to my bathroom to block the dogs in at night (their dog door is in my bathroom.) The baby-gate has a section of the screen cut out for the cat. Dog must stay in and not bark, but if we blocked the cat from coming and going, NO ONE was going to get much sleep. Ahhh… Animals are so wonderful.
As soon as my mother would get up each morning, she would hobble out of her room and pull the baby-gate aside, allowing the dogs to go out. Being a courteous woman, she rarely made enough noise doing this to wake me, even though my bedroom door is RIGHT next to the bathroom door with the baby-gate, and, my bedroom door was always open. The cat and dogs MUST be able to wander from room to room during the night or NO ONE was going to get much sleep. Ahhh… Animals are so wonderful.
Anyway… One morning, I got up to discover the baby-gate was still in place. Hmm. That’s odd. And the french doors to the porch were still closed. That’s VERY odd. And the blinds in the kitchen are still up. That’s VERY ODD INDEED!
So I opened the blinds, opened the french door, moved the baby-gate and got into the shower.
By which time I had decided that my mother must have died during the night.
For the next 90 minutes, which is how long I managed to make the hot water last by moderating the temperature to just barely warm, and water pressure to just a trickle, I thought about … IT.
When I got out of the shower, my life, as I knew it, would be over, and I would have to immediately start dealing with the institutions of death.
Who would be my first call (my younger sister, Amy.) My second (my brother, Bill, co-executor of the estate.) My third (Stuart, my dance partner, so I could cancel our practice session.) Then my brother, Kane.
Do NOT call John Paul at work. Do NOT call Mary at work. Do NOT call Ted at work (do I even have a phone number for Ted, or his wife Susie?)
Should I call paramedics? Or should I just call a funeral home. Which funeral home? (My mother was not happy with the people who handled my father’s funeral, so not them…..)
Since it was a Thursday, I was supposed to go up to Seminole High School to teach the after school dance program. I would not cancel that, so I would have to make all the arrangements before 2:00 so I could be on time at the school. (Crazy, I know, but that’s what my plan was.)
Who was the lawyer again? What’s the name of the woman at church that keep’s Father Walsh’s schedule? Do we do last rights at home, or at the funeral home?
Did I have any other meetings. Was there anything in the house to feed people? Don’t forget to feed the dogs. By the way… Where is Lucy? She usually spends her morning on the floor in the bathroom waiting for me. Great. Are the dogs in with my mother? Please, don’t let them be chewing on her dead body. That would be hard to explain.
I had a lot on my mind as I wasted gallon after gallon of water trying to avoid the inevitable: having to get out of the shower, and actually go CHECK to see if my mother was dead in bed or not.
Eventually, there was no more adjustments I could make to the temperature or water pressure. I had to get out of the shower. And even if I let my hair air dry, it would still only take SO long….
Stealing myself for the worst, I dried my hair, got dressed and started walking to her room. Quietly. Slowly. One step. One step. One step…. Until I could just see the corner of her bed. Inch forward to see a bit more. Inch forward again and …. Is that her dead body under the sheets? Another tiny step forward and…
I suddenly realized that her blinds were open, and I could hear the water running in her shower.
My mother was not, in fact, dead!
One might expect to experience relief. Joy. Perhaps some might be disappointed (those who don’t LIKE their mother.)
I was more concerned that she would catch me sneaking around and wonder why?
I quickly retreated. Went out to get the paper. Made a light breakfast and sat reading the comics waiting for her to come out.
About 20 minutes later (by which point I had called Stuart to say I was going to be late, and having read much more of the paper than the comics) my mother emerged.
Before I could say a word she started talking about how she was so surprised when she woke up and looked at the clock. It was nearly 9:00 and she couldn’t believe how well she had slept. She hadn’t slept that well in … well YEARS.
But she had to take a cold shower. It never ceased to amaze her at how much water I could use……….
Yea, Mom. It’s easy when you’re staying in the shower trying to avoid finding your mother’s dead body in her bed.
As I sat there listening to my mother talk about cold showers and good night’s sleep, I had the realization that it was not a question of IF I would some day have to deal with my mother dying. But WHEN.
The day would inevitably come. And in all sincerity, I truly hoped it would happen at home, in her sleep, and that I would awaken to find my mother dead, in her bed. But not today, as it turned out. And hopefully, not soon.
Time to have another talk. So much better and easier if all is planned a head of time. Both of my parents did so… and it helped a lot.
And there is actually someone I know that is a dancer who helps people plan this type of stuff.