Mom is mostly laying quietly now. She occasionally makes a movement, or waves a hand, or mouths something. She’s making her final journey. We are here in the room, but she’s making this journey alone.

At 86, she’s lived a full life, and a great life at that. But it doesn’t change the sadness we are feeling right now.  The last two months have been hard on her. The leg injury and weakness; the blood infection; the moves between hospitals, acute care, skilled nursing, and back to the hospital have been tough. Mom’s a fighter, and until five days ago, we were hopeful that she would make a transition to assisted living. Then, she took a turn for the worse and went back to the hospital.  After meeting with the doctor, we had a conversation with her yesterday about where things stood. She was lucid and understood that without heroic measures, her time was very limited. She, and we, all agreed on the course of action.  

At one point in time yesterday, she awoke from a nap. My sisters and I were standing at the end of the bed. She looked at us and said “Well, am I dead yet?”. Then she smiled a small smile to let us in on the joke.

Around 5PM, we had another conversation with mom and said “Mom, later after you finish dinner, and are back in bed, we are going to have dinner and then head to Roberta’s to get some rest ourselves. We’ll plan on seeing you in the morning”. She looked at us and said “Well, I won’t see you. I’ll be gone.” And smiled again…

Today, we arrive back at the hospital this morning and checked in with the nurse. After we left last night, mom went to sleep. She didn’t wake up all night, and hasn’t woken yet today. Like her mother before her, our Grandma Grubaugh, mom seems to be calling her own shots all the way to the end. Just as she predicted, she hasn’t seen us in person today.

She is mostly laying quietly now. She occasionally makes a movement, or waves a hand, or mouths something. She’s making her final journey. We are here in the room with her, comforting each other and letting her know she is not alone………..

………Later that evening, we said our goodbyes to mom. As I kissed her forehead, I whispered to her that we were all doing well, and it was OK to go and join dad. As we left the hospital, Tanya headed to Ottawa, while Cathy and I went with Roberta to her home. We reached her house, had a small dinner, and went to bed.

Just after 3:30AM, my phone rang. I answered it, and went into the kitchen. It was the hospital. Mom passed away peacefully at 3:19. Roberta and Jack came in to the kitchen, as did Cathy and I told all of them, but of course, they already knew. We then called Tanya to let her know. We hugged each other, and we were glad that mom was at peace.

Our dog Carmen also got up with us and was antsy, so I took her out for a brief walk. We were wandering around outside in the dark, and all of a sudden I heard a train whistle in the distance. For those who aren’t aware, dad was a railroad man most of his adult life. The Burlington, Rock Island, Chessie – he worked them all. The whistle sounded again, and I knew things were alright.   Dad had come to pick up mom for the rest of her journey.

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Mom passed away early on the 28th of April. I wrote the first half of this piece in the hospital room on the last day, when we were sitting with her. The rest was written about a week later. I’ve thought about that train whistle a lot since that night. If I had gone out 5 minutes earlier, or 5 minutes later, I might have missed it. But then again, maybe not.

Please, no sad posts here. Don’t feel sad for her, or for us. She had a wonderful life. If you want to honor her, dance, have a drink, or listen to some jazz. Enjoy life. That’s what she did, and what she would want you to do. It’s later than you think.