It was a routine Monday morning, the day after my 36th birthday that I stood in my kitchen getting ready to brew a morning cup of coffee and start breakfast for my boys, when the phone rang and my routine was interrupted by the most life altering, gut wrenching, and soul shocking phone call of my life.
On the other end was a nurse, the patient care representative for palliative and hospice candidates, calling to deliver the news that my mother, whom was in their skilled nursing facility receiving temporary in-house physical and occupational therapy recovering from an infection, would be returning home to us, on hospice.
The nurse went on to explain to me for almost an hour in extensive detail, the condition of my mother’s heart, which was news to us. With a 100% blockage in the main artery and a 99% blockage in the second main artery - making her comfortable was now our only option. According to the nurse, looking at my mother on paper, it was a wonder how she was even still alive, adding that she must be a fighter and have a strong will to live. The nurse’s words were definitely truth. My mom had always been a fighter, a survivor, and a thriver my entire life. No matter what challenges life threw her way, she took them head on, strong in her faith, knowing that God had her, therefore she was going to be alright. Now, it was my turn to take the faith torch and believe like she did.
This journey that I took with my mother actually began seven years prior, when she endured her first stroke. A few years prior to that, she lost her eyesight, leaving her completely blind. She was a diabetic on insulin, battling hypertension, and would shortly begin dialysis treatments. Through this, I nursed her back to health for six months with my two small children in tow. At the time we were in California, but once she was well enough to fly out, I packed her up and moved her to my home in Georgia to live there with my husband, our children, and I.
My mom would go on to move multiple times with us to multiple states, as we are a military family. She never really complained much about the moves, but she did always complain about having to heed to a balanced diet for her medical issues. My mother would find ways to sneak all the bad stuff! Candy, salty snacks, sugary beverages… you name it, she made a friend at all the dialysis centers who would supply her with the goodies. She often fought me to take medications and to get her blood sugar checked. She refused insulin many of days. Caring for my mom and while still so young, still in my 20s was extremely hard and it greatly affected the once close relationship we had.
Some days I felt like I was her enemy trying to keep her healthy and well. Other times I would remind myself that my mom wasn’t the same and this was understandable, especially after two brain injuries due to strokes. There was a time when she and I took care of her mother, my nana, together. We would tag team between my mom being at work and my being in high school to make sure that my nana was never alone and always cared for. Between the heartbreak and frustration, caring for my mother had proved to be very different and much more difficult than it was to care for my nana.
Mid July 2020, we had just moved again to yet another state and within seven days of being there, I had to rush my mom to the hospital. She was admitted, treated, and released to a skilled nursing facility to rebuild her strength. This was nothing new to us. We had been here many times before and we knew the routine. My mom and I were grateful for the help and the care that she received. We were excited for her to finally regain strength after it having been gone for so long. Looking back, my mom had been ill since the start of the year. She would get better, then fall back again. The second half of the year, I noticed she was eating less, able to do less for herself, and leading up to our move she became more and more exhausted.
In August 2020, I received the call, the diagnosis, and finally my mom on the last day of the month. Whereas I thought that hospice was the worst news that I could ever get about my mom, it ended up being a huge blessing in disguise.
Along with hospice came a team to check on my mom and help with bathing, ordering medications, and preparing us every step of the way for what was to come. I no longer had to watch my mom’s diet or argue with her to take her medications. This gave my mom and I a peace with one another that we hadn’t had consistently in years. I was allowed to just be her daughter, and she was allowed to just be my mom, something we both desperately needed.
Nearing the end, our relationship was fully restored and we had become closer than ever before. We sang all of her favorite songs together, we danced together (my mom could wiggle her tail off in that hospital bed), we had deep conversations together, and we laughed so hard about so many silly things and made new memories together. I was able to put down my projects and my “to do’s” to enjoy quality time with my mama. Her grandchildren, my three handsome boys, were able to put their homeschool studies aside many days and spend extra time with their nana. Hospice gave us that.
The journey on hospice was very different from all of the previous years of caring for my mother. She was weak and my oldest son and I had to tag team to lift her and assist her. My middle son would help feed her when she could no longer able to feed herself anymore. We’d take turns carrying her in our arms like a baby to her wheelchair, inside of the vehicle and out. Although she was rapidly losing weight, she still felt very heavy in the beginning until she didn’t and became light as a feather; weighing less than 80lbs. at the end. I remember being frustrated trying to lift her in the beginning. My frustration came from fear of dropping her. I learned to trust myself as my mom trusted me to lift and maneuver her.
During her entire hospice journey, I was battling my own physical pains - with a ruptured ovarian cyst and infected teeth. Still, she never stopped mothering me through all that she was going through herself. We spent many late nights in the wee hours of the morning awake together keeping one another uplifted. She was most active late at night and in the early hours of the morning. Sleep was rare for me during that time, but she was worth it.
Had she not been on hospice, we would have lost so much time together. As she grew weaker and closer to the end, I stayed in her room most hours of the day and night, wiping the drool, speaking for her when she could no longer get the words out, holding her hand as she squeezed mine until she no longer had the strength to squeeze anymore, running my fingers through her beautiful short curls (she would tell me she was at the salon getting her hair done when she could still speak), and kissing her forehead and embracing her scent as I leaned over her. She eventually grew too weak to go to dialysis, and spent her last weeks resting and enjoying being surrounded by her grandchildren and I. It was a scary journey, and then it became peaceful at the very end.
Hospice is not a word anyone wants to hear about their loved ones. Nobody ever thinks of hospice as a gift. I am living proof and here to tell you that hospice is nothing short of a blessing. It was comfort for my mother who was preparing for her transition and it was a gift to our mother-daughter relationship that we so desperately needed before she passed. It was a special moment for her grandchildren. It taught us all the value of spending time with those you treasure.
Seven years ago, when I began caring for my mother, I never would have imagined our journey to end on hospice. However, if it weren’t for hospice, we wouldn’t have understood what she was really going through nor would we have known how to maximize the time we did have left together - enjoying one another’s company and loving on one another, with no regrets. Hospice gave us a freedom from being sick, from having to take so many medications daily, eventually freedom from going to dialysis, which my mother despised, and freedom from the unknown. Hospice gifted us with time, which led to funny and serious interviews with my mom that I will cherish for the rest of my life. We were armed with resources that gave us both comfort as well as guidance of physical signs to look for ahead of time to know exactly what points we were at in the journey.
November 2, 2020, the LORD called my mama home. No more pain. No more suffering. No more sickness. my mom is whole again.
Learning that a loved one requires hospice is news that can break even the strongest of us. However, for the two months and two days that my family were given, I am forever grateful for the gift of time and my heart is SO full. I am Jormarca Carino, and I am a ReWriter.
“I love you, mama. Thank you for sharing your life’s journey with me. I will always be your Mimi, your baby girl, and you will always be my number one, my best friend, my inspiration, my strength, my ace! ”
