The Week Ending 05/29/2016

What is there to say that hasn’t been said.  

On Sunday, last, I omitted that Mom seemed to be beginning labored breathing as I left.  I thought it was more my imagination than anything.  I did mention it to Leddy, who told me she’d check.

My brother and I had dinner on Sunday night and we both agreed that Mom really didn’t look as though she were faring very well - but we knew it was up to her and God to decide.

Monday morning began as a typical work day - rising, putting breakfast and coffee together, then walking the dogs.  I recall talking aloud to myself that it seemed a day that I would be receiving a call from St. Anthony’s.  

I walked the dogs, came home and read the paper.  As I was about to rise from the chair, the phone rang - it was Leddy.

“How soon can you be here?” she inquired.

“Why? What’s going on?” I asked.

“She’s in labored breathing.  I had a dream last night that I needed to be with her this morning, and I came in and found her.”

“What does this mean? Is she transitioning?”

“Yes.”

“How long do we have? Today? Tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.  But better you come as soon as you can.”

“I should be there in a couple of hours - three at the most, but it depends on traffic.”

“That should be okay.”

So, I dealt with things here and left less than an hour later.  Traffic was neurotic, as usual, here in Portland.  I was finally getting close when I received a text from Leddy: ‘Call me when you get a chance.’

I called.

“What’s going on?”

“How far are you?  Are you on your way?”
“Yes.  I’m about 5 minutes away.  Why? What happened?  She didn’t go did she?”  

“I’m so sorry,” her voice was breaking.

It didn’t hit me like a ton of bricks.  Rather, it washed over me and permeated my being.  

I phoned my brother who told me that morning he’d make it over that day.  I told him there was no need.

After calling my other brother, I also called Jean to tell her to cancel her visit for the week, as well.

I walked into Mom’s room.  There she lay, still warm.  I pulled up the Geri chair and sat with her.  I kissed her forehead and apologized for being late.  We had a nice little chat, she and I - albeit I did most of the talking - she responded in my head.  

Hospice came and helped.  Mary, the cottage manager, also offered succor.   I wasn’t sure what to do.  What were the next steps?

After a bit, I drove home and began planning and making appointments with the church, the funeral home, and the cemetery.  

By this time, word was out.  The phone began ringing (both landline and mobile) non-stop.  Somehow I managed to finish her obituary with the help of my brother and Jean.  

At last, though, there was a calm.  There began to begin a sense of knowing, a sense of loss - but this was also embedded in a numbness.  

How do I tell people about her?  How do we communicate what she had to offer and what she brought to the table for those lives she encountered?  

Much has been brought to my attention from comments by family and friends.  So, next week will bring you the eulogy, which I entrust will honor her as much as possible.

Thank you for reading and being such faithful listener.  

For her obituary, please visit:   Norma Hunt Obituary