The clouds parted, the rain fell

Filed under: Liver Cancer, Hospice

My friend's husband lost his mother to liver cancer during the wee hours of Sunday morning. He had traveled with his family from Ohio to Florida expecting to take his mom home with him so she could spend her last months where she once lived.

Steve never got to take his mom home. She died just days after he landed in Florida. Still, I am confident he won't return to Ohio empty-handed. His positive and healthy perspective on losing his mom will surely keep him company.

I got to see Steve and Kim -- my very best friend whose bouncy ringlets I envied long before I got my own post-chemotherapy curls -- on the same day Steve's mom died. They needed to get away and wanted a distraction for their two small children.

I am honored to have been chosen as my friends' destination -- not only so they could begin to heal from their loss, but because I gained a renewed sense of calm about death and dying during the time we talked and laughed and reminisced.

Steve's mom, 69, died at home in the loving arms of hospice caretakers who offered her round-the-clock care. During her final hours, she received a bath, a back rub, and a massage with body lotion. She sent non-verbal messages to her family members indicating she wished to be alone and once she had convinced everyone to head for bed, she took her final breaths. She died facing a wall, in contrast to her usual position in which she faced the door, as if to welcome all visitors. Her final resting pose was perhaps her way of saying good-bye. Steve sees it this way.

Just moments after Steve's mom was driven away in a funeral home car, Steve saw the clouds part. And then the rain fell. "Mom just figured out how to turn on the water," Steve said.

I don't think I'll ever forget this remark. Or the fact that the rain didn't last for very long on Sunday. The day Steve's mom died was gorgeous, glorious, and sunny.

There's so much more we talked about -- like the convertible Steve's mom drove and how he thought about placing her urn, her photo, and a scarf in the seat and taking his mom for one last spin before turning the car in -- and we passed the day in a celebratory manner. This, I think, is exactly what Steve's mom would have wanted.

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