Room 806

It is an iconic memory from my youth.

Walking outside, I was met by a beautifully bright, cool Spring morning, the air cleansed with the freshness of an overnight rain. I found Mother exactly as I had expected; kneeling on the ground, quietly working one of her many gardens.

As I began to speak, Mother looked up and, putting a finger to her mouth, silently encouraged me to take time to listen to a dove as it cooed.

After a moment, Mother smiled and, as if sharing a confidence, revealed she liked to mark her calendar every year with the date she first heard the call of a dove.

By a turn of good fortune, I had come upon Mother at the exact moment she celebrated an annual, sacred moment; this is when I learned of the special communion she shared with her “crocus birds” ~ the doves, her birds of early Spring.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When the gentle cooing of a mourning dove from a bird clock hanging on the wall in Room 806 sounded for the second time last Friday, another child was also fortunate to be at her mother’s side ~ this time, as the woman took a final breath.

“If only I had wings like a dove that I might fly away and find rest.” ~ Psalm 55:6

Being a devoutly religious woman, I can’t help believe Mabel would have found significance in the call of a mourning dove at the very moment of her death ~ that such symbolism had been placed in her family’s path to convey a message upon which they could focus in the hours, days and weeks to come.

Mabel would probably want them to look upon the dove as a potent reminder of the importance of peace in their lives. She would want them to share in her own belief that peace, as symbolized by the dove, will not only work to quiet their troubled minds but will also allow them to find renewal in the silence. And through the stillness inherent to silence, she would want them to fully appreciate the simple blessing and importance of a life well-lived.

It should also be noted that at the moment of Mabel’s death, after the dove had finished its mournful lament, the bird clock stopped working altogether.

The significance seems profound:

Just as I had been fortunate to share a special moment with Mother and her “crocus birds” many years ago at the advent of Spring, Mabel’s daughter was truly blessed to be at her Mother’s side as the dove cooed, witness to the most sacred moment of Mabel’s life as she moved on to another existence that will have her knowing nothing of the boundaries of time.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘She is dead.’
Put crepe bows round the white necks of public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

She was our North, our South, our East and West,
Our working week and Sunday rest,
Our noon, our midnight, our talk, our song;
We thought that love could last forever; we were wrong.

The stars are not wanted now, put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

From W.H. Auden’s “Funeral Blues”

JEM and Mabel; Christmas 2008 GVM

Max's Wishes

I, Max, carrying the burden of secret years of life, aware of infirmities heavy on me and realizing the end of my life is near, do hereby bury my Last Will and Testament. My family will not learn of it until after I am gone; remembering me in their loneliness, they will suddenly become aware of this Testament, and I ask them to inscribe it as a memorial to me.

I have nothing in the way of material things to leave; dogs seem wiser than men – we aren’t in the habit of putting great stock in stuff. Dogs don’t waste our days hoarding property (except Teddy Grahams), nor do we ruin our sleep worrying about how to keep the objects we have or how to obtain the objects we have not. The only possession of real value I have to bequeath is my love and faith; these I leave to everyone who came to love me these past five years – to my family, and Mom and Dad, in particular, who will surely mourn me most.

Perhaps it might be vain for me to boast – especially given I am so near death, which returns all beasts and vanities to dust – but, I always had it within me to be an extremely lovable dog.

I do ask my family to always remember me but also not to grieve for me too long. These past five years, I worked to be a comfort to them in times of sorrow as well as a source of added joy in their happiness. It hurts me to think that I should cause them pain, even in death; they need to remember that, owing only to their love and care, I had finally been allowed to live the fullest of lives.

I realize it will not be considered as “fair” my decision to offer only silent goodbyes before I become too much a burden on myself and to those who love me. They need to know it will be my great sorrow to leave them, but will also not be my sorrow to die. I do not fear death as do men; dogs accept death as a part of life, not as something alien and terrible.

What will come after my death, I do not know. I would like to imagine there is truly a paradise where I will always be young; where each hour will be mealtime; where my “Dad” will share long walks along beautiful winding roads, a million fireflies illuminating our way; where I curl up alongside “Mom” on a couch absorbing each other’s warmth, nodding off and dreaming, remembering the best of days on Earth as well as the love of a Family finally realized.

It is my firm belief that peace will be a certainty; peace and long rest will finally come to my weary heart, head and limbs, as well as the promise of an eternal sleep in the earth I loved so well. Perhaps, after all, this is best.

My last request will be to ask Mom and Dad, out of love for me, to adopt another dog; it would be a poor tribute to my memory never to again love another dog. While it might seem I have a jealous spirit, I have always believed most dogs are essentially good. (Clearly, some dogs are better than others – Shelties, in particular.) So, I suggest a Sheltie as my successor. While it is hardly possible she will be as well bred, as distinguished, or as handsome as I was in my youth, I ask Mom and Dad not to “expect the impossible.”

She will do her best, I am sure; her inevitable and manifest deficiencies will only help, by comparison, to keep my memory alive.

To my replacement, I bequeath my collar and leash; while she will never wear them with distinction as did I – all eyes fixed on me in admiration – I wish her all happiness and joy as she comes to live in that wonderful place called, “home.”

One last word of farewell to my family – especially, Mom and Dad: when visiting my grave, while you may justifiably entertain a momentary reflection of regret, I mainly want you to cherish the certain memory of the great happiness you brought to the final five years of my life.

"Here lies one who loved us and whom we loved".

Think or speak those words.

No matter how deep my sleep, I will hear you.

For, not even the finality of death will keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail and barking with joy for all the angels and neighbors to hear.

Max - April 12, 2010

You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures
To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,
I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.

Robinson Jeffers, 1941

Popcorn Sky

“How are you doing, Mom?”

Slowly turning her head, she stared vacantly in my direction as though seeing me for the first time; confident in the belief that no son of hers would have ever asked such an inane question, she, nonetheless, offered an extremely sane reply,

“I am going crazy! That’s what I am doing! All I do – ALL day – is lie here staring at this ridiculous ‘popcorn sky!’”

2008

Arriving at the nursing home in the summer of 2008, some were convinced Mom wouldn’t live to celebrate Thanksgiving – let alone Christmas. The statistics were certainly not in her favor; number crunchers in lonely cubicles had coldly calculated a life expectancy of between “six to nine months” for nursing home residents in the final stages of neuromuscular disorders.

By October, hospitalized for the third time in a month, two neurologists spent perhaps fifteen minutes – collectively – making separate evaluations before brashly pronouncing she was in the final stage of her Parkinson’s disease and would not live to see another Spring. (“Sorry, thank you, here’s my bill, goodbye.”)

As if slapped, we had been assured – in unambiguous terms – Mother’s clock was rapidly winding down.

On her discharge back to the nursing home, no time was wasted; Hospice was initiated immediately.

I fast became a living, breathing contradiction: I absolutely wanted Mother’s suffering to come to an end, but would have gladly admitted I didn’t care at all for the prospect of losing her in the bargain. Given time, however, I drank the “kool-aid” becoming convinced that once the chain of events with Hospice was set in motion, Mother would be transported on a conveyor belt toward certain demise.

Our death watch began.

Halloween gave way to November. Days slowly became weeks and, miraculously, Mom seemed to thrive as we eventually managed to celebrate the holiday season that culminated with the arrival of a New Year. Mom was fighting and I allowed myself to hope.

January 2009, however, dealt Mother a severe blow.

A particularly vicious bug made the rounds at the nursing home and didn’t stop at Mother’s door; bedridden for nearly three months, she valiantly fought a respiratory infection that had succeeded in taking the lives of more than a few residents.

By mid-February, a hospice nurse abruptly declared Mother would live no more than two weeks; touting a “95%” accuracy with similar pronouncements in the past, she made a request that all medications be halted and palliative care initiated.

This “nurse” and others had apparently failed to factor Mother’s dogged determination and resolve into their equations.

Thankfully, the grossly inappropriate and premature directives were not carried out by her physician of record; more than a year later, Mother is still very much alive.

But, she is certainly not the same.

Weeks confined to bed recovering from the infection had left her extremely debilitated. Her right foot had become permanently plantar flexed and was beyond the scope of physical therapy. So, in the span of three months, her life was dramatically transformed; no longer able to run the halls of the nursing home trying to find her way “home,” Mother had become effectively bedridden.

October 2009

“I am going crazy! That’s what I am doing! All I do – ALL day – is lie here staring at this ridiculous ‘popcorn sky!’”

Looking up, I immediately understood. Every minute of every wakeful hour of every day confined to that damned bed, Mom had no choice but to stare at the blank canvas of her textured ceiling that had – over a period of several months – become her entire world view. Who wouldn’t go stark raving mad?!

With a wheelchair now her only means of mobility, we took Mother outside later that morning hoping she could enjoy the beautiful fall day. The leaves had reached the peak of color with their resplendent shades of red, orange and yellow; it was the season at its visual best.

With Mom’s frustrating admission still fresh in my mind, it suddenly dawned on me that Nature had provided a possible solution. Gathering up a few handfuls of the brightest, most colorful leaves, I returned to her room. Standing on her bed, I then taped an assortment of the leaves to her barren ceiling, hoping beyond hope the small change would somehow help to break up the monotony of her days.

It worked.

While the change in her affect once she noticed the leaves on the ceiling was not dramatic, at a minimum, she certainly became engaged with “her leaves.” She might speak one moment of the need to “rake the leaves,” then immediately order us to “leave them alone!” She described them in detail to aides, and even counted them for me on occasion.

It amazed and pleased me that a ridiculously simple idea could have affected a difference for Mother as she spent hours alone in silent contemplation of the leaves; most poignant for me, was when she would lie completely still in her bed, smiling and staring endlessly up at her colorful Popcorn Sky.

Emboldened by this minor success in the Fall, December ushered in the anticipation of yet another Christmas season and an even greater transformation of her ceiling for the holidays. A nursing student, Tracy, and I spent a Saturday morning listening to holiday music while hanging a colorful assortment of ornaments throughout Mom’s field of vision; a woolen Santa and Snowman, mittens, snowflakes, and shiny, colorful balls were suspended at various levels about her bed.

It was pure fantasy and she loved it.

April 2010

Winter finally seems to be giving way to a much anticipated Spring.

In the coming days, the snowflakes and snowman will come down from that ceiling to be replaced by suspended mobiles of pictures from her own gardens as well as much loved Sunflowers.

While Mother had to long ago give up working in the gardens that represented her lifelong passion for toiling the good earth, we are determined to force a Spring of our choosing – once again bringing her beloved flowers within arms reach, suspended from the Popcorn Sky.