I type with a broken heart and heavy hands . . . to share that 2 weeks ago, my mother passed away from metastatic breast cancer.
This is what I posted on her Instagram & Facebook accounts that day:
On the morning of Thursday, September 28th, Teresa passed away after a year long, hard battle with cancer. She was peaceful and comfortable and in the presence of her husband and daughter. The previous night she was surrounded by all 5 of her children as we shared our love with our dear precious mother. It has been an incredibly hard week as we have said our goodbyes but the time together has been something near to heaven.
We know that Teresa is now in a wonderful place, free from pain & suffering. We can only imagine the homecoming she has received, joining her parents, brother, and in-laws. We are comforted to know that she is happy and free to run and twirl, and get to work. I wonder what projects she already has planned.
Our family is incredibly moved and touched by the outpouring of love, concern, and prayers that have come from all of you. From friends and strangers. Thank you. It has meant so much to us.
Simply put, Teresa is light. The way she serves, loves, supports, and celebrates leaves everyone she comes in contact with feeling special and uplifted. We will miss her radiance on earth but know that she will be with us, shining and illuminating our days. We look forward with eager anticipation until the day when we can have her warm embrace again. She will be dearly, dearly missed.
Love, Dan and her children (Shannon, Sam, Kent, Denver, and Mason)
It has been an incredibly long and difficult few weeks - month around here. There have been many heart-wrenching moments, but a lot of special ones too -- the kind of moments that connect hearts in our family and will be part of our story as we go through this trial and this life.
In the middle of all this I made an observation, a decision . . . . I wanted to be fully aware. I consciously chose not to avoid it, ignore it, or distract myself from the awful that was playing out. But rather, embrace it and take it all in. Eyes wide open, senses awake, feeling it all. As devastating as it is to watch someone die, I will tell you that it is incredibly humbling at the same time.
I have a testimony that we all signed up for this life. We chose it. We were anxious for the opportunity to come to earth & receive bodies which would allow us to feel, grow, love, learn, and build in ways that we could not experience otherwise. If this is the life that my Heavenly Father intended for me to experience -- the joy and the sorrow -- then I want to live it. This is what the path of mortality is all about -- birth, life, death and all of the learning moments in between. And as terrible as it is, the sorrow is what allows us to expand our joy. I felt the sorrow with intention and a prayer & hope that the joy will come.
But at this moment, I am grieving. And I know that grief will continue for some time. A day or 2 will pass where I feel okay (functioning), and then new feelings come up and it all rushes back. I'm learning that there is an ebb and flow to grief. As a friend told me, "I have found grief to be like the weather, some days are blue skies and balmy weather and then a storm blows in and stays for a few minutes or a few days."
Before my mom passed away, I spent 2 weeks in my parents' home. It was such an incredible blessing to be there. To attend to her. To share moments. To support my dad through the hardest of hard. And to assist in making arrangements when it was clear we would not get to keep her.
I'd like to share some of what we experienced, but the vast majority of that will be kept in my personal journal. And because my mom was such a classy woman, I know there are details that should be kept with me.
Throughout my mom's cancer treatments I was always in close contact with my parents and pretty aware and up to speed with what was happening any given day or week. One day, after running some blood work the home health nurse informed my dad that some levels in her liver were a little high. He acknowledged that and then indicated that they would be visiting her doctor soon (the following week) and we would address things with him directly. The nurse made a comment, and it might have been unwarranted, that she didn't think my mom would make it to that doctor appointment. That sent us all into a tailspin and 3 days later I was on a airplane.
Friday, September 15 - Arrived at my parents' home after booking a one-way plane ticket just 18 hours earlier. During this time my mom was not walking, unable to stand on her own, and sleeping often. And when she was awake she was not always aware or communicative -- she would come in and out. Speaking was difficult. So anything we did get from her were golden little gifts. When I arrived I kissed her head and said "I love you." She immediately responded "I love you too." At that moment I wondered if those were the last words she would speak to me.
Saturday, September 16 - Previous to my visit I arranged for flowers to be delivered to my mom to celebrate her on my birthday - the day she became a mom. They arrived today. She slept almost the entire day. She didn't speak at all. I ran into town to get groceries and while gone the hospice nurse met with my dad for a preliminary visit. It was an extremely difficult visit -- she gave him a booklet titled, "When Death is Near: A Caregivers Guide" and asked if he had picked out a funeral home yet -- both topics came by surprise (punch to the gut). Something we were not ready to face. I was so disappointed that I was not there for him in that moment. He chose not to sign up with hospice at that time as he wanted to keep their appointment with mom's oncologist.
Sunday, September 17 - My 38th birthday. This year there was no place I would rather spend it. I sent dad to church -- he had been unable to attend for the past several weeks because of mom's health -- and I stayed home with mom. She slept most of the day, very still and quiet. After church I suggested that we watch a talk by Elder David A. Bednar titled, "That We Might Not Shrink." It was wonderful and absolutely perfect for our situation. Sam, Denver, Mason & their families came over for Sunday dinner. Sam & Heidi were so sweet and made me a Cinnamon Roll Peach Cobbler for my birthday. After dinner the wives & children went home so my dad, brothers, and I could meet. The boys gave my mom a priesthood blessing. And then Sam gave a blessing to my dad. The spirit was strong. That evening I ordered a new white temple dress for mom.
Monday, September 18 -- Mom woke up so alert and restless. Apparently she had kept dad up all night with her movement & talking . . . even requesting a popsicle. (Which we did not have). So cute! One of my favorite stories . . . on Sunday evening after the boys left I told dad it was time for him to join the modern world and join Facebook. He reluctantly let me set up an account for him. The next morning when we tried to get mom to eat a few bites of food (her appetite was next to zero) I said, "Mom! You'll never believe it . . . Dad got a Facebook account." She paused and said, "You're kidding me." I laughed and laughed. Her newfound energy was very unusual. In the booklet from the hospice nurse it explains that a "surge of energy" can be very common days before passing. We don't know if this was it, but we made sure we did not get our hopes up. Just enjoy & savor the heck out of this little gift. By the afternoon she was back to her usual sleepiness.
On Monday, we followed the nurse's advice and did two big, hard things. Dad and I went to the cemetery to select & purchase burial plots. Then to the funeral home to make pre-arrangements. Blah. We went about the whole thing matter-of-factly, as if preparing for a distant future, so it wasn't as trying as I thought it was going to be. But still. We selected a beautiful spot under a giant Eucalyptus tree. It is perfect.
Tuesday, September 19 -- Long, hard day. We left the house at 6:30am for a day of appointments at Stanford. While there, we received the devastating news that there is nothing else they can do for mom. The cancer is taking over her liver and soon she will go into liver failure. She will get more and more tired, confused, withdrawn . . . and eventually she will go to sleep and won't wake up. It will be painless. No more than a few weeks. Her team of doctors were wonderful, understanding, patient, and sympathetic. We then went to another hospital in Livermore for her scheduled paracentesis procedure. We finally got home at 5:30pm and just felt numb.
Wednesday, September 20 -- Dad left early in the morning for work -- during this time he would just pop into the office for a few hours and be home by 10 or 11am. I joined mom in bed so she wasn't alone. That morning I had a tender exchange with her. She was talkative (for her) so I asked what her favorite hymn was. She could not remember. Then I moved the conversation to flowers. I asked what her favorite flower was . . . too hard for her to answer. So I grabbed a book about flower arranging off the shelf and we looked at the pictures. I think she enjoyed it. She pointed to a vase in a French Blue crackle and she told me she liked the color. It was a wonderful moment because it almost felt normal. Kent flew in from Utah today, also on a one-way ticket -- he works from home so he had the flexibility to simply bring his laptop & relocate his office. We met our hospice nurse, Nancy. She came for a long visit and thoroughly explained all that she is set up to do for us. At this point, mom's comfort is our primary focus. That evening they delivered a hospital bed and oxygen for mom's bedroom. Sam & Denver's families came over for Family Home Evening and Sam taught a lesson on the plan of salvation.
Thursday, September 21 -- This morning mom was different. Talking was a huge struggle and words came out in a whisper that we could not understand. I drove into Turlock to meet with a florist. My intention was to discuss everything that I wanted for the services and have it all set in place so that when the time came, I could simply make a phone call and say, "go". I had some very specific ideas, colors, and textures that I wanted to incorporate. I mean, this is my mom. The queen of unique, classy style. Her flowers needed to be perfect, beautiful, and unlike any you have ever seen at a funeral. The florist actually apologized to me (unnecessarily) for being so giddy/excited to do our flowers. With the style direction I gave her I could tell her creative juices were flowing. The meeting went really well and I only cried once. For colors we settled on antique green, french blue, warm white, and a touch of purple. For florals I requested succulents, seeded eucalyptus, lamb's ear, hydrangeas, and dahlia or ranunculus if available. Lots of beautiful greens and lots of texture.
That afternoon Nancy (the hospice nurse) visited us again. After attending to mom and going over the new liquid meds I picked up that day (swallowing pills was now too difficult), she sat down at the table with my dad & I and told us that mom is actively dying. She had started the physiological process and it can take anywhere from hours to days. Crushing. As you can imagine. Each of my brothers came up to the house on their own that night. From here on they came everyday, whenever work would allow.
Inspiration photos from the The Flower Recipe Book and Cultivate Goods. That blue vase on the top left is the one mom pointed to as being a favorite color.
Friday, September 22 -- Mom was awake all morning and enjoyed visitors. It was so sweet to see her on the couch surrounded by women she loves, looking through scrapbooks. She gave lots of hugs -- her grip is tight and long. :) Dad did not go into work today and he remained home until after her passing. That afternoon I took a nap next to her. More family visitors came in the evening and after another day of soft, whisper-like words she surprised us when she uttered a clear, three word phrase of motherly counsel out of the blue. They were the last clear words we heard from her. (I'll share that story when I post my talk from her funeral in a few days).
Saturday, September 23
Sunday, September 24
Monday, September 25
Tuesday, September 26
Wednesday, September 27
For 5 days she slept. Never waking. No words. No liquids or food. We administered meds every 4 hours. We turned her frail body every 2 hours to avoid bed sores. We often played soothing piano music in the bedroom. My brothers came every evening and we visited around her. Sam even missed church on Sunday (he is the bishop of the ward) to spend the entire day with her. We never left her alone. Even though she slept, we knew she was aware of us and could hear us. The hospice nurse stopped in everyday. Every evening we went to bed expecting her to pass in the night. And every morning we woke to find her still there, hanging on.
On Wednesday evening, I ended my journal entry with this note: "It is bedtime. I'm going to sleep with my door open again so I can hear if dad needs help with anything."
Thursday, September 28 -- at 5:35am I heard my dad call my name, alerting me that mom's breathing was very irregular. I rushed downstairs and joined him in mom's bedroom. Huddled around her, holding her hands, tears streaming . . . 3 breaths later, and she was gone. Again, there is so much more to this story, and the hours that followed but they are sacred and special and kept in my heart and the notes of my journal to always remember.
I shared this on social media later that day:
"The first person who ever held me died today - my mother" I came across my mom's journal yesterday and this is the first line of her first entry. Today, I am living the same reality.
My precious mother - Teresa - passed away early this morning (sept 28). My dad and I were by her side when she took her last breaths. What a surreal, sacred, gut-wrenching moment. She was peaceful and comfortable and we are so glad she is free of the pains of cancer, but at the same time my heart is broken knowing that she is gone and I won't get to see her for a long time. She was just 59 years old - so young. There is so much I am going to miss. And when I start to feel cheated, I try to remember how much I did get to enjoy & learn from her and turn that into gratitude. But still, it is hard. It hurts. She was a rare woman armed with incredible strength, bravery, light, love, and faith. There truly is no one else like her. I feel like all I can do now is live my life so that she can be proud of me. I know she loved me perfectly. I am blessed beyond measure to have her as my mother. Love you, mom.
P.S. Note: I cannot say enough about the wonderful work hospice nurses do. Nancy was absolutely amazing, so helpful, kind, and generous to our family. She was always honest, but took the necessary time to gently explain the process, step by step so we could understand, soak it in, and feel comfortable moving forward. She was so sympathetic and we had great heart to heart conversations. Nancy had been a hospice nurse for 35 years and has worked with 8,000 patients. 8,000 people that she has helped in their final stages of life. Wow. I just have to think that she is an angel on earth for what she does. We were so grateful to her. We actually had to say good-bye to her on Wednesday (the day before mom passed) because she was going to be off work for the next 4 days and we knew mom would pass before she returned. Nancy expressed to us what a wonderful family we have. She said, "You look at what you have here and this is your normal. I go into homes when families are at their worst. There is a lot of disfunction and anger. But to see your relationships and how you work together and the love that is here . . . it is truly special and I hope you recognize that." She said that each day she leaves our house in tears -- partly over the horrible situation/tragedy that is unfolding (a wife/mother/grandmother dying too young), but mostly because of the beautiful family relationships she witnessed.
