Ties That Bind

by Debbie White

  Doctor appointments, hospital stays, and emergency room visits became the norm for me. I now required full-time care. The doctor talked to the children and me about Hospice. At first, I thought it meant dying was immediate—like tomorrow. I wasn’t ready to check out yet. I had a lot of living to do, and I told him as much. Our granddaughter was going to have a baby; my great grandson and I planned to be around to meet him.

  They told me Hospice wasn’t about giving up hope; it was about making me comfortable.

  “You’ll go back to your apartment, and you’ll live each day to the best of your ability,” the kids said.

  It was quite an experience, this Hospice set up. The first few days new furniture and equipment were brought in, medicine trays filled, and doctors taking my blood pressure and all the other vitals. Everyone was so nice.

  Hospice, assisted living, and caregivers were now my life. It was an adjustment, but what are you going to do when you're eighty-six years old and dependent on others?

  After all the commotion had settled down, I began to get into a routine. I had my favorite caregivers, and they became like family to me. The kids were comforted by knowing how well they treated me, and how well I liked them. After all, you don’t just want anyone taking care of your loved one.

  Soon after, I graduated to a wheelchair full-time. I gave up any hope of walking again. I knew that if I didn’t move, or stay active, I’d only shorten my life, but I was eighty-six years old and tired. I decided to give into the wheelchair and just be happy with what I could do.

  Carole and the other children were always positive. They knew that my days were numbered, but they never gave up hope. Carole was always planning something for us to do. She’d look at the activities calendar, and we’d plan accordingly.

  I knew what the children were going through had to be difficult. They were trying to hold down jobs, take care of their family, and take care of me. I was thankful for everything they did, but I probably didn’t voice it enough. However, I was doing everything I could to hold on. It was harder than I expected.

  I wasn’t ready to check out of this life yet, but I knew that God would make that decision when it was time. I was a spiritual person, and I believed for every season there was a reason, and every life there was life beyond Earth. If I didn’t believe that, then I would never see any of my family again. That would be more painful than anything I’d suffered from deteriorating discs, surgeries, and infection.

  * * *

  It was an unusually warm early spring day, and Carole called to say she was coming over. She had something to share with me. I was always excited to see her. She came bouncing in with a huge grin. She quickly sat next to me on the sofa and handed me a book. She knew my eyesight would not allow me to read anymore.

  “Mom. This is our finished project. I finished your story,” she said gleaming.

  I ran my hand over the glossy cover. “Hand me my magnifying glass,” I said.

  I checked out the front cover intently. It was beautiful. My daughter’s name was displayed proudly on the bottom. I turned the book over. “Hummingbird,” I said.

  Carole nodded. A tear formed on the bottom of her eyelid, mine too. “You remembered how much I love them. I miss seeing them flap their little wings at the feeder. I could watch them for hours out the kitchen window.”

  I flipped through the pages. The smell of the paper and print made my heart swell. “Will you read it to me?” I asked.

  “Of course, mom. Every day I’ll read a little to you,” Carole said, her voice a bit choked with emotion.

  * * *

  I could see and feel a difference in my body. It was changing. I didn’t want to alarm the kids, but things were happening, and they were happening faster than I wanted. I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel. I guess I saw it as a sign of weakness. I never wanted the children to think I’d given up when they’d done nothing of the sort.

  I insisted every day on doing my regular daily routine. Get up, get dressed—even if it was just a clean nightgown, eat a little breakfast, take a few sips of my coffee, and brush my teeth and hair. Then I’d sit on the couch for hours dozing, and perking up only when I was asked if I wanted to go outside.

  I loved being outside. I could breathe easier—get rid of that darn oxygen tank, and loved seeing the green and flowers everywhere.

  I loved the weekends because I’d usually see each one of my children. They’d take turns and push my wheelchair outside, we’d sip on cold water while lounging outside, and we’d always check out what was going on in the activities room.

  It was becoming increasingly more difficult to get around the apartment. Most of my days were spent sitting on the couch, using the restroom, and my outings outside or down to the music center. Carole was worried I was getting depressed. I was. I didn’t share that with her, though. They were doing everything they could to help me. But there was no way I was going to burden them with the added complication of my depression.

  * * *

  Carole came bouncing in the apartment one afternoon with a hummingbird feeder, a wind chime that was an angel, and a couple of hanging baskets of colorful flowers.

  “What’s all of this?” I inquired.

  “I’m going to hook you up with a beautiful balcony,” she said getting to work hanging baskets. “Dad’s rose bush is lonely out there.”

  “Ah. Dad’s rose bush,” I said recalling how she and I went to the gravesite and Carole took a clipping of the rose bush that was planted there. She nursed it, and now it was thriving. I admired it every day, and the caregivers would clip a rose every few days, and put it in a bud vase on the table near me so that I could appreciate it.

  When she was done, my balcony was transformed from bland to one that had colorful hanging baskets, a hummingbird feeder, and a wind chime. She’d thought of everything. I thoroughly enjoyed looking out the patio now, and believe it or not, hummingbirds came all the time.

  One afternoon the caregiver went outside to water the plants and came right back in saying, “Pat, you’re not going to believe this.”

  “What is it?”

  “In the pot with your husband’s rose bush are three four leaf clovers growing.”

  “You’re kidding,” I said shocked.

  She quickly got me in my wheelchair out and wheeled me out to see. There, growing in the pot, just like she’d said were three four-leaf clovers. I took it as a sign.

  * * *

  Thursday was a rough day for me. I woke up crying, and upset. It was something the caregivers had never seen before. I tried very hard to be strong for everyone concerned.

  On Saturday, I woke up crying again. The caretaker helped me out of bed. I felt different. I’d been having a bad couple of days and wondered if this was the end.

  “What day is it?”

  The caregiver confirmed it was Saturday. I’d see the kids today. I knew when they came I wouldn’t alarm them by telling them how I felt. I’d just let God and nature take its course, but I felt this was the day I was going to be with their dad. It was the day the angels would sing, and carry me off to a world free of pain and disappointment. I knew it would be a sad day for them, but I was ready.

  Carole came over to see me. I was not feeling well, but I knew she was there. We talked a little in and out of my drowsiness and hallucinations. I still managed to crack a few jokes, trying to make her feel better. I could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice, she knew if it weren't today, it would be soon.

  She knelt down on the floor and took my hand in hers.

  “Mom, what’s going on? Do you feel ok?”

  “No, I’m hurting. I’m in pain. I’m hurting just like when my ribs were broken.”

  She squeezed my hand. I opened my eyes and looked at her. The expression on her face told me I didn’t look too well, and I might be alarming her, but I didn’t want to lie to her.

  “I’m tired of fighting; I’m tired of always being in pain.”

  “Mom, you don’t
have to fight anymore. It’s ok, you gave it your all,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “You are one of the strongest women I’ve ever known. You can go be with dad now.”

  I heard her tell my caregiver she was going to call the others. She stepped out of the room and contacted them.

  She stayed for a while, but then told me she was going home, but she’d be back. All the kids lived within a couple of blocks from me, Carole right around the corner. She mentioned taking me outside when she returned. I knew I wouldn’t be going outside, but I played along.

  “Ok, hon. See you later,” I said.

  I know she would have stayed longer if she had thought that today was the day. But I also know she probably didn’t want to be alone with me if it was. I wanted to make every effort to wait for each child to visit me before I would depart. That much I knew.

  The boys came by later that day. We made small talk, and I could see it in their faces, and hear it in their voices they were concerned. There wasn’t much that could be done. My old heart was giving up. It had served me well for the past eighty-six years. I couldn’t complain. I’d lived a good, long life.

  It happened so quickly. One minute I was sitting on the couch trying to visit with them and the next thing I knew my two sons had carried me to bed.

  I could hear voices. I had my eyes closed, but I could hear them clearly talking about me and what was about to happen. Peter called Carole and told her to get over here, and quickly. I was focusing on letting go, and not feeling any pain, but I’d wait for Carole.

  I didn’t want them to witness my dying, but that’s the way this was going to go down. I had no choice. My only prayer was for me to go peacefully. God promised me that much.

  “Mom, it’s Carole. I’m here. It’s ok. You can go be with Dad now. I love you.” I clearly heard.

  “Mom, I love you.” I heard Peter say.

  “Mom, you’re free to go. We love you and don’t want you to be in any more pain,” Charles Jr. choked out.

  But then the last thing I heard before I went was how much Carole would miss me and all the time we’d spent together. She said she’d always cherish the last ten years she lived nearby and wished it had been more. I couldn’t tell her, but it had been more than enough. Her time with me was indeed special, and it was her love and patience, along with all the children that kept me going as long as I did.

  And then, I was free. Free of pain, free of guilt and soaring high with the angels. I knew I was happy, so I was hoping there’d be a smile on my face. I was going to join Charles in Heaven, and I was going to set my children free. Free from being a caretaker, free of worry, and free to live their life as their father and I had so dearly wanted.

  The kids had given the ultimate sacrifice. They’d given their love and time to me, and I would never be able to thank or compensate them enough. But rumor has it, they’d do it all over again, and not one of them would complain.

  A Word From The Author:

  Elder care is on the rise in the United States. It is not just with duty, but with love for one’s parents that we should offer assistance in their daily care. Other countries do it unselfishly, and we should too. Taking care of our mother ‘til the end was the most meaningful thing we’ve ever done. We miss her every day. Make sure you tell the people in your life how special they are. It will help you heal when the time comes.

  About the Author:

  Debbie currently lives in northern California with her husband and two rescue dachshunds, Dash and Briar. She avidly supports animal rescue and happily donates a percentage of book sales to local shelters and rescue organizations.

  Do you have questions or comments? I’d love to hear from you. Please visit me at my website http://wwwauthordebbiewhite.com

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  Also by Debbie White

  A Charleston Harbor Novel

  Sweet Indulgence

  Sweet Magnolia

  Sweet Carolina

  Chandler County

  The Missing Ingredient (A Chandler County Novel)

  Romantic Destinations

  Finding Mrs. Right

  Holding on to Mrs. Right

  Cherishing Mrs. Right

  Standalone

  Passport to Happiness

  Ties That Bind

  Christmas Romance Short Stories

  The Salty Dog

  Coaching the Sub

  The Pet Palace

  Billionaire's Dilemma

  Romantic Destinations Collection 1-3

  Billionaire Auction

  Watch for more at Debbie White’s site.

  About the Author

  Debbie currently lives in California with her husband and two rescue dachshunds, Dash and Briar. When she's not writing you'll find her getting her hands dirty in her garden, riding the back of their motorcycle or enjoying a glass of wine at the many wineries in their beautiful area. She's an avid supporter of animal rescue and donates a percentage of all book sales to animal rescue groups.

  Read more at Debbie White’s site.