Watching my mother die reminded me even the strongest will is not invincible

Bill Gindlesperger
Columnist

During my life I have tried to put an upbeat spin on my innermost fears and negative feelings. Often covering up my little and not so little nightmares. 

When my mother died on June 15, after 101 years of life, a part of me died along with her.  My tears flowed.  And flowed.  I was left behind without her.  Knowing I am next in line. 

I am not taking anything away from my wife.  Who I love dearly.   Or my children.  Or my grandchildren.  We are a close knit family.  But the matriarch has died. 

My mother is gone.  The person who was there when I was growing up.  There when I was ill.  Or had an accident.  Or needed support.  Or whatever.  The person who loved me as a little boy.  Even when I didn’t deserve it.  The person who would read to me before I could read for myself.  

As I sat beside her at the nursing home hour upon hour and watched her condition deteriorate, it reminded me that even a strong willed woman cannot thwart the aging effects of being human.

Bill Gindlesperger

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We all die.  And that is frightening.  Part of my innermost fears.  Being next in line in the succession of death is now a reality. 

We say what a blessing.  Her pain is over.  She no longer has to struggle.  We will always remember.  Honor her life.

But the truth is that her life has ended.  That is what is over.  There will be no more progress.  No more hopes.  No more dreams.  No more looking forward to anything.  No more projects to finish.  No more of life’s struggles.  No more talking together.  No more sharing.  No more candy for the great grandchildren. 

Death is the utter consequence of life that cannot be changed.

For religious people there is hope for eternal life after death. Even for some a resurrection. A rebirth.

But as death took my mother hostage, there remains only memories of her.  Evaporating our shared experiences.  Images of her that will become fuzzy as years come to pass. 

And the fear that we are next.  That gut wrenching fear that we try to ignore.  The inevitability of death. Coming slow or fast but coming all the same.  The end of each cycle of life. 

As I watched my mother change from life to death, I prayed for her soul.  And mine.  I asked for forgiveness for all the things I should have done and didn’t. 

How can I put a positive spin on death’s dastardly act?  How can I find solace in her forever loss? 

I am left with a huge hole in my life.

How can any of us fathom the feeling of our bodies, like hers, being ravaged by time? 

My mother did not go easily.  She fought the urge to just let go.  To pass away without a fight.  She clung to life with every fiber of her being. 

Pauline Gindlesperger

In the end it was more than she could hold back.  And she slipped away into that dark abyss. 

I wanted to do something.  Anything to prolong her presence.  But that is not within human prerogative.  I could not add one second to her life.  That is something only God can do. 

I talked to her.  I do not know whether she could hear me.  Or whether she could process my words.  Maybe it was too little too late.  To tell her we loved her.  And I tried to tell her it was OK to continue her journey.  The journey to death that I did not want her to take. 

Her closest friends had come and gone.  Deborah.  Barbara.  Joan.  They paid their respects and showed their love.  So many kind words as she was being pulled away. 

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My wife gently rubbed her arm and held her hand.  She spoke softly.  Assured my mother we were beside her.  My mother’s senses were shutting down.  She could no longer see.  Her eyes were fixed and non-responsive to light.  Her mouth was open to take in every molecule of oxygen.  To prolong life for every additional second possible. 

Then, far too quickly, her breaths became shallower.  Her heart’s beating became nearly imperceptible.  Until finally both… just… stopped.  And she was no more. 

Being human is not easy. 

I will remember my mother for as many years as my own mind allows.  I wonder how long the sadness will remain. 

I am grateful for the respect, care and genuine love given to my mother by the staff at Providence Place in Chambersburg.  She resided there for the last seven years of her life.  No one could ask for more than what was provided. 

And when the time came for end of life care, the people at Grane Hospice went beyond our expectations.  They, too, were immediately responsive, loving and caring.  They were insightful, professional and tender as she moved closer to death.  They built a bond of trust that eased my mother through her journey.  

We are grateful beyond words.

Saying goodbye is really hard.

Bill Gindlesperger is a central Pennsylvanian, Shippensburg University trustee and founder of eLynxx Solutions that provides Print Buyer’s Software for procuring and managing direct mail, marketing, promo and print.  He is a board member, campaign advisor, published author and talk radio commentator.  He can be reached at Bill.Gindlesperger@eLynxx.com