Sallydannce's Story

[Purple Rain]

Just to let you know I am thinking of you, Sally, and wondering how you are getting on with everything. Sending so much love your way tonight.

[video=youtube;fx6GU8e3PUg]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fx6GU8e3PUg[/video]

 

[sallydannce]

Just to let you know I am thinking of you, Sally, and wondering how you are getting on with everything. Sending so much love your way tonight.

[video=youtube;fx6GU8e3PUg]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fx6GU8e3PUg[/video]

Thank you Purple Rain. Means a lot to me.

These are very long strange days. For some reason I have been reluctant to write anything here on my story thread and I don't really know why. But, well, my family and I are going through an intense time in life as our elderly mother is dying. Mum was diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer not quite two weeks ago.

I am the only child living in the area and I am mum's legal power-of-attorney though I have full dialogue with one of my sisters when making decisions. So many decisions, so many discussions, so many things to deal with. Plus all the emotions from people which is very draining.

Mum is very comfortable and mentally alert at this stage. She has a stunning medical and palliative team caring for her. We are taking a pathway of "comfort, compassion and kindness".

Each day seems like a month. There are moments which I will never forget. Like yesterday I was with mum - reading the newspaper to her (mum is about 50% blind) - when a nurse popped into the room to tell mum she was off for the weekend and just wanted to say "bye and I'll see you on Monday." Such kindness of her face. This is what life is about.

I try to do stuff for mum which brings comfort. Yesterday we did some simple beauty things. Mum reckons she’d like her nails painted so I’ll grab some nail-polish and do my best to not get the stuff all over the show. Red or pale pink? Maybe a pearly shade? Mum can choose. We play her favourite music. We are relaxed and at peace together.

You know how it is often said "just be in the moment, the now"? I am there. Each moment is defined and perfect, no matter what it contains. I just sit with each moment, if that makes sense. Each moment has value for exactly what it is, no matter what. I just show up for mum, without any barriers, without anything that deters from peace or comfort and spend time with her. Sometimes I just sit quietly as she sleeps. She sleeps a lot now. I read. She sleeps. I leave a note for the nurses to read to her if she does not wake when I am there.

I have no idea what I am doing and it actually doesn’t seem to matter. This is mum’s journey and I just follow her lead. I’ve never watched my mother fading away before. I have never done this before. It is truly one moment, one day, at a time.

It is said that dying teaches a lot about life. Mum is teaching me things I cannot, yet, define.

So this is life. There is peace. There is sadness. There is laughter. There is music. There is chocolate. There is love. And cups of tea, held gently to her mouth. There are conversations about stuff that really matters and conversations about not-much-at-all.

She gave me so much. Only now am I seeing it all, feeling it all. It is intense, it is authentic. The past no longer impacts and there is enormous gratitude.

I’m struggling to find the words to describe this journey with my mother. I am often quite exhausted and mindfully working on self-care – trying to eat well, drink plenty of water (hospitals are very dehydrating places) and consciously taking “time out”. The thing is it doesn't matter – what matters is mum and loving her as she takes this journey. It only matters that I stay strong and healthy so I can show up and be the best I can be. Or something like that.

The greatest gift in life is love. No matter what happens in a life, no matter what words are used, when it is all stripped back to the pure essence it is all about love. I live this. No matter what anyone says, or does, or throws at me. Love disarms the cranky, it soothes the suffering, it brings sense to the bullshit.

And so, with love, the campaign to get my cat into the hospital for a visit with mum begins…

 

[sallydannce]

Campaign to get my cat into the hospital

I am scheming up a way to take my cat (Fummy) to the hospital to visit mum. She loves my cat and he loves her. Fummy lived with my mother for the past year or so while I got my life together. They miss each other so I am working on finding a way to get him into her room. I figure if I can get my arse out of a mind-controlling cult, getting a cat into a hospital to visit my dying mother should be a breeze. Love is more powerful than anything.

My plan to sneak him through the window is not a feasible option as she is not in a ground floor room. If need be, I will label his cat carrier-cage “large box of nighties” and boldly walk him through the hospital to her. And yes, I am serious.

The afternoon we found mum (she lived alone in the family home) she was delirious, in a terrible state and raving about having intruders in the house “all night, partying in my bedroom”. In that state she told me that Fummy stayed with her. “He didn’t leave my bed once, he stayed with me the whole time” she told me. I choose to believe her because I know this cat very well and he is a truly sweet loving cat.

Amidst the chaos of paramedics and trying to take in all the details of what was happening, I found cat food in the kitchen, sitting on a sideboard. She had, somehow in her frail delirious condition, managed to get to the kitchen, dug the cat food out of the fridge and fed Fummy. She’d fed him when she was so very ill. She cared for him even when she was delirious with fever. And he stayed with her to comfort her. My God. Love is powerful.

I found a fluffy toy at a shop which almost feels exactly like Fummy’s soft fur when he nuzzles your face. I took the toy to mum and she rubs it on her face. I asked her yesterday if she wanted me to bring Fummy to see her and she was emphatic. Yes!

So “operation get Fummy into the hospital” is underway!

 

[The_Fixer]

Now that's what I call a first dance together! Terrific fun!

I love your daughters dress! Gorgeous dress, gorgeous bride!

Please extend my warmest congratulations to the newly weds. May their life be full of joy, peace and loads and loads of dancing.

Thank you so much for sharing this vid The_Fixer. Love it!

Thanks Sally. It was a nice dress. Bloody well should be for $1200. Iy yi yi!

I used to live in Parnell too, pre cult days. I shared an apartment 3rd floor. Our view was over the Waitemata and Rangitoto. Beautiful views.

Our caretakers lived on the 5th floor (top level). They were terrible pissheads, but great guys. They were audiophiles with this majestic reel to reel tape deck. When they were drunk, they occasionally would drop a reel which made an incredible mess. So they would hang it out on the balcony and let the wind take the tape out and it would eventually untangle itself. Then they stuck the reel back on the machine and wind it back in! The ☼ ingenuity of some people.... Then we would have more ♪ ♫ ♫ ♪...! and beer.

Nostalgic memories. I have plenty of those now.

Your story re your mum is a terrific one. I know it is going to be a sad outcome, but the journey you guys are creating is very touching.

We can't do that with my wife's mum who lives with us, as her personality won't allow it to happen. But blessings to you both.

 

[afaceinthecrowd]

Thank you Purple Rain. Means a lot to me.

These are very long strange days. For some reason I have been reluctant to write anything here on my story thread and I don't really know why. But, well, my family and I are going through an intense time in life as our elderly mother is dying. Mum was diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer not quite two weeks ago.

I am the only child living in the area and I am mum's legal power-of-attorney though I have full dialogue with one of my sisters when making decisions. So many decisions, so many discussions, so many things to deal with. Plus all the emotions from people which is very draining.

Mum is very comfortable and mentally alert at this stage. She has a stunning medical and palliative team caring for her. We are taking a pathway of "comfort, compassion and kindness".

Each day seems like a month. There are moments which I will never forget. Like yesterday I was with mum - reading the newspaper to her (mum is about 50% blind) - when a nurse popped into the room to tell mum she was off for the weekend and just wanted to say "bye and I'll see you on Monday." Such kindness of her face. This is what life is about.

I try to do stuff for mum which brings comfort. Yesterday we did some simple beauty things. Mum reckons she’d like her nails painted so I’ll grab some nail-polish and do my best to not get the stuff all over the show. Red or pale pink? Maybe a pearly shade? Mum can choose. We play her favourite music. We are relaxed and at peace together.

You know how it is often said "just be in the moment, the now"? I am there. Each moment is defined and perfect, no matter what it contains. I just sit with each moment, if that makes sense. Each moment has value for exactly what it is, no matter what. I just show up for mum, without any barriers, without anything that deters from peace or comfort and spend time with her. Sometimes I just sit quietly as she sleeps. She sleeps a lot now. I read. She sleeps. I leave a note for the nurses to read to her if she does not wake when I am there.

I have no idea what I am doing and it actually doesn’t seem to matter. This is mum’s journey and I just follow her lead. I’ve never watched my mother fading away before. I have never done this before. It is truly one moment, one day, at a time.

It is said that dying teaches a lot about life. Mum is teaching me things I cannot, yet, define.

So this is life. There is peace. There is sadness. There is laughter. There is music. There is chocolate. There is love. And cups of tea, held gently to her mouth. There are conversations about stuff that really matters and conversations about not-much-at-all.

She gave me so much. Only now am I seeing it all, feeling it all. It is intense, it is authentic. The past no longer impacts and there is enormous gratitude.

I’m struggling to find the words to describe this journey with my mother. I am often quite exhausted and mindfully working on self-care – trying to eat well, drink plenty of water (hospitals are very dehydrating places) and consciously taking “time out”. The thing is it doesn't matter – what matters is mum and loving her as she takes this journey. It only matters that I stay strong and healthy so I can show up and be the best I can be. Or something like that.

The greatest gift in life is love. No matter what happens in a life, no matter what words are used, when it is all stripped back to the pure essence it is all about love. I live this. No matter what anyone says, or does, or throws at me. Love disarms the cranky, it soothes the suffering, it brings sense to the bullshit.

And so, with love, the campaign to get my cat into the hospital for a visit with mum begins…

Sallydannce,

This may seem an odd thing to say but, you're Post is MAGNIFICENT and ELEGANT...Just about the most honest and real passages I've ever read regarding the caring sharing of "Final Days" with another, and could only come from someone who is truly "walking the walk", "standing the gap" and of steadfast Heart following the "Golden Rule".

I've traveled a path not unlike the one you are traveling with your Mum...It was concurrently withering yet emancipating, uncertain yet instinctive, surreal yet natural, tear-filled yet peaceful, confusing yet crystal clear.

IMO, no one has experienced all that Life has to give until they have given, personally one to one, unconditional Love to another until last breath. The final outcome for your Mum is known but the Journey of Life that makes it worth Living begins with a blank canvass and your presence is now the color hues and shades of the pallet for your Mum's finishing brushstrokes, as well as defining and refining detailing for your personal Masterwork in progress.

With Abiding Respect and Affection,

Face

 

[JustMe]

Thank you Purple Rain. Means a lot to me.

These are very long strange days. For some reason I have been reluctant to write anything here on my story thread and I don't really know why. But, well, my family and I are going through an intense time in life as our elderly mother is dying. Mum was diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer not quite two weeks ago.

I am the only child living in the area and I am mum's legal power-of-attorney though I have full dialogue with one of my sisters when making decisions. So many decisions, so many discussions, so many things to deal with. Plus all the emotions from people which is very draining.

Mum is very comfortable and mentally alert at this stage. She has a stunning medical and palliative team caring for her. We are taking a pathway of "comfort, compassion and kindness".

Each day seems like a month. There are moments which I will never forget. Like yesterday I was with mum - reading the newspaper to her (mum is about 50% blind) - when a nurse popped into the room to tell mum she was off for the weekend and just wanted to say "bye and I'll see you on Monday." Such kindness of her face. This is what life is about.

I try to do stuff for mum which brings comfort. Yesterday we did some simple beauty things. Mum reckons she’d like her nails painted so I’ll grab some nail-polish and do my best to not get the stuff all over the show. Red or pale pink? Maybe a pearly shade? Mum can choose. We play her favourite music. We are relaxed and at peace together.

You know how it is often said "just be in the moment, the now"? I am there. Each moment is defined and perfect, no matter what it contains. I just sit with each moment, if that makes sense. Each moment has value for exactly what it is, no matter what. I just show up for mum, without any barriers, without anything that deters from peace or comfort and spend time with her. Sometimes I just sit quietly as she sleeps. She sleeps a lot now. I read. She sleeps. I leave a note for the nurses to read to her if she does not wake when I am there.

I have no idea what I am doing and it actually doesn’t seem to matter. This is mum’s journey and I just follow her lead. I’ve never watched my mother fading away before. I have never done this before. It is truly one moment, one day, at a time.

It is said that dying teaches a lot about life. Mum is teaching me things I cannot, yet, define.

So this is life. There is peace. There is sadness. There is laughter. There is music. There is chocolate. There is love. And cups of tea, held gently to her mouth. There are conversations about stuff that really matters and conversations about not-much-at-all.

She gave me so much. Only now am I seeing it all, feeling it all. It is intense, it is authentic. The past no longer impacts and there is enormous gratitude.

I’m struggling to find the words to describe this journey with my mother. I am often quite exhausted and mindfully working on self-care – trying to eat well, drink plenty of water (hospitals are very dehydrating places) and consciously taking “time out”. The thing is it doesn't matter – what matters is mum and loving her as she takes this journey. It only matters that I stay strong and healthy so I can show up and be the best I can be. Or something like that.

The greatest gift in life is love. No matter what happens in a life, no matter what words are used, when it is all stripped back to the pure essence it is all about love. I live this. No matter what anyone says, or does, or throws at me. Love disarms the cranky, it soothes the suffering, it brings sense to the bullshit.

And so, with love, the campaign to get my cat into the hospital for a visit with mum begins…

Sallydannce that was so pure, so honest, so heartfelt and so beautiful. Thank you for sharing that. We have all gained from that beautiful perspective of life and your love of your mother. Life goes by so very fast. My daughter was a child yesterday and I was a child last week. Where did the years go? You have captured what it is all about. Those "moments", those simple, beautiful moments where you can be there for the other appreciating what you have even if you see it going. You were not too late. And I am so glad for you and your mother that you are not. THANK YOU!

 

[Purple Rain]

Re: Campaign to get my cat into the hospital

Thank you Purple Rain. Means a lot to me.

These are very long strange days. For some reason I have been reluctant to write anything here on my story thread and I don't really know why. But, well, my family and I are going through an intense time in life as our elderly mother is dying. Mum was diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer not quite two weeks ago.

I am the only child living in the area and I am mum's legal power-of-attorney though I have full dialogue with one of my sisters when making decisions. So many decisions, so many discussions, so many things to deal with. Plus all the emotions from people which is very draining.

Mum is very comfortable and mentally alert at this stage. She has a stunning medical and palliative team caring for her. We are taking a pathway of "comfort, compassion and kindness".

Each day seems like a month. There are moments which I will never forget. Like yesterday I was with mum - reading the newspaper to her (mum is about 50% blind) - when a nurse popped into the room to tell mum she was off for the weekend and just wanted to say "bye and I'll see you on Monday." Such kindness of her face. This is what life is about.

I try to do stuff for mum which brings comfort. Yesterday we did some simple beauty things. Mum reckons she’d like her nails painted so I’ll grab some nail-polish and do my best to not get the stuff all over the show. Red or pale pink? Maybe a pearly shade? Mum can choose. We play her favourite music. We are relaxed and at peace together.

You know how it is often said "just be in the moment, the now"? I am there. Each moment is defined and perfect, no matter what it contains. I just sit with each moment, if that makes sense. Each moment has value for exactly what it is, no matter what. I just show up for mum, without any barriers, without anything that deters from peace or comfort and spend time with her. Sometimes I just sit quietly as she sleeps. She sleeps a lot now. I read. She sleeps. I leave a note for the nurses to read to her if she does not wake when I am there.

I have no idea what I am doing and it actually doesn’t seem to matter. This is mum’s journey and I just follow her lead. I’ve never watched my mother fading away before. I have never done this before. It is truly one moment, one day, at a time.

It is said that dying teaches a lot about life. Mum is teaching me things I cannot, yet, define.

So this is life. There is peace. There is sadness. There is laughter. There is music. There is chocolate. There is love. And cups of tea, held gently to her mouth. There are conversations about stuff that really matters and conversations about not-much-at-all.

She gave me so much. Only now am I seeing it all, feeling it all. It is intense, it is authentic. The past no longer impacts and there is enormous gratitude.

I’m struggling to find the words to describe this journey with my mother. I am often quite exhausted and mindfully working on self-care – trying to eat well, drink plenty of water (hospitals are very dehydrating places) and consciously taking “time out”. The thing is it doesn't matter – what matters is mum and loving her as she takes this journey. It only matters that I stay strong and healthy so I can show up and be the best I can be. Or something like that.

The greatest gift in life is love. No matter what happens in a life, no matter what words are used, when it is all stripped back to the pure essence it is all about love. I live this. No matter what anyone says, or does, or throws at me. Love disarms the cranky, it soothes the suffering, it brings sense to the bullshit.

And so, with love, the campaign to get my cat into the hospital for a visit with mum begins…

Sally, that sounds so intense, but also beautiful in a way - those precious moments. Nobody can ever take those away from either of you. Your mother will take them with you wherever she goes in some form. I am convinced that their touch can never be erased from her spirit completely whatever it is and whatever becomes of her. I know as a mother how painful it can be to feel estranged from a child or to be in polite, social contact with them where barriers hide the true souls and thoughts from each other. I am sure that this is just as healing for your mother as it is for you, and even though it is bittersweet it is still better to have loved and lost than never to have loved.

You are a wonderful daughter. Any mother would be proud to have you, and I am so proud to be your friend. I am thankful that she did not meet some sudden end, and you two were granted the gift of time to be close and share love and find some kind of closure in your relationship.

I am happy because the simple things in life are nearly always the best - painting nails and baking cupcakes. That is the stuff that happiness is made of. And even in the deepest sadness there are always some moments of laughter and joy to be found. I am glad that this time is peaceful and close for you both.

And yes, you must bring her the cat!!!!

I am scheming up a way to take my cat (Fummy) to the hospital to visit mum. She loves my cat and he loves her. Fummy lived with my mother for the past year or so while I got my life together. They miss each other so I am working on finding a way to get him into her room. I figure if I can get my arse out of a mind-controlling cult, getting a cat into a hospital to visit my dying mother should be a breeze. Love is more powerful than anything.

My plan to sneak him through the window is not a feasible option as she is not in a ground floor room. If need be, I will label his cat carrier-cage “large box of nighties” and boldly walk him through the hospital to her. And yes, I am serious.

The afternoon we found mum (she lived alone in the family home) she was delirious, in a terrible state and raving about having intruders in the house “all night, partying in my bedroom”. In that state she told me that Fummy stayed with her. “He didn’t leave my bed once, he stayed with me the whole time” she told me. I choose to believe her because I know this cat very well and he is a truly sweet loving cat.

Amidst the chaos of paramedics and trying to take in all the details of what was happening, I found cat food in the kitchen, sitting on a sideboard. She had, somehow in her frail delirious condition, managed to get to the kitchen, dug the cat food out of the fridge and fed Fummy. She’d fed him when she was so very ill. She cared for him even when she was delirious with fever. And he stayed with her to comfort her. My God. Love is powerful.

I found a fluffy toy at a shop which almost feels exactly like Fummy’s soft fur when he nuzzles your face. I took the toy to mum and she rubs it on her face. I asked her yesterday if she wanted me to bring Fummy to see her and she was emphatic. Yes!

So “operation get Fummy into the hospital” is underway!

So how is it going? Has Fummy made it into the hospital yet? It really is too stupid to stop pets from coming in. They have pets as therapy come into our hospitals, old people's homes (can't think of the politically correct term) and special schools.

It is just common sense that she will feel better and brighter if she can see the cat that she loves.

Also big hug to you, and to your mum, and to Fummy.



You are so beautiful!

 

[sallydannce]

Instruction on matters of love…

Yesterday was a huge day. I was at the coal-face from early morning, dealing with things I had no idea how to deal with. In the next few days Mum is to be transferred from the hospital to a palliative care rest-home. I spoke to various people involved in the process, dealt with paperwork which was both confrontational and challenging. My exhaustion is deep, my heart totally alive.

There are so many exquisite moments and other moments where I feel I have fallen off a cliff. There is no way to predict or control any of them. My heart breaks as it opens to the strangeness of a fresh pure kind of love . And yes, I know that makes absolutely no sense. I suspect it is not meant to. I just ride each moment, hanging on and letting mum lead. I seek guidance from experts who have done this many times before. I am simply a messenger in, possibly, life’s most important journey.

I went back to the family home, to check it was all okay. I realised as I walked through the back door that mum is never coming back to the house. I wept inconsolably as I wandered around the house, lost. I went outside and wandered around the garden. I found jonquils in bloom. The bulbs originally came from my great-grandfathers property and have been handed down to various family over the years.

I picked a bunch of jonquils for mum. Inside the house I took the photo of my great-grandfathers house off the wall. Instinct and love impelling my actions, I took the flowers and the big old oak-framed photo to mum at the hospital. We talked about the house and she shared a few memories of being a girl there. Mum showed the photo and the flowers to a couple of nurses who wandered into the room.

Out of nowhere, she started telling me about her love for the two men she has loved. I listened. She told me about her love for my father. “I never had any doubts, ever Glenda” she said. I told her how glad I was she had known this type of love. She loved totally, twice. We were in very deep water. As our hands touched, with our hearts wide open, the world stood still in perfection.

I shared my thoughts - and fears - about romantic love. She listened. Me, the younger woman, unaware I needed guidance, babbled. She listened.

And then she spoke sentences which moved the walls. Words which changed everything, that brought piercing peace and hope and a type of completeness I’ve never known. She spoke to my heart, she calmly, tenderly, intensely, offered her heart-felt truth about me. I’m not gonna say what she said (it is very personal) but it was far-reaching and utterly comforting. She offers me the sweetest gifts as she takes her great journey.

Don’t give me a castle. Gently guide me home to my heart. And my mother is.

My great-grandfathers home. Though no longer owned by the family, the current owner has graciously allowed us to visit. I took mum, and her older sister, for a visit. We had the BEST time!

 

[Lurker5]

 

[Pheryn]

I really have no words. Just so very touched by what you've written. Thank you.

 

[Free to shine]

It's so good that you finally have had the opportunity to come to a place of peace with your mum, and she with you. It is such a big thing, though sadly in the final days. It's like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that plops into place and rearranges perceptions, memories and future goals and I am am so happy for you and marvel at your courage.

I can't do it with my mum, she is now lost in a bubble of dementia but I did have a moment some years ago where she looked at me with love and simply said "I'm sorry". And those words erased all the lingering distress of our previous complicated lives (mostly due to scientology in this case) and allowed me freedom to be who I am, and also to appreciate who she is. Our mothers did the best they could, even if it wasn't always right, and we take all the lessons forward with us.

Huge milestones my friend.

 

[Purple Rain]

Re: Instruction on matters of love…

Yesterday was a huge day. I was at the coal-face from early morning, dealing with things I had no idea how to deal with. In the next few days Mum is to be transferred from the hospital to a palliative care rest-home. I spoke to various people involved in the process, dealt with paperwork which was both confrontational and challenging. My exhaustion is deep, my heart totally alive.

There are so many exquisite moments and other moments where I feel I have fallen off a cliff. There is no way to predict or control any of them. My heart breaks as it opens to the strangeness of a fresh pure kind of love . And yes, I know that makes absolutely no sense. I suspect it is not meant to. I just ride each moment, hanging on and letting mum lead. I seek guidance from experts who have done this many times before. I am simply a messenger in, possibly, life’s most important journey.

I went back to the family home, to check it was all okay. I realised as I walked through the back door that mum is never coming back to the house. I wept inconsolably as I wandered around the house, lost. I went outside and wandered around the garden. I found jonquils in bloom. The bulbs originally came from my great-grandfathers property and have been handed down to various family over the years.

I picked a bunch of jonquils for mum. Inside the house I took the photo of my great-grandfathers house off the wall. Instinct and love impelling my actions, I took the flowers and the big old oak-framed photo to mum at the hospital. We talked about the house and she shared a few memories of being a girl there. Mum showed the photo and the flowers to a couple of nurses who wandered into the room.

Out of nowhere, she started telling me about her love for the two men she has loved. I listened. She told me about her love for my father. “I never had any doubts, ever Glenda” she said. I told her how glad I was she had known this type of love. She loved totally, twice. We were in very deep water. As our hands touched, with our hearts wide open, the world stood still in perfection.

I shared my thoughts - and fears - about romantic love. She listened. Me, the younger woman, unaware I needed guidance, babbled. She listened.

And then she spoke sentences which moved the walls. Words which changed everything, that brought piercing peace and hope and a type of completeness I’ve never known. She spoke to my heart, she calmly, tenderly, intensely, offered her heart-felt truth about me. I’m not gonna say what she said (it is very personal) but it was far-reaching and utterly comforting. She offers me the sweetest gifts as she takes her great journey.

Don’t give me a castle. Gently guide me home to my heart. And my mother is.

My great-grandfathers home. Though no longer owned by the family, the current owner has graciously allowed us to visit. I took mum, and her older sister, for a visit. We had the BEST time!

What a beautiful home! It was so nice that they let you and your family have a look around the house again. What memories that must have stirred for your mother and aunt.

But what a lot of chaotic and conflicting emotions you must have experienced yourself, going to the house you grew up in alone and knowing she would not set foot there again. I think it was beautiful that you brought her the flowers and the picture - just little souvenirs of her life to keep her in touch with her own sense of self. I am thinking you must get some of those bulbs to keep them in the family. I think it could mean a lot to you to have them in your garden some day.

I don't know what to say, Sally. How difficult to be making arrangements for palliative care. It seems so final, yet as you say, the gifts she is imparting are timeless in a way as she shares those priceless treasures with you and you go forward in life making ripples that touch so many others in your path. I am thankful that this journey has been so healing even though it is necessarily painful and hard.

You have grown so much, and this is growing you again as we speak, but I wish for you after this a fallow time - a time of rest when you can just be. A peaceful time.

My heart aches for you as I read what you are going through and I wish more than ever that I could just give you a hug or make you a nice cup of tea. I kind of feel like maybe you need to get away for a while after this is all over. Not that it will ever be over because you have to live with the loss of your loved one for always, but when the time comes for her life to pass on and all the practicalities have been attended to, I hope you can take some time out for you and drink in life and the wonder of living for a while.

I can't tell you how sorry I am that you are suffering like this. As you say, aside from birth, death is perhaps the most important journey in life. And you are being the most beautiful spiritual midwife for your mother now. If I was terminally ill then I would like my days to end with someone like you at my side. You would seem like an angel. I get this picture of a bridesmaid carrying the train on the bride's gown for some reason - all in pink with roses in your hair.

Don't forget to try and take good care of yourself as well - try and get plenty of rest and eat well although both of those may be difficult when you're emotionally fraught.

Do keep letting us know how you are doing, please, won't you?

Much love to you, girlfriend.

 

[In present time]

Sallydannce,

This may seem an odd thing to say but, you're Post is MAGNIFICENT and ELEGANT...Just about the most honest and real passages I've ever read regarding the caring sharing of "Final Days" with another, and could only come from someone who is truly "walking the walk", "standing the gap" and of steadfast Heart following the "Golden Rule".

I've traveled a path not unlike the one you are traveling with your Mum...It was concurrently withering yet emancipating, uncertain yet instinctive, surreal yet natural, tear-filled yet peaceful, confusing yet crystal clear.

IMO, no one has experienced all that Life has to give until they have given, personally one to one, unconditional Love to another until last breath. The final outcome for your Mum is known but the Journey of Life that makes it worth Living begins with a blank canvass and your presence is now the color hues and shades of the pallet for your Mum's finishing brushstrokes, as well as defining and refining detailing for your personal Masterwork in progress.

With Abiding Respect and Affection,

Face

I agree. Sally has achieved an elegance that I only hope for.
And speaking of hope, I REALLY want her to succeed in her cat smuggling abilities.

Sally, are you sure the hospital would give you an unconditional NO!, if you asked them?
probably, because policies that no one is allowed to break.

Smarter to resort to, "better to ask forgiveness, than permission".
You go girl, I am thinking of you.
IPT

 

[Winston Smith]

What an incredible thread. I just found it and am mesmerized. Sallydannce, what a life you have lived. I don't know where to begin, so I guess I will try to read more before offering any more. Just congratulations for all you have achieved.

 

[sallydannce]

A shade of peachy-pink

I’m not a make-up kind of woman. I own some. I sometimes wear it. Mostly it sits in the drawer in the bathroom. I own nail-polish which gets applied on rare random occasions. Once upon a time, a life-time ago, I went to a beauty parlour in Shanghai, with a friend, to get our “nails done”. It remains the one and only time I have had my “nails done”. I have no desire to repeat the experience though if someone dragged me along to a beauty parlour I’d probably sit still long enough to indulge in such a girly activity.

I realise applying nail polish ain’t rocket science but I was a bit worried when I offered to paint my mothers finger-nails and she keenly accepted my offer. Committed, I packed a small bag with the equipment I thought I might need to be a pretend “nail-technician” for an evening at the hospital.

We commenced proceedings with me placing all my “nail technician” goodies on the trolley-table beside her bed. Moving slowly and deliberately so she could take it all in, I explained, “we have bright red, peachy-pink and a pearly-white shade”.

I showed her the bright red nail-polish. She exclaimed “I can’t wear that! I’ll look like a harlot!”

I simply said “I will wear it if you will. I do sometimes wear it mum.” Shock! Horror! Mum gave me one of those looks that wiser older women give us younger “wild” women who dare to wear bright red nail-polish. It is a tolerant bemused look. It made me smile. I waited for her to say “where did I go wrong with you!?!” She refrained and smiled with me.

Pearly-white nail-polish mum, or peachy-pink perhaps?

She choose peachy-pink. A fine choice.

I massaged hand-cream into her fingers, into her hands and a little up her arms. She reminded me slightly of my cat when he becomes mesmerised when I stroke his glossy coat. Mum visibly relaxed. I realised how vital human touch is. Touch connects us, helps bring a sense of belonging and love.

I held each finger and carefully stroked the polish on, concentrating hard, determined to make a good job. I noticed she has fingers very like mine. Strong hands with long fingers, great for playing the piano. How could I have lived my whole life and not known I had fingers just like my mothers…

“Wave your hand around a little mum, help dry the polish”. And she did. And it was magic.

After I’d finished painting her nails, I painted mine, the same colour. I have no idea why. She quietly watched me. To celebrate our relatively successful mother-daughter beauty treatment, I then made us both a nice cup of tea.

Later, as I went to leave, she stretched out her frail arms. We gently hugged. I walked across the hospital car-park with tears rolling down my face. And a smile.

I had no idea that applying nail-polish could be so meaningful.

 

[In present time]

this is almost too difficult for me to read.
surely a sign of great writing.
but really, i am crying.
i can't do this, i have to be stronger.

 

[jenni with an eye]

Re: A shade of peachy-pink

I’m not a make-up kind of woman. I own some. I sometimes wear it. Mostly it sits in the drawer in the bathroom. I own nail-polish which gets applied on rare random occasions. Once upon a time, a life-time ago, I went to a beauty parlour in Shanghai, with a friend, to get our “nails done”. It remains the one and only time I have had my “nails done”. I have no desire to repeat the experience though if someone dragged me along to a beauty parlour I’d probably sit still long enough to indulge in such a girly activity.

I realise applying nail polish ain’t rocket science but I was a bit worried when I offered to paint my mothers finger-nails and she keenly accepted my offer. Committed, I packed a small bag with the equipment I thought I might need to be a pretend “nail-technician” for an evening at the hospital.

We commenced proceedings with me placing all my “nail technician” goodies on the trolley-table beside her bed. Moving slowly and deliberately so she could take it all in, I explained, “we have bright red, peachy-pink and a pearly-white shade”.

I showed her the bright red nail-polish. She exclaimed “I can’t wear that! I’ll look like a harlot!”

I simply said “I will wear it if you will. I do sometimes wear it mum.” Shock! Horror! Mum gave me one of those looks that wiser older women give us younger “wild” women who dare to wear bright red nail-polish. It is a tolerant bemused look. It made me smile. I waited for her to say “where did I go wrong with you!?!” She refrained and smiled with me.

Pearly-white nail-polish mum, or peachy-pink perhaps?

She choose peachy-pink. A fine choice.

I massaged hand-cream into her fingers, into her hands and a little up her arms. She reminded me slightly of my cat when he becomes mesmerised when I stroke his glossy coat. Mum visibly relaxed. I realised how vital human touch is. Touch connects us, helps bring a sense of belonging and love.

I held each finger and carefully stroked the polish on, concentrating hard, determined to make a good job. I noticed she has fingers very like mine. Strong hands with long fingers, great for playing the piano. How could I have lived my whole life and not known I had fingers just like my mothers…

“Wave your hand around a little mum, help dry the polish”. And she did. And it was magic.

After I’d finished painting her nails, I painted mine, the same colour. I have no idea why. She quietly watched me. To celebrate our relatively successful mother-daughter beauty treatment, I then made us both a nice cup of tea.

Later, as I went to leave, she stretched out her frail arms. We gently hugged. I walked across the hospital car-park with tears rolling down my face. And a smile.

I had no idea that applying nail-polish could be so meaningful.

Oh Sallydance, my heart goes out to you.

I do so understand what you are going through.....I walked a very similar road with my Mum.

I never talk about that time but reading this has brought back a flood of memories.

Sad & happy ones all at once.

I can only send you this & tell you my thoughts are with you & your Mum.

 

[The_Fixer]

When it is my time, I dearly hope someone like you is by my side.

What an emotional journey, so full of beauty as well.

Made even better by those with quality souls to be with you.

When I think of fine art now, I think of Sallydance...

You made me get all emotional too.

 

[Purple Rain]

Re: A shade of peachy-pink

I’m not a make-up kind of woman. I own some. I sometimes wear it. Mostly it sits in the drawer in the bathroom. I own nail-polish which gets applied on rare random occasions. Once upon a time, a life-time ago, I went to a beauty parlour in Shanghai, with a friend, to get our “nails done”. It remains the one and only time I have had my “nails done”. I have no desire to repeat the experience though if someone dragged me along to a beauty parlour I’d probably sit still long enough to indulge in such a girly activity.

I realise applying nail polish ain’t rocket science but I was a bit worried when I offered to paint my mothers finger-nails and she keenly accepted my offer. Committed, I packed a small bag with the equipment I thought I might need to be a pretend “nail-technician” for an evening at the hospital.

We commenced proceedings with me placing all my “nail technician” goodies on the trolley-table beside her bed. Moving slowly and deliberately so she could take it all in, I explained, “we have bright red, peachy-pink and a pearly-white shade”.

I showed her the bright red nail-polish. She exclaimed “I can’t wear that! I’ll look like a harlot!”

I simply said “I will wear it if you will. I do sometimes wear it mum.” Shock! Horror! Mum gave me one of those looks that wiser older women give us younger “wild” women who dare to wear bright red nail-polish. It is a tolerant bemused look. It made me smile. I waited for her to say “where did I go wrong with you!?!” She refrained and smiled with me.

Pearly-white nail-polish mum, or peachy-pink perhaps?

She choose peachy-pink. A fine choice.

I massaged hand-cream into her fingers, into her hands and a little up her arms. She reminded me slightly of my cat when he becomes mesmerised when I stroke his glossy coat. Mum visibly relaxed. I realised how vital human touch is. Touch connects us, helps bring a sense of belonging and love.

I held each finger and carefully stroked the polish on, concentrating hard, determined to make a good job. I noticed she has fingers very like mine. Strong hands with long fingers, great for playing the piano. How could I have lived my whole life and not known I had fingers just like my mothers…

“Wave your hand around a little mum, help dry the polish”. And she did. And it was magic.

After I’d finished painting her nails, I painted mine, the same colour. I have no idea why. She quietly watched me. To celebrate our relatively successful mother-daughter beauty treatment, I then made us both a nice cup of tea.

Later, as I went to leave, she stretched out her frail arms. We gently hugged. I walked across the hospital car-park with tears rolling down my face. And a smile.

I had no idea that applying nail-polish could be so meaningful.

What a beautiful and poignant vignette, Sally. I almost feel like I am there when you share some of these precious tender moments with your mum. Please give her my love and tell her your friends are thinking of her at this time.

Also, I think the peachy-pink was the perfect nail polish choice.

 

[mclovin]

Sally.... truly all I have are tears.... Tears of sadness for what happened, tears of joy for the revelations you are discovering from someone you truly love!

My mother passed in the same way, inoperable cancer, but with all the love/joy/sadness/compassion of her family by her side until she gently went to sleep for the last time.

Your ability to describe this experience and the courage to share it with us is truly inspiring, I have no words.

All my Love

McLovin