Ruth and Harry Harnish, August 17, 1946.
But, Dad was doing poorly. His regular Hospice nurse came on Friday morning. It was clear to her that Mom was also weaker and with Dad failing it was decided that either he needed to be moved or there needed to be someone with Mom 24/7. Moving Dad to a nursing home was not what Mom wanted. I decided to do what I could to help and to rally the other siblings and spouses to make it work for at least a short time.
Hospice trained me to prepare and administer Dad's medications. I got mentally pumped to be there and help as long as needed. As it turned out, Dad slipped away that very afternoon. He seemed to know me and his last bite to eat was his favorite; watermelon.
Mom was surprised, but rallied. She called Hospice and then the minister. She was weak but interacted with everyone. Later, as the funeral home person wheeled Dad out of the house she said, "I'll see you soon."
We had decided with the pastor that Dad's funeral would be Monday, Sept. 8. Saturday was a wirlwind: visit to the funeral home to make arrangements, pick casket, etc; then a visit to the florist where Mom was engaged enough to talk with the floral designer about her father. Mom had purchased old National Geographic magazines from his collection. She chatted in her "Ruth" style.
That afternoon we made her lie down, thinking she needed rest. She wouldn't stay down long. I noticed her losing some manual acuity and searching harder for words, but her husband had just died and she was weak. Who wouldn't be a bit confused?
Sunday we began to worry that she might be too weak to attend the funeral and she agreed to go to urgent care. We thought they might give her fluids to get some strength.
Tests showed dangerously low potassium and sodium levels. She was admitted to the hospital. The staff said if she was up to it she could have a "pass" for Monday's funeral, but would need to return to the hospital.
In the afternoon, Gracie and Tim were with her at the hospital while I continued with arrangements for the next day. Relatives were arriving. I went to see her Sunday evening. She seemed herself; a little apprehensive about Monday, but agreed with the plans. She was quite nervous about being able to remember names.
A tech came in to take a blood sample and she started quizzing him like she does with all people she meets: What's your name, Where do you live, Viroqua? That's a long way to drive, etc.
At about 9:30 pm I said good night and went "home" to get ready for the funeral and pack her clothes for the event. I stayed up too late with Jim pulling final photos for the photo board and reminiscing as we poured over the numerous albums. We went to bed on the front porch just like old times in the hot summer. The phone rang at 1:30 a.m. Mom had been moved to ICU, "an apparent seizure." We went immediately (10 min. away). She was not conscious. They had administered drugs. They thought it would take a while for her to wake up. We went home knowing she would not be at the funeral.
In the morning we checked in at the hospital. Mom was still not awake. We went to the church for the visitation before Dad's funeral. The hardest part was watching for people I did not know who were looking for Mom. (I live in another city and neither my brothers nor I had attended the church in many years.) I had to explain to people where she was.
The funeral and interment went smoothly. (My parents had each selected their preferred pastor, hymns, and passages to be read at the traditional Wisconsin Evangelical Lutheran Synod church.) The grandkids were the pallbearers. It was a warm fall day. I had prepared a short piece to say at the luncheon and started it with info on Mom. At that point we were still waiting for her to wake up. People came to the house. Nieces had travelled far. There was a progression of visits to the hospital, but Mom was never conscious.
Tuesday morning electrodes were attached to her skull to track brain activity. A call to the room from the neurologist reading the signals indicated that she was having continual seizures. He ordered two more stronger drugs to combat the seizures. Nothing changed.
By Wednesday morning we all knew that she would not awake and there was nothing else to be done. Mom was moved out of ICU to a private room where we stayed with her around the clock. My brothers took the night shifts and sister-in-law Gracie was set to do the next one. On Saturday, September 13 in the afternoon Aunt Phyl, Heather and I were chatting, standing on three sides of Mom's bed, and she stopped breathing. It was a peaceful moment. I know she wanted to be with Dad. I wish I believed that that's how it works. Many thoughts, questions, emotions and opinions swirl in my head about those last days. I think it could have gone better, but nothing will change the fact that she left us.
We arranged a second funeral. We knew the drill. More friends and relatives arrived; some cousins I hadn't seen in many years. A reunion is in the works.
I am learning much about beneficiaries and joint accounts and the little (and big) things we should all take care of. Two so close together complicates things for some institutions. Thank you, Mom, for being so organized. Your lists and files were perfect. You are an inspiration in so many ways.
I miss you. I catch myself paraphrasing my life, my days, and then I stop. Because you aren't there to read my emails. And I realize no one really cares what I'm doing on a daily basis like you did. Maybe there's some freedom in that fact, but also some loneliness. Good-bye. I wish we had had time after Dad died to travel together. But, that wasn't your plan, only mine. I miss you.
Marathon cribbage games with a running total of wins.
(They were about equal!)
