Signs of death. I wish someone would have shared these with me about six months ago. When Mom first went into the hospital. I didn’t realize that the signs could exhibit themselves months before the actual passing. Yet, when I looked at the list, I realized how many of them Mom had exhibited, and I simply didn’t know how to interpret what I was experiencing.

From Caring.com

“Loss of Appetite, excessive fatigue, physical weakness, disorientation, swelling in the feet and ankles.”

All of these signs Mom had weeks before her passing. It could be explained by different things such as medication, nightmares keeping her awake at night, lack of mobility, etc. But really what was happening was her body was slowing down and shutting down. I just didn’t know what to look for.

The day we were to move her, and she was unresponsive, the Hospice Doctor told us, “This may last until the end, or it’s entirely possible that in a few days, she’ll open her eyes and ask for bacon.” We laughed because Mom loved bacon. That’s exactly what she would want to have if she could. But the point was made. No one knows how long this stage will last. After much agonized debate, we made the decision to move Mom to The Hospice House, which specialized in impending death. The rooms felt more like bedrooms, and less like hospital rooms. The quality of care was in place, and we didn’t have to try to arrange to have someone come in. And she was leaving the hospital, which was her wish.

We moved her on Friday. She stayed unresponsive throughout the day and until evening. She awoke enough to kiss us each and tell us she loved us, and we kissed her and told her we loved her.

Yet another sign of death was being exhibited during the day. She began breathing through her mouth. Loudly.

From Caring.com

“Breath intakes and exhales become raggedy, irregular, and labored. A distinctive pattern called Cheyne-Stokes respiration might be heard: a loud, deep inhalation is followed by a pause of not breathing (apnea) for between five seconds to as long as a full minute, before a loud, deep breath resumes and again slowly peters out.

“Sometimes excessive secretions create loud, gurgling inhalations and exhalations that some people call a ‘death rattle.’”

She rallied again in the night. She woke up wondering where she was, admired the crown molding in the room, and demanded coffee and soup. But fell back asleep before it arrived.

My brother, my partner Leon and I arrived early the following morning, uncertain if Mom would still be alive. She was, but unresponsive. And she looked a little different. Her nails were bluish, and the nurse kept checking her feet for mottled veins. Her breathing was more labored and there were longer pauses between breaths.

We kissed her good morning, but there was no response. We watched her breathing, sensing that the end was near, but again, the health care workers kept saying you never know how long a person has.

At one point, I leaned over her and watched her mouth as she breathed. I asked my brother, “Do you see steam coming out of her mouth?” He looked but didn’t see anything. I found out later that was her spirit leaving.

Next, her chest was laboring up and down with the oxygen machine. But I kept watching her while sensing that nothing was really going in or out. It was just that her chest was moving.

My brother and I watched her take a very labored breath, and my brother left for a moment. When he came back in, I said, “I think we both saw her take her last breath. She hasn’t taken one since you left.”

Apparently the body will continue to function for a short time after the spirit has left. It’s like an automatic pilot. But no one told us that at the time.

So we sat numbly waiting for the rest of the family to arrive.

Maybe it wouldn’t have helped to know the signs of death ahead of time.

But possibly I might have been more aware about what I observed.

Maybe her death wouldn’t have felt like such a shock.

Or maybe it would have because that’s how death is.

Shocking.

I love you and miss you, Mom.