An End-of-Life Conversation from the Gates of Heaven

The importance of End-of-Life conversations and plans…

This is a story of a great gift at the most daunting and difficult moment of my husband, Barry’s, life; deciding whether his Mom, our beloved Flo, would live or die.

To understand the depth of this moment, you need to know Flo herself.

Flo was the middle child of three daughters, born in 1919 (as her Mom told it, in the attic of the home she was living in at the time). For many reasons and circumstances far beyond her control, Flo did not have an easy childhood. Flo would spend her adult life showering her husband, her three boys and anyone who’d let her, with love and care and gifts and surprises beyond imagination, making up to everyone else what she had missed as a child.  Flo didn’t do these things with money; she did these things with love.

Barry is the middle child of Flo’s three boys.  To say she had a sparkle in her eye for Barry is an understatement.  He’s the one who taunted her, teased her, laughed at her jokes, loved her gifts of food, called her, multiple times, every single day, and made her roar with laughter.  One of the reasons I fell in love with Barry is the love he had for his Mom.  Don’t get me wrong, though; Barry was not a “mama’s boy”, but rather a man who brought both crazy and calm to any situation.  He still does.  Flo loved the “crazy fun” Barry as well as the calm, reliable Barry.

Flo and I were just about polar-opposites.  I always found this interesting; that Barry could love this bigger-than-life, whirlwind of a woman who loved him and raised him, and yet fall in love and marry a woman who taught high-school English and Reading and had no need for the limelight.  There would even be times when Flo and I would lock horns, like when she picked out holiday clothing (oh, my) for our two daughters (remember, Flo never had daughters!) without asking me or the girls, or when Flo would cook entire meals to bring to our home when invited for a meal or party because she didn’t really trust me to put on a pah-ty.  Oh, my.  But Flo always called me dah-lin’.

But I loved and adored Flo, learning more from her about life and love (and entertaining) than there are words to describe these things.  When Flo died, Barry and his younger brother, Rick, asked that I write and deliver her eulogy;  it was that deep kind of love.  It was the greatest honor and yet most emotionally difficult thing I’ve done in my life. The first words of my eulogy were these:

Our wonderful whirlwind of a Mom, a mother-in-law, Nana, great-Nana-Flo, Auntie Flo or a special friend; Flo has been gone for less than three days, and already none of us can imagine life without this marvel of a woman.  This bigger-than-life persona.  This dynamo of energy.  If anyone has ever left this world with big shoes to fill, it’s Flo.  89 1/2 years of memories, laughter, feasts, parties, celebrations… and more love than is imaginable.  Flo did not tread lightly through life.  She immersed herself in each moment, each hour, each day.  Flo never wasted time.  She had no patience for it.  If she wasn’t cooking or baking or volunteering, she was planning a party, an event, a card game… or sewing, crocheting or reading.  Flo’s hands and mind were never idle.  And it is this energy… this pizazz, this joy for life and love of family that leave our hearts aching for more.  I honestly think none of us ever expected Flo to leave.  

But I get ahead of myself.

Flo lived and lived and lived some more.  She was living on her own in an independent senior housing complex until she got sick, at age 89 and a half.  She cooked and cleaned and knitted lovely little things.  She devoured books and decorated for holidays and had people for dinner.  She ran bazaars and charity events at her women’s club.  She bowled well into her 80’s.  She doted on her grandchildren, and there were no children born as good or as beautiful as her great-grandchildren; when Flo died, she would leave 3 great-granddaughters and 12 great-grandsons.

But it wasn’t the living, it’s the dying that got complicated.

Flo entered a local  hospital at the end of June 2008 with asthma symptoms.  Barry and I were with her all that day in the emergency room and until she was given a room late that evening.  She was joking, happy, ornery at times… her feisty self.  The asthma may have been a precursor to lung problems and heart problems, which lead to a pace-maker, which led to complications.  By the end of July, Flo was up-to-here with hospitals, doctors, nurses, medical care, hospital food.

By the beginning of August, Flo took a turn for the worse.  She was admitted to a coronary care unit and heavily medicated for pain.  Barry and I spent every waking moment possible with her, holding her hands, helping her eat, watching her slip away… but always expecting her to turn-the-corner and begin berating the hospital staff for the lousy food.  We all did.

One night, as Barry and I sat with Flo, her physician gently pulled back the curtain and entered her area. I saw his face.  I knew.  Barry asked every question imaginable.  The answers were all the same:  Your Mom is not getting better. Your Mom is not coming back.  The last question Barry asked still rings in my ears… What would you do if this was your Mom’s situation?

The answer:  Let her go.  We will put her on comfort measures when you feel you can.  Then let her go.

The problem was Flo.  This bigger-than-life, feisty, whirlwind of a woman.  Flo.  Flo can’t die.  She was already planning her 90th birthday pah-ty for March of 2009.

Our minds flooding with pain, Barry and I left the hospital.  Barry, heartbroken, honestly did not know what to do.  He knew he was the Executor of Flo’s will, but they had not discussed end-of-life plans.  We knew how much Flo loved life and loved her family.  We knew she would never want to go.  But Barry did remember that Flo had directed him to a small strongbox in the back of her pantry closet should anything happen to her.  We drove, silently, to Flo’s apartment.  We found the box.  Inside the strongbox, we found, among lots of personal documents, loving notes from her, photographs… a living will, an obituary photo and funeral directives.

The living will instructed Barry to not keep her alive using extraordinary measures.

Flo’s last great gift, her last great surprise, her last great measure of love were these End-of-Life instructions, in black & white, signed, sealed and delivered right from the very Gates of Heaven.

Barry was given permission from his Mom to allow her to pass, with dignity, at her earthly life’s end.

The next morning, Barry returned this gift to his Mom, and with Barry, his brother Rick and our two sons, Keith and Adam, and me at her bedside, Flo passed right through those Gates of Heaven within 30 minutes of ending her earthly pain…

Barry and his Mom, Flo – 1990

4 and a half years later, all of us combined still cannot begin to fill Flo’s shoes… but we try.  We try.

I will always love Flo.  I keep Flo’s memory alive every day, using her recipes, using her party things, gifting my family with beautiful stories of Flo and things I learned from Flo… and especially as I teach our 9 grandkids about their feisty character of a great-grandmother.

But that last gift?  Classic Flo.  I know she’s laughing as I write this post and probably just a bit irritated that Barry and I don’t have our End-of-Life conversations and plans in order.

We will, dah-lin’.  I promise, we will.

Please take Flo’s path and begin/plan the gift of End-of-Life conversations with your parents and with your children; for assistance, visit aarp’s Caregiving Resource Center.

 

If you are a caregiver or know a caregiver, please visit/refer to aarp.com/caregiving for caregiving resources.

I am a member of AARP’s Kitchen Cabinet on Caregiving and Caresupport.  I am not receiving compensation of any kind for my opinions/viewsNovember is NATIONAL FAMILY CAREGIVERS MONTH and I am helping to get the word out about elder care issues. 

 

 

About Audrey

Audrey McClelland has been a digital influencer since 2005. She’s a mom of 5 and shares tips on her three favorite things: parenting, fashion and beauty. She’s also a Contemporary Romance Author.

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4 Comments

  1. 11.21.12
    Erin said:

    This is beautiful and such a strong Lessing. Thank you for sharing your memories of Flo. She was wise. (And I’d love to hear more about the holiday outfits that you locked horns over!)

  2. 11.21.12
    admin said:

    Thank you, Erin. Your words mean everything. Oh, I WILL share! xo!

  3. 11.21.12
    Jane said:

    There will only ever be one Flo. I’m so lucky to have had her as my Nana. This is beautiful, Mom. xxoo

  4. 11.21.12
    Dad said:

    I think you each had each other pegged…
    how lucky am I!!!!!!

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