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Thank you, Kavish and niamh for your posts. May you both continue to heal.

My mother died on December 7. It took me many weeks just to be able to say that. I didn't want it to be that real. All I could think of for many days after were the things I didn’t do for her or could have done better or should not have done or said. For years, I had dreaded being somewhere else for her final moments. A friend of mine assured me there was nothing I could do to make that happen. I could dose off, go to the bathroom or be preparing a meal when… By some divine miracle, when I was doing paperwork for just 5 minutes with the hospice nurse, I slipped back into Mom’s room to get her Medicare card from her handbag. She had slipped into unconsciousness (not sleeping), and the nurse had told me she was “actively dying.” I looked at Mom, and her breathing which had been very rapid all day had eased. She opened her eyes and took two soft intakes of breath, and then closed her eyes. I ran to get the nurse. Then, the nurse examined her and said, “She’s gone.” I was there. I share this because you wanted so much to be with your father, and I so completely understand that. I moved from New York to Virginia last March to make sure I did whatever I could do so we could have that. I wanted to take you to that moment. I am sharing this also because, I got to do the two things I wanted to do, that Mom and I both wanted: that she would be at home as long as possible and that I would be with her. STILL, there is so much I have been tortured over. If only I had done a better job of caring for her. If only I had known more about making her comfortable and helping her to eat or drink. If only I had known what it would be like as she slowly ate and drank less and less and that there were more ways to keep her hydrated that I read in a newsletter that came a month later. If only I had said something when she said to me the day before that she thought she was dying. I said nothing. I couldn’t think of one single solitary thing to say. I looked at her, wiped a tear from her eye, held her hand, sat there with her and cried. I didn’t know if she was scared, although I imagine she was. I told my mother how much I loved her many times. I told her in every possible way that she was the best possible mother and human being. Yet, I can count many more ways in which I feel I failed her. I have run them through my mind a thousand times and cried and cried. All my friends and relatives have told me that I must stop beating myself up for all the things I thought I did not do. They are so right, but it doesn’t make any difference. The feelings are still there. There are a few things that are starting to help me ease the guilt. One is to just feel what I am feeling and not try to make it go away, or to muffle it, or explain it, or hide it. A day or so after the services, I wrote Mom a letter, asking her to forgive me for all those things. Then, I wrote a letter to God, asking him to forgive me. Then I remembered an incident about 10 days before she died when I did a terrible job of moving her on the bed, and she ended up in a truly awkward position. I was just undone and asked her to forgive me. She looked at me with a frown and a hint of a smile, as only a mother can do, as if to say, “What is there to forgive you for? You are my child.” I have gone over each thing I feel guilty about, one by one. I am beginning to realize that I really have to forgive myself. Neither God, nor my mother blames me for anything. Little by little, I have started to see that if I had done things differently, there is no way possibly to know that it would have changed anything. I keep reminding myself of that. Feeling bad about what I did is so familiar and comfortable in this time when everything is so strange, unfamiliar and uncomfortable. I think sometimes I am afraid that if I stop feeling the guilt that I will let her go, and I don’t want to do that. I am beginning, just beginning, to find the courage to love that I love my mother so much and to love I baked her enormous chocolate cake (her favorite) for Thanksgiving that she could not possibly eat. She appreciated it a lot. This was a very long post, but your message touched me. Thank you.

My mother died less than a week ago. She was at home, which is what she wanted. I was her caregiver for 8 months. I came here from New York to be with her and to care for her. She was 86 years old and in a progressively weakenening state. In the last week, she was in a lot of pain. I was with her when she died, and the nurse told me she was gone. There was an hour of blankness as the EMS and police asked questions. Then my cousin and sister-in-law arrived with my teenaged niece and nephew. My brother arrived the next day. Then came a flurry of preparations, decisions, the work of writing the obituary, choosing photos for a memorial video, creating the ceremony, being with the sadness of her grandchildren, choosing her closes, viewing her, visitors, calls, flowers..so much activity..not a moment to reflect. I am surrounded by family members who helped with everything. Her funeral was Saturday, two days ago. Now, I am in her home alone, trying to sort out what happened. None of it seems real. Last night, I wrote out the details of her last two days. They were starting to fade, and I want to remember. I moved here to take care of her, and now that job is done. We said all there was to say to each other. She was the most extraordinary person I have ever encountered, supportive, smart, beautiful, courageous, successful, proud of her family, and my best friend. She lived a full and beautiful life, raising me and my three brothers after my father died 41 years ago and creating a new life fr herself, a life of great personal and professional achievement. She is not "gone" for me, though she is not in her room. There is no bickering among the family about anything. My friends are wonderfully understanding. I have people to talk to every day...dozens of them if I want. There are many many things to do, and I think I may take another day of doing nothing. I have had perhaps 3 or 4 days off in these 8 months. I am still trying to figure out what happened.