October 1988

In 1988 my baby was 5 years old. My mom was living with us. She had breast cancer. I would take her to the doctor and make sure she had her treatments with the oncologist. I took her to her internist. I took her to the pharmacy and the grocery store and the bank and everywhere she needed. Our oldest was 15. There were six children. Life was very, very busy.

I just grabbed my journal and wanted to write some of the 'stuff' I was dealing with during the two years she lived with us.

27 Oct. 1988

I have recently been fighting an emotional battle. One that has troubled me this past 10 months. Trying to understand and work with my feelings about and towards my Mom hasn't been easy for me. I have a deep respectful, and tender love for Aunt Piney. But for my own Mother it's a very different kind of love. My conception of love I think I should feel for my own Mother just isn't there. I've chided myself for it over and again, I've prayed for strength, for a change of heart, for guidance and yet none of these things have happened. Finally, I've prayed for understanding of my feelings and a knowledge of love. I believe I have received an answer. Just as Heavenly Father has created this earth for us to dwell on (provided us with a place to live) and has done so out of Love for us, I too have shown love for my Mother by inviting her to live here. Also love comes in degrees and grows, line upon line, precept on precept.

When I was little my Mom was not the kind to come running when I was hurt. It's taken me quite a few years to see the need and literally make myself show even a bit of concern for my own children when they've been injured. I realize that a lot of my Mother's emotional stamina was tied up in and lost in her relationship with my Dad. I don't fault her for this. I just have had such a hard time reckoning my behavior. I don't care what kind of Mom my Mother was and yes I do know of her many attributes for which I'm deeply grateful, but I feel responsible for my behavior, for my feelings, for my attitude. I feel I will be held accountable to my Heavenly Father for my own attitudes, behavior, and actions. I feel I will have to make an accountability, to Him, come judgment day and that I cannot use the excuse, "But Mom always...". Finally I'm finding a measure of liberation-acceptance-tolerance and patience in general, more love for my Mother. For all of my feelings of failing and inadequacy at not loving my Mother more or showing her a greater measure of love. I have been so angry with myself for not being more, whatever I'm not being enough of and I've never been able to quite pin point that either. I'm not sure if I should wait on her hand and foot or what I'm supposed to do. Of what would be best for her, of what she needs most.

I've had such a hard time comprehending or accepting some things. Here she ran a house, canned, cleaned, washed, prepared meals, etc. and suddenly, when she's diagnosed with cancer she can't (but I unfairly wonder if it's won't) do much of anything for herself. There are many things I don't understand, I know. I write this more in the attitude of seeking understanding.

Diary entry for 11 July 1989

David has given Mom a blessing every time her health starts to go downhill. The kids pray at the blessing of each meal and in family prayer that her life will be extended. She was promised last June in a blessing that if she would quit smoking her life would be extended for a season. She has quit smoking, she is to be applauded and praised. She is going through Project Temple, she actually wants to receive her Endowments in the Temple! I haven't brought it up, I haven't been trying to talk her into it. The Elders Quorum President has been working with her on this and she's quite earnest. So we shall see. Perhaps she'll be around for another six months. I doubt it, but then I've seen her almost go home twice now and I know one of these times we won't be allowed to call her back. She's supposed to be working on getting her Patriarchal Blessing also. That ought to be interesting.

Diary entry January 1990

For the past two years I have had daily about the struggles within myself concerning my feelings about my mother. I have known that they were not Christ-like feelings. I profess being a Christian and have felt, to a degree, a hypocrite, as I've struggled. It has finally come to a head like a long overdue zit and has spurted forth, purged, is cleaned and ready for the final healing process. What a relief.

For two years I have prayed that my heart might be made right, that I might have these feelings (for which I have no name) taken from me, that I might feel towards my mother as I should and yet these feelings have remained with me, stuck in my craw. A high priest recently spoke in sacrament meeting and admonished us to go to our bishop and give him those things we felt we were struggling with. I did and felt a degree of peace from it. I believe that was the key unlocking the door but it was left to me to actually, physically turn the knob, work at it you might say and open the door.

About two months before mom died the Social Security office called to get some kind of verbal permission to sell her house in Austin (which she is or rather was a joint owner of), I suppose to recapture some of the funds they have spent on her medical expenses through the past two years. She told them to go ahead and do it if they could. Also, a week before she died they called again and she seemed to have to go through the same conversation with them. I just want to make note of it. Nothing has come of it so far.

Mom had gone in the hospital four weeks before Halloween. This was not uncommon. In the past two years she's been there for 3-7 days on an almost monthly basis. Although this past summer she was there only twice. She went in on Thursday afternoon. We later found out it was pneumonia again. Before I left for that evening she requested a blessing. The first for her. We normally asked her if she would like one, and then would follow her usual response, "that would be fine." I always felt that kind of response meant something like well if you want you can but I don't really care one way or the other.

Friday evening David and Brother Howard went over. I had asked David earlier to have whoever was going with him give the blessing for I was afraid that my feelings which I was always talking about to him in my trying to work things out could get in the way of the direction of the Spirit. From what I can ascertain, David said that Brother Howard gave the blessing. She was basically promised that it was up to her. That the Lord would extend her life for yet another season if she would pray for it and if she would covenant and promise to 'do those things in your patriarchal blessing' (namely temple work for her kindred dead).

David told me about it and it sounded to me like what the Lord would say but for some reason didn't sit easy with me. I suspect because it spells doom and I didn't have my feelings about my mom sorted out, so I wasn't ready for all of it.

The next evening I asked David for a blessing. He's always such a dear, good priesthood bearer and was more than happy to oblige. Basically the Lord told me that I was to tend to the needs of my family and not neglect them for my mother's sake anymore, that I had done "enough, more than enough" for my mother and that it was up to her now to make her own decisions and do for herself. It was time I stand back out of the way. I wonder now if I stood too far back. I think I made it over to the hospital to visit her about two thirds of the time she was in the hospital during what would be her last stay and some of those visits were quite short. When she started speaking in a negative manner I wouldn't want to stay any longer and would excuse myself.

During her three week stay she went through IV antibiotics, on to oral antibiotics with the fever rising, feeling miserable and achy all over, nausea, severe loss of appetite, diarrhea (from the antibiotics) no desire to live, would not get up and walk around, much less sit up, would not even request a wheelchair to get up and around. Her kidneys began shutting down, she was back on IV antibiotics and fluids and finally back to oral and was to be released to my care. Her last week in the hospital they must have taken three x-rays within one week and were sore amazed at how quickly the breast cancer in her lung had gone from 5 1/2 cm to literally fill the whole left lung. She was quite unhappy. She had begged and pleaded in the hospital, "I just want to die. Please dear God in heaven, let me die." She didn't tell me about how much the cancer had spread until two weeks later and she had wanted me to write to one of her friends for her. I think the nurses got her up to walk around a total of three times while she was in the hospital.

She was brought home by ambulance on Thursday, November 9. They brought her in on a stretcher but it wouldn't fit around the corner to the front door and so brought her the rest of the way in on a blanket. She really had lost her strength but unlike the stereotype I've always had with someone dying with cancer looking like a concentration camp prisoner she was still quite plump, good color and looked like she wasn't too uncomfortable, at least right at first she didn't look like she was in a great deal of pain.

Her first week home, because her writing was so terribly shaky, after she had signed a medical card I could see her writing was nearly illegible I volunteered to write letters to her friends for her, taking her dictation and allowing her to sign them. 24 letters later, I had writer's cramp and the job was complete. I'm glad, very glad now that I did that. It was one of those things I would have rather found excuses to put off for later but had felt strongly prompted almost pushed to make myself settle down and do it. It turns out the best and wisest course to have followed. Those of her friends who chose to respond quickly actually got a final reply from her. The rest... Their reply letters were written either two days before she died or a week after. All too late for her to read.

After a week of her lying in bed all day and all night I decided I should have to take it upon myself to be sure she was up in the wheelchair twice a day, minimum. David and I went to her room and the following conversation happened: "Mom you're destroying yourself. You need to get up, at least in the wheelchair. We love you too much to let you do this to yourself and want a commitment from you about how often you think you can handle getting up." "About twice. A week." "I think maybe you can do better than that. We were thinking more in the neighborhood of twice a day?" "I guess so. If I have to. If you're going to make me."

We also got a commitment for her to read in the Book of Mormon twice a day she volunteered for 10 min. each twice a day. I would have settled for 5 min. once a day.

The next morning it was time for her to be up. The kids were off to school and I was ready to do laundry. She had soiled herself when she used the bedpan and I needed to change her bedding. It took her a full half-hour to sit up, stand up, turn around and then plop into the wheelchair. This sorely tried my patience. I felt it was more of an emotional battle she was fighting me than a problem of weakness. I had her in the front room while I changed the sheets. After I finished I went to the kitchen to do the dishes.

She called me and said she wanted to go back to her room. In a matter-of-fact tone of voice I told her that would be fine, her bed was made and she knew where her room was. It took her 20 min. to go 10 feet. She called for help to get around the corner. I could tell that it might be difficult to negotiate that tight corner and consented to help her. It took her 10 min. to get halfway down the hall. The whole time I'm wondering to myself, should I do this for her. Will it cause more harm to expect her to do for herself or should I do this for her thus weakening her further? No one told me I should coddle and do everything for her. I really was having a battle within myself. I didn't know if I was being a mother abuser or not. It seemed to me she was stalling and I wondered why. Then the thought occurred to me that her home healthcare nurse was due in that morning and I wondered if she was stalling so her nurse would see the awful manner with which I was treating her, making her wheel herself back to her room. I wondered if mom thought perhaps Maureen would come whisking in and rescue her from my awful clutches.

Finally the doorbell rang. It was her nurse, Maureen. Using an unquiet voice, hiding nothing, I told her what I had done to my mother and she said, "Good that's exactly what she needs! I'm so proud of you. That's the best thing for her. It’s good exercise for her heart. She needs that." I was so relieved to know that. The nurse went down the hall, did her exam right there in the middle of the hall with mom in the wheelchair. She spoke pleasantly and lovingly the whole time and when she finished said, "I guess you’ll get back to your room when you want to."

Within 5 min. mom made it the rest of the way down the hall and was mostly turned when she needed help to get the rest of the way around the corner into her room! From then on it only took between five and 10 min. to get her up and into the wheelchair.

Later that week, mom said a lot of "I love yous" and she apologized for not being a better mother. I asked David for a blessing. I knew he would be leaving come midweek on a business trip and I felt I needed one before he left as I would have the total burden of my mom and children on my shoulders. Deep inside I was afraid she might die while he was gone and I would have to face all of the winding up scenes on my own. I reassured myself repeatedly that the Lord would not give me anything greater than I could bear and that my shoulders have been anointed with holy anointing oil and that I could too handle and cope with whatever came my way. In this blessing I received my first real report card from the Lord. Something I've wanted and prayed for repeatedly. How am I doing? Am I my doing well enough? Am I my striving hard enough etc.

Well this was the night I found out. My Father in Heaven told me that I was not to have contempt for my mother anymore that I was to put it away. (As the words were spoken I knew instantly that was in fact the feeling I had been feeling for my mother all along and in my mind I pleaded with the Lord that I don't want to feel this way, I'm sorry I want to change, I need help finding a way. But the answer did not come then to that question but rather to my desire for a report card). I was assured that He was well pleased with the care I had given my mother, with me in general that I had done so very much growing and changing in the past two years.

I think, because of the trials, struggles and tribulations I had been through having my mother living with us for the past two years, I had truly come to understand what a blessing really is. It is not necessarily material things, although it could be that too. But it is more often than not, growth, through the Spirit, within oneself, which is necessary for the sanctification and purification of one's soul to become pure enough and worthy enough to see Christ, to be like Christ, to take on His countenance. You cannot go to the store and buy a pound of purification. These are blessings that come from Him through His Spirit after much trial and tribulation. It is something you grow into. Something you work hard for.

This was also the week Janele was to meet with the other winners of the America's Freedom Festival Essay contest and go visit the governor, receive a copy of her essay with his signature on it, and shake his hand. David took the day as vacation, as did I and we went with her. She was asked to read her essay in front of the group. It was such an honorable day, we were so proud. And in the back of my mind, the whole day, I worried about my mother. We kept Joey out of school that day to watch her and fix her lunch (she loved Campbell Soup, not good for her with the sodium content and her congestive heart failure and sad kidney shape, but it was all she would eat.) He would be capable of calling 911 if there were an emergency, which is all I would be able to do. But still I worried. I felt that this honor for Janele was important and to not go was, in my thinking a neglect of my family. I decided I should go ahead and go. I did so and all was fine at home. 

That evening David was to leave for Comdex, a computer show in Las Vegas. Valtek was paying for the trip. If I went with him, we could have stayed with my good friend April, we could have gone to the Las Vegas Temple open house together as well as enjoyed the time at the computer show. The kids were old enough to watch each other for the 4 days we would be gone. But going there did not seem to me to be the right thing to do. I've had a very strong desire to go somewhere for a year now but we've not been able to and here was my opportunity, and at the time it felt to me like a chance for a break was being snatched away.

That's exactly how I felt about it at the time. Had I known my mother had 3 1/2 short weeks left I wouldn't have had a second thought about it. I so wanted to go but… Mom was my responsibility so I tried to smile through it and ask the Lord to bless us so that when it's all over, David and I could indeed have that time together. Perhaps in the summer with the kids we could go camping for a week. Something we had given up while mom lived with us. The altitude was always too hard on mom and she couldn't sleep in the sleeping bag on the ground and if she could get down, she couldn't get up again.

This was the week when my strugglings of the past two years really came to a head. It was Friday night. I knew David may return that evening or the next morning. I prayed fervently that night, as the house was still and calm. I begged and pleaded that the contempt, for surely I knew that was exactly what it was, I had felt for my mom would be taken from me and that I would no longer have those feelings. That I would have the understanding and knowledge of how to work it out. I told the Lord I did not know why I have those feelings but knew it was so. But I wanted them gone and worked out before my mom died so that I may stand blameless before the Judgment Bar that I might be clean and pure and holy and worthy of my Father's love. Then the words the Spirit was guiding me to pray quit. There was nothing more to pray. The words had flowed so freely and then had ended so abruptly. I ended the prayer. I waited. I felt an urging within me and knew not what to do or how to handle it. I went to the side of my bed and sat down. An overwhelming urge came to grab a pillow and hold it so very tight. Then the tears flowed, like water gushing through a damn long since held back and incidences of yesteryear came gushing back at me like stabbing flashes in my mind I saw a series of experiences and I cried out, "I didn't know I was rejected, I didn't realize that that's what it was all along. My mother had rejected me."

These are the things, the flashes, the understanding that came to me: when she was seven months pregnant with me, dad had been going to night school, stopping at the bar afterwards, flirting with a classmate that was a beautiful young blonde. She and he were planning to marry. She came to the house and saw my mom so pregnant. Mom told her she could have Curtis as long as they could support herself and her two children. The blonde left and never came back. Mom must have felt violated, threatened and knew that her marriage was in danger, perhaps felt a responsibility for it. The anger and fear of how to support two little kids on her own must have seethed within her.

I was born with severe club foot-my feet turned out at the ankles. This required casts while the bones were still soft to correct it . A blemished baby. In the old religious way of thinking-a curse. When the casts were removed, my legs needed exercise, physical therapy, to help the atrophied muscles regain strength. This required additional time demands on my mother who was having a hard time coping. Plus she had to deal with the embarrassment of taking her baby in public.

To intensify her misery and shame, I had a bad case of colic and screamed and cried all day and night. When dad came home late, mother was exhausted physically and emotionally, from my crying; dad said let her cry, I like the sound of her voice, it's beautiful. He never told mom her voice was beautiful. This merely fed her resentment towards me.

At six months mom started feeding me baby cereal, as per doctor's orders. Dad came into the kitchen, saw what she was doing and started yelling and screaming like a lunatic, pounding his fist on the solid oak wood table until a table leg, which had been loose, fell off. He picked it up and he hit her across the back with it, causing a small fracture in a vertebrae in her back. More resentment, frustration, feelings of failure which she slowly, unknowingly directed towards me.

All of these teachings came to me by the Spirit with a comprehension and understanding, and then the great, rich, full feeling of compassion came.

The next day I was able to talk with mom. Let her know how hurt I have felt about her accusing me of causing Barbara to be dumb by twisting the Johnny jump up swing hung in the doorway until it unscrewed from the door jam and she landed on her head, while she was outside visiting with the neighbor, though it was her own motherly-responsibility to not leave her children unattended. Of her accusing me of being insanely jealous of Barbara's curly hair so using her cigarette lighter to try to burn Barbara's beautiful curly hair when I was only four and Barbara was two years old-when she as the mother was responsible to keep her cigarette lighter out of the reach of children. especially while we were to take a nap in her bed and the lighter was on the nightstand next to the bed. Of having me do all the housework from age 8: as she sat and watched TV or wrote her letter to her mom or mother-in-law or to her friends. She had Barbara sitting doing nothing while I did all the chores. She would side with Barbara when she complained while I was vacuuming that the noise was making it so she couldn't hear the Saturday morning cartoons on the TV .

Mom apologized she said she hadn't realized that what she had done would cause me so much pain and hurt. I realized two things from this, one she knew what she had done and two, she was truly sorry.

Looking back now I realize that she has carried a very heavy load of guilt with her throughout her life knowing that what she had done was less than she could have. I don't believe she realized the total ramifications of what she did and did not do in her mothering. On the one hand, Barbara became so very emotionally weak and she as an adult had a hard time coping with life. She was only two years younger than myself and yet the doctors at the medical center had said emotionally at age 18 she going on 14. Like so many of life's ironies it was a two-edged sword or in this case a three edged one as it affected mom, Barbara and myself.

Because of the rejection I was forced to either become so weak and timid, so shy and vulnerable that I would be an empty shell or I would have to become a tower of strength. The Lord knew full well what He was doing, and I must have too when I first accepted this challenge, I'm sure with joy and rejoicing, the opportunity to be born of my mother. I must've thirsted even in the pre-mortal existence for the opportunities to gain that spiritual food, insights, and knowledge that would help purify me to the point of being worthy to enter His presence and dwell with Him eternally, whatever the price. And evidently for me this was a part of that price-to be raised in that kind of an environment and then to be given the opportunity at the other end of my mother's life to finish what had been started in my infancy. At this point I felt like a tulip which had struggled through the hard, cold, uncaring, and yet nurturing ground to get my head up in the full, warm, radiant and nurturing sunshine-blooming as a mother.

On Monday morning November 27 I had come to the decision that I would have to talk with my mom about yet another discrepancy between us. When I would come into her room and asked if she needed something to drink, more ice, or something to eat she would usually reply some soup would be fine, I'd like some ginger ale, yes more ice would be fine. I felt still that some of her old habits I saw in her since my youth were quite well intact and needed broken loose. So I said, "Mom I need you to say please and thank you when I offer you something or you ask for something. When you don't it weakens our relationship. If you treat me with more respect and courtesy I can reciprocate in kind." She looked saddened but said okay. I paused for a moment and always feeling guilty about teaching my mother, I found the scriptural references in my mind and reminded her that when Christ was hanging on the cross and suffering and in such great pain and agony, even as she was suffering at this point, that He was so very considerate and courteous and thought of His mortal mother and said, behold thy son and then turned to John the Beloved and said son behold thy mother.

It was a bit of a struggle for her and I had to wait patiently each time she requested something, say nothing just looking expectantly, as if I hadn't quite heard the request and then she would remember and use courtesy words. By that Tuesday evening we had pretty much so established this routine.

I couldn't tell just how much pain mom was in and so wasn't sure but had been warned by Ray Hutchings, the head discharge nurse, that the day would come that my mom would need morphine and eventually I would be taught how to give her morphine shots. I struggled with knowing when she would need it as she never cried out in pain.

Tuesday mid-morning I realized that she was feeling too miserable to try to get up so I called the doctor. She had mentioned several times over the past three days or so that she was in a great deal of pain. He prescribed morphine, afterwards I left to go to work. When I returned a couple hours later, I checked on her, puttered around the kitchen, called the doctor, found out I had to pick up her prescription (what a relief to know they were tablets and not shots) and left to get it. By 2 PM she had her first dose. She seemed more comfortable after that. Rested for a bit, but seemed quite energized by evening. I don't know if this was a final surge or if the pain had been sapping strength and now because of the morphine she had more strength. She called me into her room and talked a while. She said I love you several times, apologized again for not being a better mother, apologized for sometimes being short with me. She then asked if I would be jealous if she died in Pat's arms (Pat Botelho is a longtime friend, 24 years, and would be flying in from Fresno, due in by Thursday afternoon). I thought about that for a minute and decided there was no reason for me to be jealous and told her so. I thought to myself, that I had pictured in my mind and had the desire of being there with her when she did die. She had asked me the week before to be sure and call Maureen (home healthcare nurse) when she died to verify that she was gone. I suppose she was concerned I might try to bury her before she was gone. I had previously asked Maureen what I was supposed to do when she did die and was told it was her understanding that when there was a death in the home the police had to be called in.

During this time I felt like I spent a lot of my time and patience reminding mom to please put her oxygen back on. The doctor wanted her to wear it so she should. She would tell me "I just want to die". I would tell her not wearing her oxygen wouldn't make it happen any faster. That all that would do would be to muddle her thinking and make it so that neither she nor the kids could enjoy one another her last bit of life on earth. Then I'd ask if she wanted to cheat her grandkids of their grandma. She always accepted that and then for an hour or so would leave the oxygen on. It seemed like every time I checked on her it was either under her chin or over her forehead. The canula is made for the nose and somehow neither of the other two places she'd wear it did any good.

After she called me in and spoke with me she said she wanted to talk with David. I got him and he spoke with her for a good 10 min. or so. After he left the room I began, instinctively sending the kids in one a time. I told them that I didn't know how much longer grandma would live but that if they wanted to tell her that they loved her or appreciated her for anything that now would be a good time to. They did. They took turns and seemed quite happy about doing so. I sought David out and asked him if he had told her he loved her. No. I asked him how he would feel five years from now if she were to die before he had a chance to tell her. He didn't feel comfortable with the thought of not having expressed his love so when the children left her room he went back in again and did so.

By now it was bedtime (10:30 PM) and I was faced with the decision. She had her first dose of morphine at 2 PM and it could be administered every 8 to 12 hours. Which meant I could give her another one right then or wait until 2 a.m. in the morning I didn't relish the idea of setting my alarm, and it was possible she could sleep through the night but having my bedroom in the basement I wasn't sure I'd wake up if she were calling and in pain. I couldn't bear the thought of her being in pain and needing me and me not being able to hear her. So I asked her if she thought she needed the pain pill then or not. She seemed muddled and unable to decide. So I finally said why don't you, then you won't wake up in pain. She took it. And we all went to bed. When she was on the morphine and she always left her oxygen alone and she slept quite peacefully. In that respect it was a blessing.

Wednesday morning after I got the kids off to school I went into her room to start her medication. I had already checked on her two hours earlier but she seemed to be resting well so I didn't disturb her. But now it was time to start her meds for the day.. She seemed so drowsy. It reminded me of how she responded in the hospital when she had congestive heart failure. It was like she was in a semi-comatose state. She kept her eyes closed and seemed foggy and processing what was said to her and was very slow of speech, and what speech she uttered, was slurred. I was alarmed and called Ora Lee Palombo as she's an EMT. She came and checked her, suggested I call the doctor. I did, he thought it was just the effects of the morphine that it would wear off in a few more hours and that perhaps I should only give it to her once a day and then only if she were screaming in pain. I worked at the school that noon and came home to find her still in the same state. Finally around 3 PM, the kids were coming home from school and she still wasn't arousing so I called the doctor back. This time he indicated he thought it could be the cancer and that there was little we could do for her.

I tried to tell her that Patti Botello was coming. She said, mumbled, muddled, "no she isn't". I tried to get her to take some of her meds but she threw her arms up over her face in the defense posture and yelled "you're hurting me, don't hurt me." I wasn't even touching her and I told her so and that I couldn't be hurting her. She said, "Yes you are". I suppose she was in such pain inside that she instinctively tried to defend herself the only way she knew how. That night when I tried to give her her meds she spat them back out into my face, she didn't want them.

The next morning, Thursday morning, Maureen came to visit. Mom's urine was as dark as Coke and there had only been a couple hundred mL of output throughout the night. I called the doctor and Maureen talked with him. Mom had not had any more morphine and was still in the somewhat comatose state. And I couldn't get her to take her meds. When I could get some in her mouth she would spit them back out into my face. I broke my heart. Dr. spoke frankly to the nurse. Even if they were to put her back in the hospital and start IV fluids, what quality of life would she or could she have? At this point it was decided to stop all medications; she couldn't swallow any, and let her take the course she wanted. This was her expressed wish to her doctor and me.

Maureen finished taking care of her for the day and left. She left instructions to continue to try to get fluids down her though. I would stick the straw in her drink, put my finger over the top to keep it from draining back out of the straw and then release it into her mouth, slow but she could handle it, at least right at first she could. I spoke with a soft voice, slowly and reassured mom of my love and reminded her that Patti Botello would be coming to visit, that I would be picking her up that afternoon at the airport. She said, "No she wouldn't be", you have to remember her speech was quite slurred and very slow. I told her Patti had called on the phone and that I had her itinerary and then I'd be picking her up from the air port that afternoon.

I also had to stop that David's mom and dad’s to drop off the temple mints I had made for Tom and Jeanine's wedding reception (since their wedding was Friday a.m.), and also stop to pick up David's check, and drop it off at the bank. By the time I picked up his check, I realized that not only had I left Patti’s itinerary home, I hadn't even looked to see which airline she was coming in on. That information would have at least helped me know which terminal to go to. I got a bright idea. Janele would be home within 10 min., I asked David to call home, get the information from Janele and call mom and dad and leave a message with them. I kept trying to put it out of my mind as I drove to the bank and then on to David's parents house. When I got there I dropped the mints off, and used the bathroom and when asked if David had called, "Who? Why?" "Never mind, I have to go pick Patti up at the airport". Off I went.

I knew her plane had already landed. She had to be there somewhere. If I was looking for her and she was looking for me, surely our paths would cross eventually. I drove past the terminal entrances once and didn't see her, that's when the thought crossed my mind, what did she look like? It's been a good 20 years since I last saw her. I decided to drive past again and find the entrance for short-term parking. I did. Just as I passed it. (Dang!) Then as I was nearing the end of the first terminal entrances I felt prompted to slow down. That's when I heard over the PA system, "Alice Nelson Crown, please meet your party at the Delta ticket counter." That was exactly the information I needed. She was definitely there and Delta was where. I pulled up to the second terminal entrance to ask the cop who just happened to be walking past if I could just park there while I went in to get her, he stammered and started to say no but then I told him I had just heard the PA page so then he said okay. I went in, was directed to the white courtesy phone, contacted the operator, held on the line, and was in voice contact with Patti and voilà we were meeting.

That evening she ate dinner with mom. That is Patty eight and mom sipped a little soda pop in her somewhat comatose state. Patty was able to talk to mom and get responses when I asked Patty if she wanted some ginger ale with her dinner or water, as we usually drink water she said water would be fine. My mom mumbled, "Wan a ginger ale." After dinner was over Patti told her several times, "this is Patti, I'm here. I love you Dorothy, I love you mom." Mom mumbled back, I love you too. So Patti at least had the satisfaction of knowing that mom was cognizant of her being there and communicating with her. Mom had the satisfaction of knowing Patti did show up and that of all her friends the one who could, did come.

Friday mom was basically the same as Thursday. Saturday brought on a whole new situation. By afternoon the fluids in Mom’s lungs seemed to be building up to a point of in toleration. You could hear her rattling when she breathed. I feared the end was only an hour or less away.

Saturday afternoon we requested the Bishop to come over and he and David gave Mom a Blessing, a final blessing. She was blessed with peace and comfort and the strength she needed to do what she still had left to do.

That night her breathing was extremely slow and shallow, there was no more rattling though and this brought me some comfort at least. Patti checked her heart rate and she said it wasn't as strong as it had been, in fact she was having a hard time finding her pulse.

Before I could go to bed, I knelt down and said a prayer in mom's room. I know I was supposed to pray to have her released but I just couldn't say the words. I had a most profound impression that that's what I needed to do that I just couldn't. This was something I had never experienced before and had not spoken with anyone about it or the possibility of it or what to do at this point. I hadn't read anything about this either. I was, like a new parent, treading in unfamiliar waters.

Sunday morning I woke at 5 AM. I have been doing this instinctively for almost 2 weeks, I could never get back to sleep afterwards. I was contemplating whether I should find a substitute for my primary class or not. I was indecisive if mom would be okay if I went to church or not. By 5:22 AM I decided I couldn't get back to sleep so I might as well get up. I could make sure the kids were doing their Sunday morning papers, check on mom, and get my shower. Plus I had an overwhelming need to go to the bathroom.

I got up. Turned on John's light to wake him, then went upstairs, to rouse Janele from bed. Checked on mom. Sat and read the paper in her room for a while. Went to the bathroom. Went back in and read the paper some more. Again I had a strong feeling to pray. The only way I can describe this feeling is that a strong yearning, deep within my bowels was pulling at me to kneel and pray. Again I did. Again I could not bring myself to pray for her release. I begged she wouldn't have to suffer any more or longer than Father felt was needful. I prayed that she could do whatever it was the Lord wanted and that when the time was right she could pass peacefully on.

I held her hand again but as she was lying on her left side I had to reach across her abdomen to hold her hand and was concerned about applying pressure to her belly and thereby causing pain. So I only held her hand for a short period of time.

Her breathing was very shallow and I feared this would be the end. But I also knew that shallow breathing could last for a couple days or more so I used a bit of common sense and went in and took my shower.

Afterwards I went back to her room. Checked on her again. Sat down and tried to read the Church News, I always save the best part of the paper for last and had never set down on Saturday to read it. Her breathing seemed slower and slower. I was counting between breaths first it was 10 seconds, then 15. By 20 I stood and held her right hand again and slipped my left arm under her neck. Then it was 30, and then I could not perceive her breathing at all. Then I recalled her asking me to promise to not cry when she was gone. All I could think was that I loved her and I had come to know that she loved me.