The whole process was surreal. She was in a nursing home and had a stroke. We didn't want her to be alone, so I offered to sleep in a hospital bed next to hers until she died.
That week in the room with her was strange. She was non-responsive. I feel like I slept in the valley of the shadow of death. And you know what? I feared no evil. There was no evil, only death and dying. Death is not evil, it is just relentlessly sad.
My Mom was a devout, old-time Catholic. She once told me that the Prayer of St. Michael the Archangel was her favorite prayer and she wanted it read after she died. Within minutes of her last breath, I googled that Leonine prayer (written about 1886), stood up and told my siblings I was going to read it because she asked.
I was not the least bit familiar with this prayer. When I started reading it aloud I was a bit spooked, but I soldiered on. My siblings looked at me like they thought I'd lost my mind. Perhaps I had.
"Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil; May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; And do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen."
It seemed like a magical invocation. I was calling out the big guns, the ultimate bad ass, an angelic warrior named Michael! In doing so, I made a plea for her safety on that journey only the dead will take. Honestly, I don't think I COULD have read it out loud if I had been in my right mind.
Turns out Archangels have job descriptions. According to Wikipedia:
"Michael is the angel of death, carrying the souls of all the deceased to heaven. In this role Michael descends at the hour of death, and gives each soul the chance to redeem itself before passing; thus consternating the devil and his minions."
I didn't know this until today when I looked him up. My Mom would have known and believed. At the end, she deserved better than me, an agnostic drama queen.
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Beautiful. I too am agnostic. However I totally believe my St Benedict medal saved me from a more serious stroke and other medical issues. May St Michael make her journey peaceful.
ReplyDeleteBeing agnostic means you never have to say you believe for sure. Ha! I'm comfortable with that, because It's honestly how I feel. I just don't know. But she believed, and I was always one to play her game. Love is really something, isn't it?
DeleteYes. Beautiful, and I believe with all my heart in agnostic drama queen angels who step up in the precise moment they are needed and fulfill the wishes of their mothers (-:
ReplyDeleteYou are really such a kind person. Thank you for that.
DeleteAs a fellow agnostic drama queen, let me just say, I'd have been as perplexed as you were.
ReplyDeleteAh, then I'm in good company.
DeleteReligious faith is such a power. What a very caring service you did for your mother, stepping out of your personal comfort in more than one way.
ReplyDeleteMy wonderful very catholic mother in law had asked for her wrists to be slashed right after death and some in the family struggled with that thought and there was a bit of running around to get a doctor to do this but it was her wish.
That's a remarkable story about your mother-in-law. Wow! I've also been deeply moved by your recent posts about your father. Death and dying is also a transcendent power, unto itself. There is a strange beauty to it.
DeleteYou did the right thing. And I refuse to believe your mom deserved better than you. There's no such thing.
ReplyDeleteThank you!
DeleteWhat a beautiful act of love you did for your mom after her last breath. If there is such a thing as an afterlife she will remember this always.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Robin.
DeleteI've sat with two friends until they died. My own mother and I said good-bye the night before, and I left the final vigil to my sister. She finally was ready to come to terms with her mother and didn't need me listening in. I was sorry on the one hand, but grateful on the other.
ReplyDeleteIt was good of you to let your sister have those last moments.
DeleteShe asked you so you were the right one. It did not matter that you believed or not. She did.
ReplyDeleteI believe in the power of love.
Pat, my Hereford French teacher of about eight years, moved to a hospice when she was close to death. I asked her husband (a Quaker like Pat) if it was OK if I visited her there and he said yes it was. Later I discovered he had wanted me to speak at a Quaker meeting on her behalf but he discovered I had some vital appointment (I can't think what) and therefore never raised the subject with me. I'd have changed my diary if I could.
ReplyDeletePat looked terribly fragile and was clearly drifting into and out of consciousness. I held her hand. I had just started my singing lessons and I knew Pat had once been a member of a choir. I made a joky suggestion that I sing to her and - with surprising asperity and clearness of voice - she said she didn't want that. I liked her for that, saying, in effect, she didn't want "any bloody amateurs" although she would never have said "bloody". She was the gentlest of women.
I said how about I recited my late 96-year-old grandmother's favourite hymn (despite my atheism I have a remarkable memory for hymns). No response. So I went ahead, speaking quietly:
When I survey the wondrous cross,
On which the Prince of Glory died,
My richest gain I count but lost
And pour contempt on all my pride.
and on for several verses.
When I finished there was a pause, then in the tiniest of whispers, she said, "I liked that." For once in my life it seemed I had come close to acting gracefully.
I'm happy you had that opportunity.
DeleteYou fulfilled her final request and that's the act of a loving daughter. It's good you could do that for her. It's a special memory for you.
ReplyDeleteIt is.
DeleteI read my dad the 23rd Psalm as my dad lay comatose, in hopes that it would bring him some comfort, a man who never went to church but was afraid of going to hell for things he'd done in the war.
ReplyDeleteKind and loving act.
DeleteShe asked you to read that particular prayer and you did. Whether you're agnostic is neither here nor there.
ReplyDeleteIt's true!
DeleteColette, your mum surely got what she justly deserved, someone she knew who loved and cared for her who, in spite of being agnostic, was prepared to recite a prayer out loud for her.
ReplyDeleteThank you for that.
DeleteDear Colette, this is Arleen, formerly of Starting Over, Accepting Changes-Maybe just dropping in. I am very sorry for your loss of your Mom. Reading that prayer was an act of love, no matter the words, no matter your beliefs. A promise made; A promise kept.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Arleen. I miss your blog. I hope all is well for you and yours.
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