Now, I don’t really have much experience with death. I don’t come from a large family. I wasn’t close to grandparents, cousins, or anything. I’ve been fortunate that a vast majority of my friends are still around. And I live in a country where we don’t talk about death in a positive manner much… which may sound weird… but it’s something that we all experience, from one point of view or another, at some point in the timeline of life. Although I don’t have much experience with it, I kinda feel like the lessons I’ve learned on the topic were taught (and being taught) in an expediated night class that I’m court ordered to go to!
Being here with my Mom for the last three weeks is a completely different experience than being there with Kateri as I watched cancer destroy her body and take away her breath. I’m in a different role here in Idaho. I’m playing a different part… in a different scene… of a different movie. The subject may be the same, but it’s a version that I don’t quite have a handle on. Even though I already know how the movie is gonna end… it’s the final scene that’s still being written… and I’m having a pretty hard time with the writer. In all honesty, I kinda wish I could fire the writer… but I think they unionized a long time ago and have obtained… what’s that called?… tenure.
I am currently in the process of losing the most important person in my life. When Kateri died, that distinction shifted to my Mom. (Sorry… there’s a hierarchy and we’ve all got favorites.) In the last three weeks, I’ve learned a few things. One of the lessons I’ve learned is that losing Kateri sorta prepared me for the time when I will lose my mom. It kinda sucks to draw upon the memories of that time in my life, but it showed me just how rough life could get… and subsequently, that I would make it through. I mean, at the least… I’ve made it until today!… which is good enough.
Widower Notes n Thoughts:
- I’ve spent a lot of time in the last couple of days simply listening to my mom breath as I sit on the old wooden chair next to her bed. Every time she takes a breath, I count until her next one. 1, 2, 3… 1, 2, 3… 1, 2… 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7… 1, 2… 1, 2, 3… 1, 2……. 18… and so on and so on. I actually find it relaxing… until the counting continues into the teens and twenties… that sucks. I’m sure I’m trying to get a gauge on where we’re at in the process, but for the most part… I just wanna be there for my mom when she periodically opens her eyes. I can’t really stand the idea of her being by herself in her room in the final days of her life. I want her to see… to feel… just how much she is loved and that she is not going through this… alone.
- I started this post yesterday. Today, I began using a stopwatch as I sat on that wooden chair. Her breathing pattern has changed to the tune of take two breaths… a twenty-three second pause… take two breaths. Let me tell you… those pauses aren’t fun to hear.
- I’ve noticed that death has a smell. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s the same smell that filled the air when I was sitting with… and holding… Kateri.
- I’m tired. Physically, emotionally, and psychologically… exhausted. I don’t wanna think about leaving, because when I do it means that my mom will be gone. I wanna be here and I feel fortunate to have the opportunity to be here… but I’m also ready to be home.
Thirty Days of Mo(u)rning 
9 thoughts on “We All Die Differently…”
jennasnanny04
Darren. You are doing a truly beautiful thing for your Mom. No one wants to be or should be alone when they leave this world. I sat with my Dad thru the process and I am forever glad I did. Just hold her hand. I know she feels the peace and comfort you are giving.
I’m so sorry for all you’ve gone thru. You have a truly beautiful heart ( your Mom did a great job raising you) and thank you for sharing all your feelings and thoughts. We are all there with you in spirit.
Hugs….nancy
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Darren Lidstrom
Thank you Nancy. It’s hard and sad… and I try not to snort too loud when my nose gets all runny after trying to cry silently as I sit with her… but I hope she is comforted by my presence.
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Maggie
Darren, your words are very familiar to me. This waiting is something none of us cherish. I know you are thankful for the time to be there with your Mom. I agree with Nancy, you are good people and I think your Mom had a hand in that. I can only imagine how comforted she is by your presence. I am sending you and your family so much love. It is good to read your updates. It is a time of such complex emotions. Keeping you all in my thoughts.
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Darren Lidstrom
Oh my gosh Maggie… the waiting is simply rough! Much love to you… and thank you.
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Lauren
Darren, as I read your words it takes me right back to sitting with my mom in her last days. She had an oxygen machine for longer than her last days. I talked to her even when she was asleep. I held her hand and thanked her for raising me to be a strong woman. Death does have an aura and a smell.
At the very end, I softly told her it was OK to go. Her job here had been fulfilled. I told her she needed to kick my stepdad in the butt. She had told him repeatedly if he went before her she would meet him in the afterlife and kick him in the butt. (my sick humor at the time) A few minutes later, she took her last breath. I am sending such love and understanding to you and your family.
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Darren Lidstrom
I haven’t told my mom… and I didn’t tell Kateri… that it’s ok for them to go. I’m just one of those people, for whatever reason, who doesn’t feel comfortable doing that. I
kinda feel that when it’s their time… they know… and all we can do is show them we love them. My mom has a friend who passed away a couple of years ago who said she would save her a seat… and have a latte waiting for her. When my mom is ready for that latte… she’ll go. It sounds like your mom loved and listened to you… and I love the image of her kicking your step-dad in the butt! Thank you so much for the love… and much love to you, too.
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Lauren
I am sure you are doing exactly what is right for you and your mom. Holding you both in my heart.
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Elizabeth
You reminded me of the vigil my husband and his brothers had at his mother’s bedside. Not one of them wanted her to die alone. But she was a very private person and managed to slip away when one was home resting, one was getting coffee and one was in the hall! May you have peace at the end is my prayer for you.
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Darren Lidstrom
We can think about how we want these things to go, but in the end… sometimes it simply happens. I100% wanna be there when my mom takes her last breath, but I also have to accept the fact that she may pass away when I go to the bathroom…! I’m ok with that. At least I’m not 2,700 miles away.
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