Layla's Dark and Foreboding Weblog

Before you read this, I just wanted to say that I got permission from M to publish this. It's really very personal to him and his family, and I would never presume to just tell the world without his ok.

M’s mom passed away one week ago. M, me, M’s dad and his sister were all there in the room with her when it happened. From the moment we thought “not much longer” until her last breath was the most moving, humbling and life changing experience I’ve been through.

We brought her home to die on Saturday. She knew why she was coming home, she had agreed to hospice, and she was terrified. Absolutely terrified. On Saturday evening we all sort of sat around her bed and talked. She slept in her drug induced state, but heard everything. She would smile slightly or squeeze a hand to let us know that she was still there. We all were stumped as to what to say: “Uh, sorry you’re dying, I love you?” It’s tough. I saw the three of them, M, his dad and sister, going through their own private hell, feeling such guilt and sadness as they watched their beloved mother slip away, minute by minute. I caught M in a moment with her saying, “I love you…you have been such a good mother. I can only pass on what you’ve taught me to my own children. I’m sorry for being such a shit when I was a teenager. Thank you for everything. I’m going to take care of everyone, and we’ll all be ok…” It broke my heart like you can’t imagine.

We all had those talks with her that day. I found myself at a profound loss for words, for once in my life. I thanked her for raising such a wonderful son, and for welcoming me so warmly into their beautiful family. I told her that M and I were talking about starting a family. I told her that the wedding would go on no matter what, just as she requested. I told her that I would help take care of her husband, that M and I would be there all the time for him. And then I said that I couldn’t talk like this anymore, so I just read to her. I read her Yates and Christopher Marlowe and Shakespeare and Frost. She smiled when I got tongue twisted at the Sonnets. She didn’t speak at all that day, except to nod and shake her head. And when her daughter said, “Mom, did you hear Layla reading you poetry?", she lifted her head and said, “Thank you Layla!”. And she told us that she loved us. And then she never spoke another word.

On Sunday, we had family and friends come to talk with her and have their goodbyes, just a few people. Her breathing by this time was more labored, but she was still there, still squeezing our hands. The priest came in and gave last rites, which all of us were there for. Casseroles and trays of sweets started arriving that day. We went through about a gallon of Jack Daniels, a bottle of scotch, gin, and bourbon. About 15 bottles of wine. That was in one day. As the night wore on, her breathing got worse. At about 10pm, M and I decided we should stay there, so we ran home to get some clothes and the dog and drive back for a sleepless night in a lumpy bed.

At about 7:15 the next morning, M’s sister knocked on the door and said, “We have probably about 15 minutes until she’s gone.” We ran into the room and she hung on another hour or so. Her breaths coming once every 5 or 6 seconds, labored and painful sounding. The hospice nurse, who had been there for 12 hours already, said she was in no pain at all. At this point, she was being given liquid morphine, under the tongue, every 10 minutes or so. She took her very last breath, and at that moment, it felt like I was in a movie. You can literally see the color change in her skin in a seconds time. Like the soul just took off. At one point, as we were talking her through it, telling her that it was ok to let go, we were naming all of the people that would be waiting on the other side to bring her over: her dad, a good friend who recently died, Sneakers (the family dog), her father-in-law. At that point our dog started to let out this low growl, then started whimpering, then just howled. It was really fucking weird.

She was gone. Just like that. For a disease that took so long to kill her, the moment she said “enough”, it was a matter of hours. The family was inconsolable. I left them in with her, and made funeral plans.

We had her cremated and had a service this past Friday, which was attended by about 350 people. It was amazing. My mom came in for it, and M’s whole family too. We had a DVD made of about 50 pictures of her throughout her life, set to music. 3 of her friends spoke. It was a trainwreck. I’ve never heard so many people collectively sobbing at once.

Now, we leave for Mexico a week from Wednesday. It’s odd to plan a wedding and a funeral together. We’re all so excited to go, but it’s bittersweet, of course. She made us promise that no matter what happened, we would go ahead with plans. She bought pearls that she had planned on wearing with her outfit to the wedding, and now I’ll be wearing her pearls with my wedding gown. It will be good to get away, be surrounded by laughter and family and friends. This has really been a tough time in our lives. And a wonderful time. All at once. It’s hard to be sad and happy, equally, at the same time. I’m happy she’s out of pain, and got to see M and I married at our little home ceremony in August. We hardly told anyone we did it, but we knew that we wanted her to see us married, and that it was likely she wouldn't be accompanying us to Cabo. Thank God we did that. Thank. God.