I have debated within myself and checked in with others and I have finally decided to write about what happened during the night Serenity left this world. In the past few posts, I have written things as though I were the only one in the room with her; while I feel as though I was alone, in actuality, her Mom was with us, dozing in the chair on the other side of Serenity's bed. I think it's safe to say, since she was sleeping, I pretty much was alone. The exact timeline and order in which things happened is pretty fuzzy, so forgive me if I don't have the details exactly as any of you may remember them; also, remember perspective is a strange thing. I was so inside my own head and heart, and so involved in making sure Serenity had someone, awake, to be with her when she passed, that I missed a lot of other things that were going on. I also am not re-reading whatever I've already posted previously, so forgive any repetition. I just need to get this out of me. Keith and Trinity are coming to visit tomorrow and I have been burying my grief and trying not to let it surface for so long, that I may bust when I see them if I don't write it all down.
Serenity and Dawn often communicated in sign language. At first, this was because they were teaching the babies to sign. Then, it was a way for them to talk over the noise of all the kids, or just to quietly let the other know they needed a refill or that one was leaving to go to the bathroom. That final night, after Serenity wasn't able to talk as well anymore, she used the sign for "water." Dawn immediately knew what she meant and got her water. For the rest of the night, after everyone else was gone, Suzanne and I were able to give her water as needed because of that sign. After Suzanne fell asleep, Serenity asked for water again. At this point, I was doing all the work because Serenity could barely suck or swallow. But she was SO thirsty, I had to try. The nurse had given us a sippy cup with an attached plastic straw, the kind you give toddlers. She wanted that sip of water so bad, but she couldn't do it that time. It ended up spilling on her shoulder and her eyes flew open and I could almost hear her saying something sarcastic about me finally spilling the water on her, after being the only one who didn't all night. :) I laughed out loud and apologized and dried her off. I was a nervous wreck, trying to make sure I was doing all that I could to keep her comfortable and taken care of and then spilling the water! A nurses assistant, Sylvia, finally came in the room to show me where a clean pillow was, since the pillow had suffered from the cold water too. I honestly can't tell you how I was able to hold it together as well as I did, knowing as I did, that she was going to pass sometime during the night. I helped Serenity drink water several times that night. A couple days later, the song #41 by DMB came on the radio while I was driving. One of the lyrics is "...i will bring water..." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sz9B3Eki0LI I was blaring the radio, singing along and suddenly, I was sobbing. I had to pull over. I was SO SO happy that I was able to bring her that water when she needed it, and so so grieving that she was gone and I wouldn't be able to bring her water ever again. Remembering it now, it's as if somehow, bringing the water to her was my offering in return for her gift of allowing me to stay with her until she left. I sat beside her bed, listening to her breathing, too anxious to fall asleep in case she needed anything. Throughout the night, or actually I should say morning, the requests for water slowed and finally I felt I could relax a bit. I had been told that people rarely will let go if anyone is in the room with them; as compelled as I was to stay with her, I felt I should make myself as undetectable as possible. I know that sounds silly, but I needed to stay and at the same time, I certainly didn't want to hinder whatever was coming. I propped her extra pillow up between her elbow and the bed rail, and slid down in my chair so she wouldn't feel like I was watching her. I put my feet up on her bed and drifted in and out. Suzanne had seemed to want the bathroom light on, but then it was shining directly on Serenity's face; I finally decided to turn it off, thinking Serenity might be a bit more comfy w/out the light shining in her eyes. I was so tired at that point, sometime after 3 in the morning, that I decided getting some sleep wouldn't be a bad idea. A while after I settled into my chair, listening for any change in her breathing, I heard soft sighing noises coming from Serenity; my first reflex reaction was to grab some water for her. Something held me back, almost as though someone were gently putting a hand on each of my shoulders. I overwhelmingly knew she didn't need water this time. I laid there, as still and quiet as I could be, my legs propped beside hers on the bed, the rest of me lying back in the chair. Suzanne was sound asleep. Serenity made a few more sweet sighing sounds, and then her breathing slowed and changed from the ragged, hard breaths she'd been taking all night, to softer, more relaxed breathing. There was a relaxed, comforting feeling now, and all the nervous anxiety I'd felt all night and morning began to fade. The sounds she had made were so similar to the happy baby noises that a nursling makes at her Mother's breast. I don't know exactly what time that was, just a bit after 4. That is when Serenity's soul left her body. She finally let go. Shortly after that, the nurse came in to check her vitals. I had been so protective of Serenity all that night, that when I asked the nurse why she needed blood, she misunderstood my intent. She promised me it wouldn't hurt Serenity. Well I already knew that, since Serenity wasn't in her body anymore. I realized she didn't get that Serenity was gone and so I just sat back and let it be. I'm going to let this be the end of this post. That is the sweet way I would like to remember Serenity's passing from this world. 
Disclaimer: just to remind anyone reading, this blog is for my own benefit, my own release. I choose to publish it in case it may help friends or strangers in whatever they are going through, and to open discussion to anyone who chooses to speak about what I write about. There is nothing graphic in these pages, but for those with good imaginations, or anyone who works in the medical field, you may not want to read the last paragraph or so, as I very briefly discuss my personal reaction to the resuscitation efforts that were made on my friend. Today just isn't getting any easier. On top of my very insistent grief pushing itself out of me, I also have a headache and an incredibly sore throat. My doctor upped my antidepressants, as a precaution, which I truly appreciate, and will adhere to, but I sure hate that taking chemicals is part of how I have to deal with hard times in my life. My almost 11 year old is not at all motivated to catch up on his math, even though we finally finished fractions and are moving onto geometry. My 8 and 5 year olds are insistent upon making as much noise as possible. And I can't figure out for the life of me how to get the dishes to take care of themselves. :) Laundry is going, with new detergent, because we've figured out Tyler is allergic to the detergent we'd been using...ALL is not good for us, causes major hives. On top of all this, something about the grieving is getting me very in touch with all of the anger that I have bottled up over time..and if you know me, you know that I don't seem to bottle too much up, but apparently, there's a lot in me that doesn't come out! I am still so mad at the nurse for insisting I leave the room when she brought the team in to resuscitate Serenity. I was really rude to that nurse, wouldn't let her hug me or comfort me after the fact, but mostly because if I hugged anyone, I knew I would fall apart! Plus, she kept going on and on about how she'd had cancer, had a double mastectomy, and didn't even really get sick; she was telling ME how guilty she felt working with dying patients on a cancer ward, never having had to go through anything more than some surgery and radiation. WHAT? Why would anyone do that? I was a distraught, barely held together bundle of hot nerves and she's looking for expiation from me?? One of my best friends in the whole world was in a room fighting to breathe and this nurse wants to go to confession with me? Nurse, you need to get a therapist and get off the cancer ward until you can deal with your stuff! Phew, I've been wanting to get that out! I actually went back to the hospital on the last day I was in Columbia, to apologize to that nurse for having been so angry with her; she wasn't there. I wish I hadn't had any issue with her, but I also just don't understand why she felt the need to confide these things in me. And to get right down to the heart of the matter, the real thing that I am so incredibly mad at myself for right now is actually letting Serenity go. I went in to be so strong, to be the one that could handle it, and I know it was needed, but now, after the fact, almost 2 weeks later, I want to just curl up and hide somewhere for being that person; why was I compelled to go there? Why was I compelled to reassure her that we'd all be OK with things, that we'd grieve, but in time, we would all be OK? I am NOT OK. And why, of all people, did I choose to be the one to call her husband and closest friends and family with the news that "she's gone"? Why? I don't know how I would have handled hearing someone elses voice tell me she'd gone; I was with her when her soul left her, before they ever came to resuscitate, before the dramatic hospital ending. I know she's at peace, I know she was truly happy to leave that beautiful, but cancer-ridden body. I KNOW that. The last thing that I've been so angry about is having been witness to the resuscitation efforts. I chose to be there, to listen to my intuition telling me not to leave her side; and I have no choice but to forgive myself for not listening when I was told to leave the room; I know now that no lay person could have been prepared to see those efforts in action. It is not like it is on t.v., which is the only experience I'd ever had with death and dying. I also know now that those truly were her wishes; she wanted to have every chance possible of kicking that cancer's ugly ass. She fought with every ounce she had in her, til the very last hour. :) I have learned and grown so much from having been through this experience, so many good things have come from it, but the very quickest thing I learned was that I truly need to practice listening and Doing what I am told by those that probably know better than me. 'Cause when they tell you to the leave the hospital room, believe you me, they are not just being polite. That's all for now.
I've been meaning to continue on with the story of Serenity's passing, but it seems my grieving is quite in the way of creating eloquent words for a not so eloquent situation. In the time just before and immediately following her death, I was somehow very grounded (with a little help my friends, hehe) and strong. I knew that I had been called by something stronger than anything before to be with her. From the first night (Wednesday the 13th) I drove up to Columbia, there was a twisting, churning in my stomach and a knot a bit higher up, that only calmed upon reaching Serenity's hospital room, and then staying there. Each time I felt overwhelmed by the need to cry aloud, leaving her side, the knot and the churning would return. My body has never before communicated so insistently and clearly with me, except during labor. I keep comparing, in my mind, and to those available to listen to me, this death story to a birth story. There really are so many similarities. The order of events is a bit jumbled in my memory, but here is what I can write of the rest of the story. As I have said to some of my friends, I felt as if somehow I was meant to be with her when she passed from this world into the next. I felt it needed to be me rather than anyone closer to her, and it needed to be me because somehow, I knew she needed to be let go and I knew I could let her go. On Wednesday night, Serenity and I spoke for hours. As I walked into her hospital room, she smilingly told me she'd heard I was having a rough time with her being in the hospital. I took my cue like a practiced star and explained to her all the reasons I was just perfectly fine with the situation and chided her for being concerned about any of the rest of us at this point in her life. I reminded her of how I had consciously chosen our friendship, knowing this would be how it would end. I talked to her about the look in a newborn's eyes and told her I had full faith that where those babies come from was where she was going; she whole heartedly agreed and then asked if, even though I was ready to let her go, what if she wasn't ready? I told her to hold on tight and if she made it through, then that'd be fantastic! Somewhere in there, her daughter was brought in to hug her goodnight. Trinity held her Mama so tightly and then began to cry. She knew, and even told me and Grandma Suzie later, that Serenity was leaving this world shortly. It was absolutely heart wrenching for Serenity to see Trinity so upset, so Keith quickly took her home. Soon after, Lesley also left. My knotted and twisted insides would not let me leave yet; Serenity spoke of the events in her daughter's life she would miss if she left. I agreed and gently reminded Serenity that most adult children have not gotten as much quality or quantity in the time department with their Mother's as Trinity has gotten with her. Nor had they had such a loving, available, present and wondrous Mother. I promised Serenity that Trinity would not remember this part of her life as a tragedy, but as a blessing, and that it would be the firm foundation that allows Trinity to grow into the caring, mature, loving, most awesome woman that she is already blossoming into. I cried with Serenity, damning the cancer and the unfairness of a world that would take a Mother from her daughter. We agreed on some adjectives for the situation that I won't record here. ;) Suffice it to say, we agreed it really SUCKS. And then we talked more about the wonderful community she had helped build for her daughter; a community of women and families that would continue to be there for Trinity & Keith for as long as they'd allow us to be. I had expected, that evening, to walk into the hospital room of a woman dying; instead, against everything that I'd previously intuited, in spite of my own better judgement, I left that hospital with renewed hope. I fought against that hope as hard as I could, remembering how I saw my role in being there. Yet, the hope wouldn't budge. It was there. Before I left the hospital that night, I watched as Serenity took herself to the bathroom, and then brushed her teeth, explaining to me how she couldn't stand the feel of her mouth if she didn't brush at night. I laughed with her and told her she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. She was glowing with the strength and peace that she'd always carried with her. So, at nearly 12:30 a.m., I left the hospital and Columbia and drove home in high spirits, crying and laughing and listening to Bill Cosby. I had hope again, and hope was all Serenity had ever needed before, would it be enough this time? I prayed so hard that I'd been wrong before in thinking we were finally at the end of the roller coaster ride. I cried and laughed and thought and prayed the whole way home, intently ignoring the twisting and knotting that had begun to grow again, and continued to grow the further I drove away from her. Was it denial? Was it just the strength I needed to carry me through what was to come? How could I have been so blind to what the odds should have been showing me? I called friends that I'd previously cried to and told them there was hope. I held my husband and told him I knew there was hope. I decided the nausea and the knot must be a virus or something. I certainly wouldn't tell anyone else about that, since a virus was the last thing in the world Serenity needed! Thursday passed in anxious anticipation while I waited, practically crawling inside the computer, to get a positive update from Keith, via facebook. I finally went to bed without the update. I woke up early on Friday and read Thursday night's update and a new one. The knot and the nausea returned and a new tightness formed in my chest. In the back of my mind, I remember thinking about false labor. False hope, false labor, roller coaster, I'm healthy, I'm sick, oh my gosh, I don't have the words to express how my emotions rocked and rolled and twisted and turned that morning. I received a phone call from a friend, who doesn't know any of the Columbia group, a little later Friday morning. She had read a copy of an update on Serenity. In the update, there was the tone of insistent hope, though the news was obviously the worst yet. That friend called me, and gently asked me if I knew there probably was no hope? She asked me if I knew that Serenity needed to be told it was ok to go. Could the Universe have spoken any more clearly than that? For a girl who needs to see things in black and white, no, it could not be any more clear than that. I needed to go. I began packing before I even knew what I was doing; I had no idea who would watch my kids, or what my husband's schedule was, how long I'd need to be gone, and I'd even been told Serenity didn't want anyone to see her. None of that mattered; I was going to be near, if not with my friend, that's all I knew, that's all I could focus on. I cleaned, I packed, and I prepared the kids for being w/out me for a bit. I told the older kids that our dear friend was dying and that I was going to be with her. We cried, we hugged, we went on with the day. More later.....off to therapy now. :)
