Exploring grief and loss in a complicated world
One Month Ago Today
My mother, Donna Lee Zimmerman, passed away at 11:20pm on Tuesday, December 18th 2007. She was under hospice care at Evergreen Hospital in Kirkland, Washington. Her pastor, my father and myself were with her when she died.
Only two weeks previous she'd been diagnosed with Stage IV cancer. The cancer was present in her lungs, liver, lymphatic system and bones. The initial prognosis was that with radiation and chemotherapy she might live for up to six months. We were hopeful and waiting to see some results from the radiation treatments. We watched for any sign that she might be improving. It seemed for a short time that she may have turned a corner--her breathing was not as labored and she had only one bout of respiratory distress during the night I spent with her. Then her condition worsened suddenly and the decision was made by her doctor to stop treating the cancer and focus on providing symptomatic relief only. It was painful enough to witness my mom's suffering. It was even harder to stop hoping for her and switch to a mode of merely making her comfortable and begin waiting for the inevitable.
Her condition declined rapidly over the next 48 hours, but despite the morphine and other drugs coursing through her she still had lucid periods. The most I could do was to hold her hand and tell her I loved her. Through it all I tried to hide my tears so as not to upset her. She grew weaker and less responsive until by Monday evening she was mostly unconscious and we were told by the doctor that it wouldn't be much longer. I had my hand on my mom's shoulder as she took her last breath. After she'd passed away I stayed with her in the room for some time. I closed her eyes, held her hand and spent several minutes sitting on the edge of her bed talking to her. They were all things I'd said to her before, but felt that I needed to say to her one last time.
One of the hardest things to cope with is how quickly all the events transpired. Two weeks after she was diagnosed she was gone. She had no symptoms aside from some shortness of breath a month or so prior to her diagnosis. There was still milk and produce in the fridge that she'd bought before leaving for the hospital. It's very difficult finding handwritten notes and reminders from my mom around the house dated December 12th, just five days before she died. It seems unreal and impossible that she isn't with us anymore.
This is without a doubt the most difficult experience of my life. I loved my mom dearly. She was an energetic, kind and giving woman who always put others before herself. My mom has always been my biggest supporter and a constant source of encouragement. I miss her terribly.
Only two weeks previous she'd been diagnosed with Stage IV cancer. The cancer was present in her lungs, liver, lymphatic system and bones. The initial prognosis was that with radiation and chemotherapy she might live for up to six months. We were hopeful and waiting to see some results from the radiation treatments. We watched for any sign that she might be improving. It seemed for a short time that she may have turned a corner--her breathing was not as labored and she had only one bout of respiratory distress during the night I spent with her. Then her condition worsened suddenly and the decision was made by her doctor to stop treating the cancer and focus on providing symptomatic relief only. It was painful enough to witness my mom's suffering. It was even harder to stop hoping for her and switch to a mode of merely making her comfortable and begin waiting for the inevitable.
Her condition declined rapidly over the next 48 hours, but despite the morphine and other drugs coursing through her she still had lucid periods. The most I could do was to hold her hand and tell her I loved her. Through it all I tried to hide my tears so as not to upset her. She grew weaker and less responsive until by Monday evening she was mostly unconscious and we were told by the doctor that it wouldn't be much longer. I had my hand on my mom's shoulder as she took her last breath. After she'd passed away I stayed with her in the room for some time. I closed her eyes, held her hand and spent several minutes sitting on the edge of her bed talking to her. They were all things I'd said to her before, but felt that I needed to say to her one last time.
One of the hardest things to cope with is how quickly all the events transpired. Two weeks after she was diagnosed she was gone. She had no symptoms aside from some shortness of breath a month or so prior to her diagnosis. There was still milk and produce in the fridge that she'd bought before leaving for the hospital. It's very difficult finding handwritten notes and reminders from my mom around the house dated December 12th, just five days before she died. It seems unreal and impossible that she isn't with us anymore.
This is without a doubt the most difficult experience of my life. I loved my mom dearly. She was an energetic, kind and giving woman who always put others before herself. My mom has always been my biggest supporter and a constant source of encouragement. I miss her terribly.
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