Last Day of a Remarkable Life
By: Hawkeye Pete Egan B.
Tags: Love, Life, Death, Mothers, Memories

A Long Life, Always Full of Surprises

She’d lived 88 years, far exceeding all expectations, outliving Dad by 16 years, when everyone was certain he’d live much longer than her. We’d managed to keep her in her Independent Living 2-bedroom apartment by making sure one of us was always there with her, right up to that last weekend. It was what she really wanted, though she never said so. But, we knew her.

Just ten days before the end, after having been really under the weather for a couple days, Mom had come out of her bedroom and declared, “Let’s go out to eat!” She was always so full of surprises like that! We’d gone out to her favorite little Italian joint, Landolfi’s, run by a family from New Jersey, where she’d lived for 28 years before moving to Pawley’s Island.

The Best Three Hours Ever

She surprised us again, coming out of Landolfi’s after a wonderful lunch, when she said, “Let’s go to the beach!” We did, and spent a glorious 3 hours at the place she loved most to be. For those 3 hours, she was not dying — she was really living, beaming in all her glory. Those were just about the best 3 hours of my life, being there with Mom, my wife, and my sister-in-law, Dorothy. That day will remain forever frozen in a lovely little joy bubble of time.

But, the call from Jim signaled that Mom was right — it had only been 8 days since that day on the beach. Mom had gotten to the point where Dorothy wouldn’t be able to handle her in her apartment, so she had to be moved to the hospice house that day, and was pretty much out of it.

Mom on the left, with sister Flossie and her mom, Helen

Raining — Outside and Inside My Car

I wrapped a few things up here in Virginia, got in my car first thing Labor Day morning, and started driving south. I so hoped I would get there before she was gone. I don’t remember stopping at all on that 8 ½ hour drive, though I know I had to have stopped once for gas, and I’m sure a couple more times for bathroom breaks.

There was very little traffic on the road — unusual for Labor Day. It was raining, off and on, all day, both outside the car and on the inside. I just couldn’t help it, the tears would come flooding out as I drove and thought of my life with Mom.

I knew I wouldn’t even be alive but for her, and I don’t mean her giving birth to me. She had been able to show me there was a way out of the hell I found myself in at the age of 22, because she had once been in that same hell, and had found her way out at age 40. Anyone who knew me then, knew there was no way I’d have made it to 30, much less 40. I was washed up at 22. But she’d been there.

The Peace Room

When I got to the Hospice Home that evening, they showed me to her room there. There was a plaque right outside the room — it was dedicated to a man named Hamilton Peace, the grandfather of the only person Mom knew when she first moved down there 12 years earlier. It seemed so appropriate!

At first, I was afraid I was too late. I had walked into my father-in-law’s nursing home room 10 years before, and had just missed him before he’d died. The way mom’s head was back, and her mouth open and cheeks sunken, a chill went up my spine, until I heard her snore. ‘Oh good, she’s still alive’.

A hospice nurse came in, and said, “It’s time for her meds, but we don’t have to wake her. Do you want me to leave them with you, and you can give them to her when she wakes up?” I said sure. I was just so relieved she was still alive. I really wanted to be there with her.