As we celebrated Mother’s Day this month, I wanted to write a little bit about my mom.
Mom left her earthly body eleven years ago. When I was a rebellious teenager, we would argue about everything. Almost every day when she would drive me to school, we’d argue the whole way, and I would get out of the car angry and slam the door.
I know that as a teenager Mom wanted to be in show business. When she was 19, she auditioned for parts in musicals, but she believed she wasn’t chosen because she “wasn’t pretty enough.”
But she prepared me well: she gave me piano and violin lessons that taught me how to read music. This opened many opportunities for me, not only as a singer but also as a musician.
The years went by, and about ten years after my dad passed, Mom was no longer able to take care of herself, so I was obliged to move her to an assisted-living facility. But she was happy at her new home. It was comfortable and homey and everyone was friendly. I hired a private nurse for her so she would have more attention, and I went down to see her every four to six weeks so she wouldn’t think I had abandoned her.
After her nurse became sick, I brought Mom to the farm in Ormstown and tried to take care of her there. It was very difficult as I was on the road and working a lot. Once, she fell in the house, and I couldn’t lift her up by myself. I loved having her with me but had no choice but to move her into another facility.
It was not homey like the one in Jackson, but it was close by, and I could visit her when I wasn’t working. But sometimes she would be sitting alone with her head in her hands, crying. She didn’t know where she was and had no one to talk to. It was heartbreaking to see her like that.
Her hearing had deteriorated, and she couldn’t even hear my music anymore. After one year, she fell during the night. I don’t how long she was on the floor before they found her. By the time I got there, she was dressed by the orderly and waiting in the entrance in a wheelchair. The paramedics weren’t called.
It was a nightmare for both of us from that night on.
There were many ambulance trips to the States, where she was finally diagnosed with a broken neck and collar bone. I was told she could possibly get through it, but I knew in my heart that was not true.
I wanted to keep her with me for as long as possible, so I let them keep her alive. Mom survived six weeks of intense pain and suffering. I drove from Ormstown to Plattsburgh every day, except once when I had a gig up north and had to go by plane. I got the call when we landed that I needed to go to the hospital right away.
By the time I got there, they had her in a room for “end-of-life care.” Nurses would come in and insert needles into her veins. Then, one day, a young nurse came in and tried several times to find a vein, sticking the needle over and over into her hand.
For the first time in weeks, I heard my mother speak. She called my name, and said, “Nanette, I can’t take this anymore.” I immediately told the nurse to stop and remove everything she was plugged into. Within an hour, she was gone.
She was finally at peace. But I couldn’t cry; I had cried so much during the previous six weeks that I had no more tears left.
The one and only thing that we share with our mothers and never with anyone else, is a heartbeat, shared before we are born.
If you still have your mother with you, cherish her for the time she has left to spend with you.