The Heart Remembers (When A Loved One Dies)

It's been two weeks since I took my mother to see her oldest brother who was in the hospital. Since my mom has dementia, I wasn't sure how she would react to seeing her brother in the hospital or even if she would understand that her brother had just had two brain surgeries and had miraculously survived two critical surgeries to his brain. I watched as my mom stared at her brother's head, the blood lines marking the surgeon's trail. I watched my mom's face and eyes as she tried to make sense of it all.  She didn't say much that day, except the usual "hi" upon entering the room and the "pretty good" answer when asked how she was doing. I've had to come to terms with her inability to carry a conversation any further than this.

So I chatted with my uncle that day, gladly elevating the headrest of his hospital bed so he could see us well and later lowering it back down when he didn't feel so well when we were ready to leave. I felt good that I had taken her to see him and prayed that she would remember the visit. Our visit was pleasant and I didn't expect any input into the conversation from my mother, except for the usual "goodbye" when we were leaving. But much to my surprise, after ten minutes or so of looking at her brother, with her eyes mirroring a reflection of the pain that my uncle must have been feeling, my mother spoke up and asked him,  "Does it hurt?" It's as if she felt every ounce of pain that must have been in my uncle's body that day. I realized then and there that my mom remembered something. It was going to be a good day, I thought. She remembered that blood-scarred incisions on a head signify pain; that the man in the bed was her older brother, with whom she had 77 years of life history; that we were in a hospital, where people are hurting and she remembered to express her concern with her question.

I was so excited and grateful for this good day.  My mom didn't say anything else except for the "goodbye" as we were leaving, but I felt as if she was present and understood that her brother was there, that he was expected to be released to a nursing home in a few days and that he survived some very serious surgeries. Yes, it was a good day.

Then he died the next day. I was in shock as in my mind, he had made it through the worst which were the two weeks prior and the eleven years of dialysis that he endured for so long. I was concerned about how and if my mother would know what was going on. Fortunately for both of us, my travel plans had been delayed due to weather, so I was there to tell my mother about his death.  Had my flight gone as scheduled, I would have been in-flight when my uncle died, on my way back to New York. 

Grateful that I was there to be the one to tell her,  I sat down next to her, grabbing her hand, staring into her eyes with deep sorrow and announced to her that I had some bad news. I had no idea if this day would be a "good day" where she would understand what was happening. I didn't even understand it as I was feeling that he looked pretty good yesterday, considering what he'd been through. I thought he had escaped death and was a real trooper, here for some more years longer.

My mom looked into my eyes with anxious anticipation and worry; the same look I had seen years before when her memory was sharp. I knew she was with me. I told her about her brother and cried with her as her eyes swelled up with tears. I felt her pain.  She took off her glasses, wiped her eyes and said, "But we just saw him yesterday.  He looked good yesterday." Shocked that she remembered, yet excited that I had my mom back in this moment, albeit under sad terms, we sat on that couch, holding each others' hands and remembered together the day before. Then she stared off in space, but I could see in her eyes that her heart was remembering her life with him. The pain and sadness in her eyes told the story.

Later that day as I was out running some errands, a staff member at the assisted living place where my mother now lives talked to my mom and noticed her sadness and spent some more time with her.  My mom opened up to her and told her "I can't believe he is gone." She talked about her life with him, how she was the only sister in a family of 3 brothers and how he had been the oldest. Her sorrow helped her heart remember. Thank you, Kate, for listening to her heart.

Days later at the wake and the subsequent funeral, she continued to know everyone.  The attendees were more than just family; many were long-time residents of the small Iowa town near where she grew up on a farm and later went to high school. Her eyes would light up when she saw someone she hadn't seen in a long time. While it was apparent to me that my mom remembered, it wasn't for many in attendance, as several people pulled me aside and asked me whether or not I thought she understood what was happening. So although it probably appeared to many who were there that she was not present in memory, I am absolutely positive that she knew what was happening.

Our hearts are very powerful, by the love we receive and give in our lives.  Although the extent of my mother's conversations continued to be "hi" with the answer "pretty good" when asked how she was, I heard her heart and her heart remembers. I am comforted in knowing that matters of the heart live on, reaffirming my determined and personal journey in love.