A Compact Fearless Fighter
She stood just 4’-11’’tall when she was in good health and weighed in at 93lbs. She more than made up for her diminutive size with the will and determination of a boxing champion.
On October 17th 2012, my mother, Beatrice L. Dodson passed away. She was 87 years of age. She surrendered her ticket stub for the journey back home to her Source as well as ours.
Bea, as she preferred to be called, passed away while she was a resident of the Sherwood Healthcare Center in East Sacramento. We were compelled to place her there last year due to the combined difficulties of her health and cognitive issues arising from diabetes and Alzheimer’s disease.
Adapting to the environment of a nursing home was very difficult at first for mom. Filled with anger, fury and the inability to comprehend that she needed 24 hour around the clock care, and that she could no longer care for herself nor could dad alone provide for her needs. The folks at Sherwood worked with us from the get-go to make mom feel less threatened and more at ease while under their care. It was a thirteen month uphill battle but gradually the wonderful staff of Sherwood succeeded in making mom feel at home.
Part of what mom struggled with was accepting and allowing for the fact that she had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. She already knew that she had been living with diabetes for the past 15 or so years. In her mind, it was only the diabetes that was eating at her health and nothing else. She clung to this notion even though all of us around her had been witness to her profound cognitive decline, changes in her behaviors and changes in what came out of her mouth.
And so we watched mom transition through the stages. First denial, then anger and frustration, followed by depression and then, little by little, acceptance of what was.
Mom was a fighter and though of Mexican-American ancestry, appeared to have carried all of the lucky charm and good fortune of one who claims as much by virtue of their being Irish. On three different occasions, mother appeared to be declining in her weight, interest in food, struggling under her medications, and so was placed under Hospice Care. In each of the 3 occasions, mom eventually rallied, started to eat more, put on weight and increased her social interaction with those around her as well as her immediate cna’s and nurses.
Farewell Beforehand
Two days before she passed away, I received a call from the supervising senior nurse that mom was again shutting down, refusing all food, water and no longer responding to her care givers. I was strongly urged to get down to the nursing home which I did.
Once I entered the room, it was apparent by her labored breathing, the rice-crispy sound in her lungs and the vacant dolls-eyes look from under her eyelids that mom was laboring hard to hang on. I had the opportunity to spend two hours with her alone, stroking her hair, wiping down the perspiration from her brow and talking softly to her. Though she never moved nor responded outwardly in any way, I believe she could hear all of what I was saying to her.
I told her that we were all so proud of her in what she provided to us as a mother to her sons and as a wife and partner to dad.
I shared with her that she had fought a long and valiant fight with one disease that could not be won and the other disease that had already robbed her of so much of her health and energy.
I tenderly conveyed to her that it was OKAY to let go of the fight and the holding on. We all understood and urged her to LET GO and return home to her three sisters who had preceeded her in passing, to her mom and dad and beloved grandparents.
According to the experts, I guess what I was doing, what seemed to me as a natural flowing thing to do was to extend permission to mom to let go and to go home. The words just seemed to flow out of my mouth. I don’t recall thinking about what I was saying to her beforehand.
Her Last Rally
At the end of my time with her, I called my wife Penny, informing her of mom’s status. Penny listened and agreed to pick up dad and come quickly. I then called dad, gave him a quick rundown on how mom appeared and alerted him that Penny was going to pick him up.
While waiting for my wife and dad to arrive, a couple of the nurses popped in to check on how mom was doing. Quick glances to verify that she appeared unresponsive and shutting down.
Penny and dad arrived in about an hour. Dad was speaking to one of the nurses as he and Penny entered the room. Mom heard dad’s voice and slowly opened her eyes and turned her head his way as he lowered himself into a chair at her bedside. She managed a slight smile and a “Hello Honey,” to dad. This was dad’s invitation to lean over and give her a kiss. She kept her eyes open and kept her gaze upon dad as he talked to her for a short while. Mom exchanged a few words with dad in conversation.
Voices within a room carry very well at Sherwood, and since mom’s room was perhaps 20 feet away from the nurses’ station, the duty nurse could hear mom engaged with dad in conversation. The duty nurse made a beeline for the room followed by another one moments later. Each, glancing back and forth between Penny and I with quizical looks while taking in the chat between dad and mom who less than a half an hour before was unresponsive and appeared unconscious. What they were watching should not have been happening. Bea’s Irish luck again for a fourth time?
Gradually, mom fell off to sleep once more while dad talked to her. In a while she became slack-jawed. After a few minutes of observation, my dad couldn’t resist an attempt at humor. Dad glanced at me with a grin as he said, “Honey, that fly on the wall is going to make himself at home if you don’t close your mouth.” Mom didn’t react or move, but she closed her mouth in a snap. Dad grinned again, self-satisfied and content that she was still with us.
Next, brother Ken arrived and sat next to dad. Ken spoke to her for a few minutes. She didn’t respond to him until he offered her some water from her glass with a straw. That merited a positive nod of her head. With Ken’s help, mom managed to sip down perhaps one third of her small water-filled glass.
Ken next asked her if she’d like a Pepsi? An affirmative nod to that one. Dad glanced at me with a grin again, enchanted by the moment and the possibility that maybe...just one more time....mom was going to show off her amazing run of getting back up after a knockdown.
Ken disappeared down the hallway and returned moments later with a ice-cold bottle of Pepsi.
Through a straw, mom responded enthusiastically and sipped away. Ken and dad were exchanging big wide grins. What magic had they conjured up here?
Ken decided to go for broke. He asked mom if she’d like to have one of her high-energy milk shake drinks? The one that she seemed to prefer over any kind of solid food throughout her stay at Sherwood. The milk shake drink got the affirmative nod.
I broke away, went and retrieved one from the nurses station, and brought it back to Ken. The duty nurse followed me back to the room, further intrigued at what was going on with Beatrice. She, along with the rest of us watched as Ken succeeded in getting mom to sip away at maybe half of the kind of milk shake drink she could never get enough of.
While this was all going on...it hit me. Mom was staging this rally for dad and Ken. She and I had already had our private shared time earlier. Mom seemed to know that Ken and dad needed something more dramatic. We were witnessing her final performance: giving back a small measure of validation to two of her men-folk that needed attention in a different way than her eldest son. It was all ok by me.
Two days later, Penny received a call from Sherwood. Mom Dodson had passed away at 4:40 pm. on Wednesday October 17th 2012.
Mom had finally turned in her ticket to be punched for her journey home. God Bless You Mom.
We Love You and Admire Who You Were.
Jeff Dodson
October 30th 2012
