One of the not so great things about getting older is that we all have to watch our parents die. I wrote this tonight and wanted to share it.

My mother is dying.

The day has come where I can no longer deny that my mother is making the transition from life to death. Logically we all know there is a final day on the calendar for each and everyone of us.

Our grandparents and their peers die when we are young. We age into our parents and watch our parents become like our grandparents and no matter how weak and frail they become, we ignore the thought of the moment in time when we can no longer say another word to them and they not another word to us.

Many in my family have left this earth; each remains alive in my memory. Some of these people are now remembered by no one else; when I go, so will all mental images of these long departed friends and relatives.

Now my mother is in the hospital and I live 3,000 miles away. She can barely speak, she told me she cannot eat or drink anymore, her throat is closing, and her organs are shutting down. She knows the time has come and she is alone and afraid.

Each of us will be alone in the final moments. What will your final thought be? What will your final mental image be? What mental images will you leave behind?

I will go back to see her hopefully before she dies, yet I have no way to time the trip. She could die as I write this note or a week from now. Nobody can time the final minute in advance. What do you tell an employer who gives three days for funeral preparation, attendance, and grieving?

My mother’s name is Elaine Sloat. She was born on July 19, 1934 and grew up in Bogota, NJ. Her family were working class people who came from Ireland, England, and Germany and settled in New York State, later moving to the Bronx and then to NJ as so many did back in those days.

She fell in love at 19 with my father, who married her, gave her two children, and proceeded to neglect her for seven years. After being left for three weeks with no money, she packed the car and left the house to find a way for the three of us to survive.

She was a beautiful woman with a good heart, but she had no self-confidence. She always attracted drunks like my father and never found an unmarried man to love her. The emotional impact of how my father treated her never healed. Even after forty years, his name would inevitably come up in every conversation. I don’t think she ever loved any man as much as she loved him. She was taken advantage of by every man and every employer she ever had. They knew she was too naive to even understand just how short her end of the stick was.

She was raised a Catholic and remains a believer in the Christian God, even though he never gave her one single chance for happiness in life. Her happiness was making an occasional journey to Atlantic City to gamble ten dollars, eat a hot dog or an ice cream and sit on the boardwalk alone. Everywhere she went she would speak to anyone as if they were her good friend. Some would welcome the conversation and some would run away. She seemed to associate with all the down-trodden and otherwise invisible poor souls who we step over everyday.

She loved animals; her old cat will miss her. Many of the elderly ladies in her building will miss her. Her mother and grandmother lived to 87 and 93 and she is only 72. She loved sweets and refused to ever worry about her health. A few years ago, her legs developed a horrible and painful condition called Venus Insufficiency which is a fancy term for poor blood circulation. The skin and tissue on the lower legs actually dissolve, leaving what appears to be severe acid burns down to the bone. Words simply cannot describe what this disease looks like.

While Medicaid provided a great deal of health care services to her, it all seemed robotic. Twice a week her dressings were changed and every few months she was back in the hospital for another completely unsuccessful surgery. I often wondered if this was all just another money making opportunity and if she were wealthy maybe they would have given her treatments in a hyperbaric chamber and tried more advanced skin grafting techniques. While the symptoms were treated, I don’t think they ever looked at the cause, which was a weakening heart.

Although she was not overweight, I think her life long diet of junk food is taking her fifteen years before her time. After such a hard life, and a strong love of god, she was given the added burden of this severe pain and inability to walk.

Every one of her caregivers in the hospital or doctors office that I ever spoke to always told me they knew me before I called because my mother would talk a lot about me. They all liked my mother because she was friendly and kind to them and asked how they were doing. I want to say thank you to all the caregivers out there who work so hard and get so little in return. So many of these ladies are foreign born and they are good hearted souls. American materialism has not yet taken their love for mankind.

My mother Elaine is counting her final moments in a hospital bed. Her last wish is to be cremated and have her ashes buried with her mother and father. She thanked me for never giving her any trouble as a child and making her proud to have had both a wonderful boy and girl.

Give your Mom a call, she will be happy to hear from you. Talk to an old person, you just might learn something worth remembering.