“Uncaged”

The call came quite early on a Tuesday morning, around 5:40 a.m. it was.  I had fallen into a restless sleep on the sectional couch in our great room with the phone right beside me, just in case the call did come.  I picked up the phone that morning before the end of the first ring, and the voice on the other end of the line told me that it was over now—Mama was gone. 

My mother was in the hospital ICU, where she had been on life support for several days.  Medical professionals said that she was brain dead from a lack of oxygen, and they suggested that she be taken off the ventilator.  So, the plan was for sedation to be gently lifted during the day on Monday, after which the doctor speculated that she would not last very long.  Before that was done, I asked to say goodbye to Mom via phone and, though they said that she appeared to be “gone,” a phone was placed near her ear.  I began to tell her how brave and strong she had been and how very much she was loved.  I was then told that her eyes opened and that she began to blink very rapidly, and shortly after that she was “gone” again.  I’m not sure what the medical experts in the room that day thought when those deep blue eyes opened and furiously fluttered, but I know what I thought—that our gracious God allowed me the profound and priceless privilege of knowing that my very last words to Mom were not spoken in vain but were indeed heard.   

I spoke those words to Mama on a Monday morning, less than 24 hours before she was “gone.”  And that very same Monday night, I decided to open a bottle of red wine that my dear neighbor had brought down to me.  My plan was to light a candle and pull out a flatbread cracker and have a communion of sorts as I prayed for as peaceful a passing as possible for my mother.  When I opened the wine that night, I did something that I was not accustomed to doing.  I slowed down and took the time to look at some words that I had glimpsed on the wine cork, and here is what I saw: “Gonna Drift to the Great Wide Open.  UNCAGED”.  The moment I saw those words, the corners of my mouth began to slowly turn up into a sort of smile, just as a few tears started to dampen my cheeks.  “Yes, that’s it!” I said in my head.  “Mom’s going to be uncaged!” 

No more strangers in facilities, no more doctors and hospitals, no more any “not-my-home” places and “not-my-people” people, no more irreparable broken back, no more “accidents” in bed, no more agonizing allover body pain (and refusing morphine), no more of any type of dementia, no more feelings of loneliness and abandonment, no more terrifying creatures crawling on wall or hanging from ceiling or threatening from footboard of hospital bed, no more day/nightmares of horrific things happening to loved ones, no more depression or anxiety, no more fears of being killed or dying, no more cages at all……..

Mom did surely drift into the “Great Wide Open.”  And while I can be thankful for that on some level, I am also profoundly sad as I begin to truly feel the void that she told me my whole life long that I would feel the day I lost my mama.  No matter your age or theirs when the loss happens, it is more than a little noteworthy and thus so very hard to capture in mere words.  But, if you’ve lived through it yourself, then you probably know exactly what I mean.  It is palpable; and as I begin to process this loss, I know I need to remind myself frequently that the loss is mine this time and not hers at all.  Mama is uncaged; and reminding myself of that does offer some level of comfort.  Peace and mercy were prayed for her/over her for so very long, and I believe that our most gracious God allowed my mother to find her way to both.  And that very peace and mercy of His is what I need to remember and cling to when I pour that lovely libation and bite down on that flatbread in front of a lit candle.