2011

October 1st. Mom wanted to smoke. I spent the morning getting the nurses to lift her into a wheel-bed. Her shattered hip, riddled with cancer, made this one venture to the garden an all-day event. I pushed her into the serene courtyard, under the canopy. Though the leaves were already turning, the sun was bright and warm. I unhooked her oxygen and helped her light the cigarette. She choked. She tried a second drag. She coughed, gasped and sputtered. Her collapsing lungs could no longer tolerate the habit that caused them to fail. She handed me the cigarette and said she'd try tomorrow. Then she threw up. 

She had no pleasure.

The nurses changed her clothes, wiped her up. The lift placed her back in her bed. I flipped through channels while she settled herself again. 700 marchers arrested crossing the Brooklyn Bridge. We are the 99%! The nurse turned up her oxygen. 

October 2nd. I arrived with Violet. I noticed Mom did not ask for a cigarette. We turned on the TV and Violet snuggled in the bed beside Mom's frail body. I turned to Treehouse, and they watched Dora the Explorer intently while Mom brushed Violet's curly hair, one of her favourite things to do. Suddenly Mom yelled, "Go help her! She lost the monkey, she lost the monkey!" I turned off the TV and tried to comfort her. Violet looked up at me, but said nothing, her four year old eyes full of confusion. When the doctor came I asked him what changed. I asked how much time. 

She had no time.

October 4th. I started my maternity leave. I balanced my visits with the obstetrician with dropping kids off at kindergarten and preschool, and visiting mom every moment I could. When I arrived in the mornings after kindergarten drop off, mom was always asleep. Little Violet liked to play in the kids area of the hospice. This moment was all to myself. I turned on the TV. 15,000 marchers in Lower Manhattan. We are teachers! We are the mothers! We are the nurses! We are the workers! We are the poor! We are the 99%!

The social worker came to ask if mom's affairs were in order. I explained that her lease was up in the summer, her few belongings were in storage. Her financials were in order; she had only one bank account, with no more than a thousand dollars in it. She inherited from her great-aunt the year before. It was the largest her bank account had ever been. 

She had no wealth.

October 10th. Before shift change, the nurse checked mom's vitals. She checked them again. Mom's breathing was changing. She suggested that we have the six  grandchildren in to say goodbyes. The last words she ever said were to the girls. I watched their brave little faces tell Grammy they love her. She strained to tell them she loved them, too. 

She had no strength.

October 12th. I dropped the kids off at a friend's house and went to the hospice. The doctor came in and checked her vitals. She had only hours. My husband, sisters and their husbands arrived. Mom's best friend asked if she could come for support. The seven of us waited, taking turns going to the garden for air. I flipped through the newspaper. Canadians were banding together. They would join the marchers on Saturday. They were rallying in major cities. They were making their signs. We are the 99%!  

She wouldn't make it to Saturday.

October 13th. At 12:08am, I held her hand and watched as the final air blew through her cracked lips. A friend she had made in hospice was lingering outside the door. He asked permission to say a traditional Indigenous prayer over her. The on-duty nurse came in and joined us. Nine of us held hands as Charlie spoke in his native tongue, then translated to English. Creator, please greet her. Bring her back home while she waits for those she loves. We cried together as we sent her away, out of the body that betrayed her. Out of a life that worked against her, that took her possessions and afforded her few worldly comforts.

They told stories about her. Her friend remembered the first time they met at school, as their children entered grade two. The nurse liked to sit with her and talk about the Food Network. Charlie would talk about Winnipeg with her. They loved her smile. Her easy laugh. Her loyal friendship. 

She was not alone.

The nurse said, "This room is so full of love. Most people in here don't have this kind of send off." 

October 15th. My sisters and I met at Ricky's to plan mom's funeral. One of Mom's favourite haunts, and right near the funeral home. While I waited for my sisters to arrive, I glanced at the TV. The subtitles read, '950 cities in 82 countries.... global occupy rallies.... representing the 99%....' Thousands of people gathered. We are the 99%! 

She had everything.