she was 95, healthy, and worked as a nurse practitioner until 90 yrs old.
i believe she had a pathological fracture of the acetablum in the left hip. I am also a nurse, left my job and stayed by her side 24/7 for 4 weeks from start to finish- hospital, rehab, back to hospital due to severe GI BLEED from lovenox ( blood thinner) and hospice.
i watched my mom, my heroin life , deteriorate in front of my eyes. I was finally allowed to be her daughter once we got to hospice and not the nurse. I could not let her go. The last day she was slowly becoming unresponsive. The nurses and Priest said she was hanging on because any mother wouldn't be able to leave with her child in so much despair.They asked me to leave so she could pass peacefully. I am a hospice RN, deal with this everyday, I just could not let go. I was not ready- HOW WILL I LIVE WITHOUT MY MOM. Finally at 2am the night nurse came to me and said Chris- inside I know you know, her soul isn't leaving because you're here and she can't bear leaving you like this. I left at 2Am, MY MOM PASSES AT 2:10AM
I AM INCONSOLABLE
I AM BACK AT WORK BUT NUMB, I LOST MY FAITH AND FEEL LIKE IM OUTSIDE LOOKING IN.
Grieving is such a personal thing, even though most of us go through it sometime. Many of us live long enough to grieve for many.
The news of my father's passing came to me as a simple, two-word text message from my brother - "He's gone." I was riding the Frontrunner train, part of our Utah Transit Authority public transportation system, to join the family at his house, as I had done most mornings for weeks. Sometimes, I drove and sometimes I rode Frontrunner and buses to get there. As I learned later, even if I had driven that morning, I would have missed being there at the end, since my sister had gotten up about 6:30 and he was already gone when she went in to check on him.
I didn't grieve right away in the way others have seemed to grieve. I know that he had a great life filled with all manner of delights and setbacks that made him stronger. The last thing I said to him the day before was "I love you, Dad! I'll see you tomorrow."
We were so lucky to have him around and fully capable for all but the last few months of his 100 years. Even after his legs would no longer carry him without help, his mind seemed still strong and engaged right up to within hours of his passing.
Grieving is personal. The depth of that grieving is also personal. The closest thing any manual might come to filling the void would be to say that there is no filling the void. Each of us feels that in an individual way for a time of our own choosing according to our own feelings. We don't get over it, we just learn to walk our path and remember what it was like to walk that path hand-in-hand and to have that other hand lift us up when we needed it.
I wish you comfort in this new role as the surviving daughter. I hope you will revel in the memories of your mother and that those memories will help you realize how much strength you have to get through this and to grieve as deeply as you need to in order to get back up and carry on.