Epiphany...

Friday came in the blink of an eye and I arrived ten minutes early for the meeting at the extended care facility where Mom lived two years prior to her passing. I had been her advocate. She used to think I could leap tall buildings. But I abandoned my superhero apparel months ago. Instead, I wore my long grey jersey skirt, a moss green sleeveless cotton tee with a loose peach colored silk tank layered over top, and on my feet, silver, leather slip-ons. I heaped lofty hopes on this oatmeal and granola attire, empowering it to keep potential volatility at bay. For added luck, I donned a necklace I had painstakingly stitched. Mom always loved my creations. 

The late summer sun warmed my shoulders as I stepped from the car with Mom's photo, my statement, and a list of questions tucked under my arm in an old zippered work portfolio. My ergonomic tapestry Ameribag was draped lazily across my back and I hooked my trusty water bottle over the index finger of my right hand. I took some deep breaths as I walked the few short steps across the parking lot before entering the building. When I opened the door the vapor lock felt like it drew me inside. 

With my first breath the familiar smell took me back months to my morning visits with Mom. Tears threatened. A petite professional-looking woman followed me inside and I regained my composure enough to ask if she was Jillian, the Quality Coordinator from Patient Relations who arranged this meeting. She confirmed my suspicions and I extended my hand to introduce myself. Her eyes sparkled and she smiled warmly making me like her instantly. We advised the attendant at the desk that we were there to meet with Mary Lou, the Executive Director of the facility. She waved us to seats in the foyer while she summoned Mary Lou.  

As we sat waiting familiar faces appeared, each one greeting me with a hug and words of concern or "We miss you...". I wrestled with more tears. Soon, Mary Lou appeared and escorted us up to the third floor boardroom. She introduced me to Heather, the new Director of Care, whose specialty is 'End of Life'. With the formalities out of the way, I placed the framed photo of my Mom on the table. It was the one I'd received from the funeral home with the poem by Judith Bulock Morse that reads;

Remember me when flowers bloom

Early in the Spring

Remember me on sunny days

In the fun that summer brings

Remember me in the fall

As you walk through leaves of gold

In the wintertime, remember me

In the stories that are told.

But most of all... remember

Each day, right from the start

I will be forever near

For I live within your heart.

I began the meeting by saying that I wasn't there for a pound of flesh, that time was past. I needed only for them to hear the statement I had prepared and do their best to answer the questions that would follow. They were a respectful, captive audience. My statement not only detailed the events leading up to my Mom's passing but also the emotional anguish we suffered. Tears ran down my cheeks as I read. Heather wept with me. Then I came to the last paragraph of my statement;

"The nature of my Mom’s death and how it was handled has left my family feeling upset over not being informed. It’s left me wrestling with feelings of guilt over things I should have or could have done. But I am not an expert on death and dying. Death is not an event I’ve experienced often nor took a class in to prepare me for the eventuality. The professionals at this facility did or certainly should have. They are the ones who failed my Mother and her respective family."  

There was silence for a few moments. I looked up at Mary Lou and she said, "You're right, we failed you. We're so sorry." Then the discussion opened around the breakdown in communication, the lack of comfort measures provided, all the missed opportunities. They detailed what should have happened, what changes have been made and will be made to ensure it doesn't happen to someone else. Heather asked if she could use my statement as part of a case study, the photo and poem too. She would utilize it as a teaching tool. Then we addressed the questions. 

Even though there had been an independent third party audit done on Mom's case many questions went unanswered. Heather asked if she could take them and try to find answers for me. I handed them to her. We exchanged business cards, said our good-byes, and Mary Lou escorted me downstairs. I walked out the door feeling somewhat lighter. But there wasn't time to dwell on it. It was already noon and I had a lunch date with Emma. 

Once in the car I sent Emma's Dad a text saying I was on my way.  I no sooner pulled up in the driveway when Emma bounced down the sidewalk to greet me. She prattled on about the lemonade mix in the worn ziplock bag she held in her hands. I squeezed in the question about what she wanted to do and in no time her scooter and helmet were in the back of my car and we were on our way to McDee's. 

She had her usual Happy Meal for lunch. Then we headed for Amanda's house to visit Ana and GG.  A little more than an hour later we were making lemonade in my kitchen and she was regaling me with her business plan. I tried to convince her that she might want to reconsider charging a dollar a glass for lemonade. But she prefers loonies to quarters. I changed my clothes and with our thirst quenched we put the halter on the dog and headed for the park. 

Emma scooted in front while Zoe and I walked. She stopped for a brief stint on the playground equipment. But Zoe was anxious to get moving so we soon hit the trails again. Emma didn't scoot ahead this time, she slowed her pace to mine and said, "Sometimes I feel guilty because of the times I told my Mom I hated her." My heart lurched and I replied, "Oh Emma, your Mom knew you didn't mean it. She loves you and would never want you to feel guilty." As those words crossed my lips it felt like my own Mom tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear, "I love you and I don't want you to feel guilty?"  

Emma seemed satisfied with my answer and scooted away, flashing me a smile over her shoulder. I smiled back. Emma and I make quite a pair. We both need to let go of things we think we could have or should have done differently. In our relationship, support and comfort goes both ways. Thanks to her I have my cape and tiara back, and when the tall buildings come, I'll be ready...

The rest is pixie dust...