Swearing and Lucky Ducks at the End of Mom’s Life

This is a somewhat personal post, so if you’re looking for our typical content, consider skipping along to the next post. If you’ve never written such personal items yourself, consider doing so. Your descendants may thank you.

—————-

When my mother was on her deathbed for about the last week of her life, we had what felt like one long, wide-ranging conversation. Between the nurses, the nature of sleeping in a nursing home, and Mom’s discomfort normal sleep was elusive. On more than occasion, and to the particularly sadistic delight of one nurse, I jumped out of a sleepy stupor as a staff member came to move Mom or check on her.

In the last few days, our conversation was hindered by Mom’s difficulty speaking. She could hear me, but talking was a challenge. I would repeatedly ask her to repeat herself, apologizing nearly every time. I always told her I wasn’t trying to irritate her. She would smile and say that she knew and never once got impatient with me.

I had to really focus and concentrate to understand her. Being tired and in a constant half-asleep state, it was sometimes difficult. And because I was tired, I wasn’t always on my best behavior and once I’m pretty certain I told her that I wasn’t trying to piss her off.

Piss her off.

I’m more than comfortable swearing, but it was not something I often did in front of my Mother. I have no doubt that she knew I was fully capable of swearing, but it was one of those things that a forty-something with gray in his beard and bald on his head did not do to maintain something of the illusion I wasn’t all grown up. I’m not certain whether  she gave me that “oh, Michael” eyeroll or not, but I’ll allow myself one inaccuracy in this story and remember it as if she did.

At one point in the conversation while I could still pretty much understand her and had not yet apologized for pissing her off, she said we were “lucky ducks.” I said “yes, we were.” Then one of us said some people to the effect that some people didn’t realize how lucky they were.

I knew what she meant, but I never would have understood it as a kid.  I would have brushed off her “lucky duck” comment as sentimental sap. I’m fortunate that I lived long enough to realize that it wasn’t.

We weren’t well off, but we were fortunate enough not to want either. I never worried about having enough to wear, enough to eat, or where I was going to live. In fact, I was lucky enough as a child to not even realize until much later that some people worried about those things on a daily basis. So my luck was doubled.

And sometimes we don’t realize how lucky we are at all–especially when we get to have “lucky duck” conversations as someone transitions from life to their post-life experience.