Making Tracks
By Kat Bryant
Sorry I haven’t written in a while. It’s been a crazy and exhausting month.
In mid-April, you might recall, I was packing up all of my worldly belongings because I had to be out of my rental house by May 1. My purchase offer had been accepted on a cute little two-bedroom just west of downtown Aberdeen, and the inspection was pending. My son was staying with me and being a huge help. Life was pretty darned good.
And then my brother and I got the dreaded call from Dad in Virginia: Mom was fading fast, and we needed to get out there pronto. Jeff and I dropped everything and flew east.
The cancer had weakened Mom’s bones so much that simply putting on a fresh nightgown had fractured several vertebrae in her neck. When we arrived, she was flat on her back in a hospital bed — in constant searing pain, unable to move. Thankfully, that bed was in her beloved sunroom at home, with a view of the lake, trees with spring buds, and bird feeders with dozens of colorful visitors.
Some days, she smiled through the pain and made jokes to lighten the mood. Other days, fogged by the meds that dulled the pain, she had fearful visions and had to be reassured that she was in fact home and safe with her loving family around her.
We each spent a lot of time, in turn, holding Mom’s hand and talking about happy things, then excusing ourselves to putter around the house or take a walk outdoors and maybe have a good cry before going back. She was never alone in those final days, and the three of us leaned heavily on one another to remain strong for her.
When she breathed her last on April 22, a tsunami of both grief and relief washed over us: She was free from her pain, and she had died knowing how much she was loved. The hardest part was over — for all of us.
My brother and I stayed for another week to help Dad through all the necessary tasks: dealing with the funeral home, writing the obituary, making phone calls and so on. We also cleared out closets and drawers all over the house that had collected 18 years’ worth of what Mom would have called “junque.” During that process, we stuffed Dad’s massive SUV with five loads of trash and three loads of donations to local charities.
Finally, Jeff and I packed up Mom’s small SUV (now mine) and a rented trailer with a few pieces of furniture and miscellaneous memories, leaving Dad in the hands of his bridge club, his fellow Lions and his siblings. It’s good to see him diving back into life after months of lovingly tending to Mom 24/7. He has a terrific support network there, and I know he’ll be OK.
Meanwhile, back on the Harbor, I still have at least a couple more weeks before my house purchase closes, which has left me in limbo. Nearly everything I own is locked up in storage; my dog remains with my friend Marcy (who’s threatening to keep her permanently); the kitties and I are holed up with my friend Dan; and my son and grandpuppy are staying with my brother in Seattle for the time being.
So I’m back — but I’m not quite “home” yet.
Kat Bryant is lifestyle editor of The Daily World. She’s happy to be home, such as it is. Reach her at kbryant@thedailyworld.com or on Facebook at Kat Bryant-DailyWorld.
