Illustration by Christine Wei
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Life is random, sometimes wonderful, sometimes unfair. And when you reach your late 90s, there is much in the rearview mirror. So when my mother told her family she wanted to leave on her own terms, it took us all time to get used to the idea.
Nearly two years ago, my mother went for lunch in the assisted-care facility where she was living. She sat at the table with her friends, said her goodbyes, handed out gifts. After lunch she returned to her suite where, surrounded by close family, she chose to exit this life through Medical Assistance in Dying (MAID).
Two years earlier, when she first, calmly, broached the subject of MAID, it was in the same deliberate and forward-thinking way she had navigated life and prepared for aging. First, the sale of the family home, then a move to more manageable apartment living and finally to the comfortable suite where she found community in the face of increasing physical limitations. Having witnessed so many of her contemporaries, including her partner, live out the final chapter of their lives incapacitated with no hope of recovery, she was adamant that that was not for her.
She remained clear-headed and engaged with the world, but the simple tasks of life – getting dressed, moving about and just making it through the day – were becoming an endurance test. Even sleep was fleeting and she felt the dimming of her characteristic spark. She looked well and always made a supreme effort to rise to the occasion of a special event or visit, but it would drain her.
This was never said as a complaint but an acknowledgement that life was becoming difficult and offering less. She was preparing to depart on her own terms while trying to bring us, her four grown sons, up to her own state of acceptance.
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When she started suggesting dates, she would then change her mind, still wanting to witness a grandchild’s marriage, a daughter-in-law’s concert, a great-grandson’s birth. We thought that perhaps by creating a series of other events we could delay her departure – until we would feel ready, too.
Sensing my reticence, she explained that she had enjoyed a wonderful life, but between the physical discomfort and diminishing things she could do, it no longer felt like living. It reminded me of the lyrics in the Bruce Cockburn song Pacing the Cage: “Sometimes you feel like you’ve lived too long, days drip slowly on the page, you catch yourself pacing the cage.”
My mother did not work outside the home, instead raising us with my father. Her life was all about creating something wonderful with modest means.
I expect that Mother sometimes felt that her contributions to the family were taken for granted. After all, meals get consumed, the house gets dirty again and those handknitted sweaters wear out. Her later years provided an opportunity to indulge her passions of a serious bridge game, making greeting cards with pressed flowers and exploring the world. It also afforded us the opportunity to get to know her anew and appreciate her fortitude and interest in the world around her.
I once read that many mothers just want to hear their children say that they were a good mother. That’s it: nothing more, nothing less. A good mother plays a vital role in shaping our character, values and future, with equal measures of love, patience, guidance and discipline. The support and encouragement let you know unequivocally that she believes in you.
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My mother made me feel valued and that I mattered as a person. That’s a priceless gift. I hope I did the same in return.
Mother’s final weeks were filled with visits, phone calls and cards from those whose lives she had touched. Everyone left with some small treasure from her cabinet or the pledge of an artwork or special piece of furniture. Above all, she expressed gratitude for a good life and those in it. She said how proud she was of all of us and our spouses and children. And we told her what a more-than-good mother she is.
We toasted her life with a final glass of her favourite sherry – and then she slipped away, held and surrounded by family. There was no hesitation or fear. It was what she wanted: a loving and dignified exit.
I feel gratitude for who my mother was and how she defined herself. She was a straight-from-the-heart person and will always have a large place in ours.
David Sheffield lives in West Vancouver, B.C.