A MOMENT OF GRACE. Pt. 1

(Written mid April 2016)

My mother claimed her heavenly reward just short of two weeks ago.

I received a call from the charge nurse at her nursing facility at about 4am. 

“Is this Royce? This is “Charlotte” at the Rohr Home. I just checked on your mom, and found her unresponsive. You needn’t hurry, but don’t linger either. Please c’mon up here when you can.”

So much like the call I received from the same facility four years earlier when my father, as they say, shuffled off this mortal coil. As many times as it happens, however, I don’t believe anyone can properly prepare themselves for a call like this. (Strangely enough, my wife and I were watching, “The Green Mile” when daddy walked his own green mile).

My wife and I quickly dressed, drove the ten or twelve minutes to the skilled nursing facility in which my mother had lived the past two years, walked the twenty yards from our car to the door, strode down the long hallway, and stepped into a very familiar room. Room 24.

My mother had become progressively confined to her bed the past six months. Having experienced several hospital stays since being admitted to the facility, she participated in physical and occupational rehabilitation on a recurring basis.

I have often said, “Geriatric Rehab will either cure you or kill you.”  

My dad walked the length of both hallways in this same nursing facility the last day of his life, his own personal record; (or “PR” as track and field adherents are prone to abbreviate the term). In spite of his declining physiology, he’d somehow summoned up the effort required to accomplish what for him, at this stage, was a Herculian effort.

I hadn’t thought of the irony of it all ‘til this very moment. But what would soon transpire with my mother would be as strange, or stranger than the scenario which I just described.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 28. Copyright pending

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