​As Bill and I contemplate what our ideal end of life situations would be, we realize that whatever we do is not just for us, but most importantly for our children and loved ones. I find myself reflecting on how life invariably moves quickly through stages of child, youth, adult, and elder…finding that the journey has gone way too fast. Remember the Seeger song with the line, “Wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then?” Seems that is coming to mind more and more often these days.

And it also seems like just yesterday when my three siblings and I sat in the Emergency Room with our unconscious mother as we contemplated whether to allow the surgeons to operate on her (it’s been over 19 years). They told us that the outcomes could be one where she wouldn’t recover or would be attached to machines to artificially sustain her life. While we all knew that she did not want to be kept alive if there wasn’t a chance to continue a functioning, meaningful life, her wishes were vague enough that we found ourselves in a grey zone where clear, precise steps were not available. We were on our own to weigh the what ifs and the consequences. And all the while we talked – over five hours – we never wavered from our love and support for each other as we debated, argued, shared our doubts, and cried. The ending is one left unsaid for the moment; my point in raising this story is to make sure that you – as a mother, father, child, or close relative or friend – have that conversation to help prepare for that moment when a loved one needs you to speak for them.

​A fall in February meant an ambulance ride to the hospital for my Mom with fear of a fractured hip. Thankfully, x-rays showed there was no fracture, but extreme pain warranted a hospital stay. After many tests, pokes and prods, a pacemaker was recommended. Low pulse rates often cause dizziness and even passing out. Was this the cause of my Mom’s fall? After discussion with my two brothers and Mom, we agreed to the pacemaker. Rehab at a local Nursing Home was recommended after surgery to manage pain and gain strength. Made sense. The day after being admitted into rehab, I was notified that Mom was in A-fib, which means her heart rates were irregular and fast. The next day, my brother Dean and I took Mom back to the hospital for a procedure call a TEE Cardioversion. Basically, the procedure shocks her heart back into rhythm. The next day, March 6th was Mom’s 95th birthday.