Sometimes there are events in life that etch themselves into the soul. Quiet, powerful moments that change us forever. For me, one of those moments came as I sat beside my mother, holding her hand, watching her take her final breath.
I was her 24-hour caregiver. Not by profession, but by love.
The Role I Never Expected
After my mother’s stroke, the roles reversed. The woman who once held me through fevers and skinned knees now needed me to hold her through pain and uncertainty. I moved in, rearranged my life, and became her constant nurse, her occupational therapist, her advocate, her son.
There were no shifts. No clocking out. Just days and nights blurred together in a mix of medications, meals, and moments of emotions. I learned to read her expressions, anticipate her needs, and find strength in places within me I didn’t know existed.
The Quiet Battles
Caregiving is not just physical it’s emotional warfare. Watching someone you love fade, inch by inch, is a grief that begins long before the final goodbye. There were days she had great successes and days of setbacks. Nights she cried because she didn’t want to be alone. And mornings when I wondered how much longer either of us could endure this situation we were in. But there were also moments of grace. Her smile when I brushed her hair. The way she squeezed my hand like she did when I was a small boy. The stories she told, even when her memory wasn’t like it once was. These became my treasures.
The Final Hours
The day she passed was both surreal and sacred. I knew it was coming. The decision was made to transfer her from therapeutic care to hospice. Signing those documents became her death sentence. I signed it with tears in my eyes knowing I just signed documents to make her comfortable as she passed from this world. The process began at 4:35pm. Once Nick and Jessica left to say their goodbyes I was left alone in a hospital room with my mom. Alone with medical equipment in a cold sterile room. I whispered to her ” five years ago we started this journey together and we were going to end it together.” As the hours began to pass alone with my mother seeing changes in breathing and the sounds changing. If you have experienced this you know what I am talking about. The death rattle begins,the awful sounds that are made as we pass from this life. The sights and sounds are engraved into my memory something that I will never forget. The nurse coming in periodically to increase the morphine and reassurance that she is not in pain. As I held her hand and talking to mom I could see she was fighting the inevitable. That’s when I asked myself… did I make a mistake? Was there a chance for recovery? Was this a case of my mom didn’t want me there? The nurse came to check on mom, I even asked does she not want me here? The nurse calmly replied “that does happen but that is a decision you have to live with”. In that moment I knew I could not let my mother leave this earthly world alone. Hours before I told her we would finish this journey together I wasn’t going back on that promise. I began to tell my mom it’s okay to go. Be with dad he has waited a long time for you. God is awaiting your arrival. I will be okay, these words I said so convincingly. Though in my mind I wondered can I live without you mom? Five years of being together everyday all day. All of our adventures side by side. I began letting her know I would be okay. Mom knew once she was gone I would be alone. I needed mom to believe me that I would be okay. Now was her time to reunite with my dad. It was her time to stop hurting. Her time to take back everything that awful stroke took away from her. I continued kissing her forehead, holding her hand talking about things we did together. As mom’s breathing slowed I began to count the seconds until the next breath. I would hold my breath with her. Then there would be that moment when I thought she was gone and mom would gasp for the next breath and then the next breath. Then counting the seconds again between breaths. The final breath came. In my heart I knew this was the end of a precious life that was now in eternal rest. I ran out of the hospital room and down the hall yelling for her nurse Anna. The words I never thought I would speak “I think she is gone, but I’m not sure”. I ran back into the room with mom begging her to come back. Two nurses entered the room. The first nurse took vitals then Anna my mom’s nurse took vitals. Fear and dread fill my eyes as I looked at Anna, she looked at me and said “Tony I am very sorry for your loss. ” I let out a nooo please no. I held my mother with tears streaming down my face. In that moment feeling like a four year old boy that wanted his mother to hold him, instead of the grown man wanting more time with his mother. My mother, my best friend, my partner in crime was now at rest at 7:51am. My life just changed forever and will never be the same again. The nursing techs and other nurses who became my friends over the course of mom’s hospital stays came in her room to comfort me and pay respects to my mom. I asked them all how do I leave the hospital without her? How do I do this? All they could say to me was stay as long as you need to stay. I hated that answer. I was looking for help, direction. I realized help wasn’t coming. I would have to figure this out on my own, like everything else I had to figure out the last 5 years. I held my mom’s hand and it slowly lost its warmth I begged God to give me the strength to not only leave her but start my life without my mother. The person that gave me life was now gone. When her chest rose that last time and fell into stillness, I felt a silence unlike any other. It wasn’t just the absence of breath it was the closing of a chapter. A life lived. A love shared. Our 5 year journey was now completed.
What Remains
Grief is a strange companion. It doesn’t leave, but it changes shape. I still hear her voice in quiet moments. I still feel her presence in the kitchen, in the car, in the calm of evening light. Being her caregiver was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it was also the most meaningful. In those final years, I didn’t just care for her I honored her. I tried to give her the best life I could. I walked with her to the edge, and when she let go, I held on to everything she gave me, everything she taught me, everything we learned together. We were both stronger than either of us knew.
To anyone walking this path: you are not alone. Your love matters. Your presence is a gift. And when the time comes to say goodbye, know that you gave something precious….yourself.
The grieving caregiver 