My heart is heavy and my throat won’t make words

It has been a harrowing nine months since my mother was in a head-on collision. Our lives were forever changed on July 15, 2024. Today, her suffering is over.

If you’ve read my posts since then, you know the accident was horrific. I fought every day to get her moved out of the fucking hellhole the government required me to put her in. They did not take care of her, resulting in multiple trips to the hospital.

She was sent to Good Samaritan Hospital a few weeks ago. During that time, a facility nine miles from my hometown had an opening. They called me and said, “we want your mom.” I signed the paperwork. We thought, “this is it. Finally, she can start to get better.” She was released to Campbell Hall Nursing Home, but only spent a few hours there. Their team said she should not have been released from the hospital. On Saturday, March 29, 2025, two days after I returned home from New York, Mom was back in the hospital. This time, she was sent to Garnet Hospital, located in my hometown.

On Sunday, March 30, 2025, a bit of phlegm dislodged from her throat and she aspirated on it. She went into cardiac arrest. Because of the short turn arounds between facilities, her DNR did not follow her. The doctor called me to get clarification. By the time he returned to her room, the nursing staff had revived Mom.

I’ve spoken to more medical professionals than I can remember. I’ve had to recite, in detail, everything that has happened to her since July 15, multiple times. I stopped counting after number five.

Mom was intubated and put on a ventilator. She was on a low setting. I talked to more doctors and went over more procedures and answered questions about what Mom would want. She wouldn’t want to suffer. She had told me before she didn’t want to live “as a vegetable.” I didn’t want her to suffer anymore. No one in the family did. I approved a DNI – do not intubate. They were going to try to extubate her on Tuesday, April 1. If it didn’t work, I gave strict instructions to let her go.

I received the call about 40 minutes before the procedure. Family rushed to see her. My Aunt Elaine, who is going through chemo, got special permission from her doctor to see Mom. At the hospital, Aunt Elaine called me via WhatsApp.

The extubation was successful, but Mom did not wake up. Aunt Elaine and I spoke with her. Eventually, Aunt Elaine asked her if she could blow a raspberry at us. She did. A minute or so later, it appeared she went to sleep.

The doctor saw Mom Wednesday, April 2, 2025 around 10:30 a.m., Eastern Time. Mom was resting peacefully. At 12:57 p.m., Eastern Time, Mom took her last breath. She passed away peacefully.

Mom’s funeral will be held on Tuesday, April 15, at 10 a.m. After the service, we will all drive up to Howells Cemetery where her ashes will be buried with my grandmother.

Right now, my brain is flooded with memories and I am able to smile a little through the tears. I’m working on a eulogy and hoping it’s good enough and that she would still be proud of me even if I fuck it up.

I’ll write more when I can.