Exit, Stage Left

My mom, Jacqueline Vera Block Haag, died early on Saturday morning, September 16, 2023.

She was diagnosed with recurrent metastatic breast cancer in December 2023. The best case was we might get three years with her; the worst, she would be in hospice within months.

Well, we got 10 months.

I wish we had been able to do more together in that time, but politics and strong opinions and a determination that holistic options are the only valid options got in the way.

After my visit in June, Mom got a drain implanted to remove the fluid that was slowly collapsing her lungs. Within the first week, she had removed over a gallon of fluid, 200 ml at a time. She could breathe again, start to walk again, and sometimes, her voice returned. She found out she wasn’t actually allergic to a number of foods she had avoided for decades – and enjoyed tasting foods she hadn’t eaten in years. I started to think maybe we’d get a decent amount of time with her.

It was the calm before the storm.

Like many advanced cancer patients, she was doing great until she wasn’t. And the decline was precipitous. By the time I was looped into how poorly her condition was, she hadn’t really been eating for a week. She couldn’t walk anymore. Her handwriting, the way she was able to communicate with Dad and us effectively, became illegible. Her body failing was clearly frustrating her.

My dad became her full-time caregiver; my sisters visited when they could but mom would be sleepy and visits were around 5 minutes. She continued to lose muscle and weight and increased her oxygen needs to roughly equate to 2 gallons of air being pumped into her lungs every minute.

Dad gave her hospice nurse permission to talk to me about Mom and I got the real story for the first time. I am so thankful. I was able to book a flight home the next day.

On Friday, Sept 15, I spent the whole day with Dad and Mom. Exactly 7 years prior, she completed her radiation for the first round of breast cancer and rang the bell. I was surprised to see her sitting in her living room chair, but her eyes lit up and she smiled when I walked into the house. I gave her a hug; she was just skin and bones now.

I asked her if she had read about my last bike trip and she shook her head. I asked if she wanted me to tell her about it; she nodded. As I started to tell the story, she put her head down with her hands on the rolling table and motioned for me to keep talking while she rested.

So I told her about the trip. I talked about when we rode Elephant Rock together and when we rented fat bikes to go ride in a creekbed. I talked about my kids and how much they love her.

Mom hadn’t pre-planned her final wishes. So I asked what she wanted and made sure she nodded affirmatively after dad told me what they had discussed. I called a funeral home and got things set up.

Mom rested on the table a lot while I sat with her and chatted with my dad. I gave her a tiny amount of avocado for lunch.

When the hospice nurse came by, she was alarmed Mom was in her chair and insisted we move her back to her bed to avoid the risk of falling. Despite the high flow oxygen, her pulse-ox was only 91. We rolled her into her bedroom and got her sitting on the side of the bed. She immediately leaned into my dad and hooked her hands into his pockets. It took a bit, but we were able to give her the meds to help her relax and breathe easier.

I gave my mom a hug and she leaned into me before kissing my arm and whispered that she loved me so much.

The last thing I did was help mom get her legs into bed, find her sea turtle plush that she slept with, and smooth her bedding over her. I told her I’d be back tomorrow.

The hospice nurse told me what was to come next and I am so thankful she did. I relayed that information to Dad and I think we both hoped for at least one more day.

The next morning I am woken by a series of vibrations from my phone; that usually means lots of text messages are coming through. As I looked at my phone my sister came to where I was sleeping and said “Dad said Mom is not responsive. Are you ready to go over?”

We threw on our clothing, made coffee to go, and raced over there. We alerted our sister who had driven all night from Texas; she and her kids paid and left their breakfast spot immediately. My youngest sister had to drive across town.

I want to believe Mom was still able to hear us when we arrived, but it’s also possible she was already gone. We sat with her and cried, held her hands, and stroked her hair while we told her we loved her, that it’s OK to let go. She’s been through enough. My youngest sister collapsed on the floor when she saw Mom; Dad got on the floor to hug her and cry with her. We all have different ways of coping with immense grief. We all were able to say what we needed to say.

We took turns staying with her body until the hospice nurse came and confirmed what we all knew; Mom had passed. She carefully cleaned up Mom for the funeral home to take her body.

I will never forget how compassionate and loving all of the hospice and funeral workers were. They treated Mom with dignity and respect and informed us of everything they were doing. I am so grateful to those who answer that calling to be with families during their time of enormous grief.

A few hours later, two of my sisters and I decided to go for a strenuous hike to help work through our emotions. We listened to music that reminds us of Mom on the way over. The ability to talk and push our bodies a bit helped give us space to grieve.

We made sure to be with Dad, to cry with him and remember Mom. Friends started delivering food to us, so we had dinner together as a family for a few nights. We helped Dad make a checklist of things he needs to do to close out mom’s accounts, notify people of her passing, and begin the process of donating or selling things he no longer needs. I wrote Mom’s obituary from a 4-hour conversation with my dad about their life together; my sisters helped me edit it for clarity and consistency.

And then real life came back – I flew home and we all went back to work until the funeral, which is next week. It was a nice distraction. But I won’t lie – my mom’s passing has reminded me just how short life is and I don’t want to waste any more time living 2,000 miles away from my dad, my sisters, and my nieces and nephews.

I’m thankful I got to be home with my mom and spend so much time with her on her last day with us. I’m thankful for the love and care my dad gave my mom in her final months. I am thankful for the hospice team and the funeral home team for their professionalism, compassion, and empathy. I am thankful I was able to come home to my own family and be given space to grieve. I am thankful to my boss and my coworkers for not just covering for me, but encouraging me to take as much time as I need.

We’re flying out for the funeral next week and I know that will be deeply emotional. Things will be Final Final. I expect grief will come in waves and hit especially hard when life’s brightest moments happen and I can’t share it with my mom. But I am also thankful that she is no longer suffering because cancer is awful and destroys one’s body.

She was a mom of four girls, a grandma to seven grandkids, an educator, an entrepreneur, a community organizer, and never backed down from an opportunity to stand up for what was right.

She loved spaniels, gardening, sewing, and cooking. Her personality filled the room and she always had big ideas. She remained active as long as she could – hiking, riding bikes, walking. She attended law school in her 60s and was active in her faith community.

Rest easy Mom. Your memory will be a blessing.