Today is the eve of my mother’s death. We had spent the previous 4 days hosting 65 of her friends and family who came to say their goodbyes. It was incredible and also emotionally exhausting. I watched in amazement and heart tugging torture to sit beside her through 65 goodbyes. The hospice nurses were literally running ragged coming to tell me we had more visitors. At that time we could only have 7 people in the room at a time, exception being immediate family. With friends in the room they would pass me a post it with who was waiting and I would let the current company know it was time to go. Mom and I both napped between guests.

On this day, we noticed she was sleeping more. One of her dearest friends had taken the early shift so Will and I could sleep in a bit. Will said his own good byes and headed back to CO. It was now just Johnny and me in her quiet room. The chaplain came to get me and speak privately. He told me he knew were sneaking mom orange juice. I told him it was the only thing that made her happy. She had specifically asked for Laura Lynn Orange Juice with Pulp. We were happy to oblige. Well he kindly told me her body could potentially survive for weeks and he could see the family was mentally and physically done. My head hit the table. I wept and told him I could not keep this up. The 6 weeks since starting chemo were actually hell. Every single day of it. He knew all of the difficulties mom had endured and knew the effects on the family. He warned if we keep sneaking orange juice she may have to be discharged from hospice and sent home. There was clearly no other option than to stop giving her any liquids at all, including ice chips. I talked to the family and we were all in agreement. I sat down with mom and explained what he told us. In her all so common sense attitude and vast understanding of what is best she agreed.

It was late afternoon and I felt we still had a couple of days left. Johnny and I decided it was time to go home. Mom was sleeping a lot. Johnny and I were napping in the recliner or the window bench. I pulled up a chair and prepared to tell her we were leaving. For the first time ever she was agitated. I knew I wasn’t going to leave her like that. The timing was wrong. As I was talking to her she scratched her nose and her oxygen fell out. She held it in the air and said “If I take this off will it speed this up?” We said “maybe”. She threw it on the floor. Back to the window bench for another light nap for me. A nurse came in and said “Ms. Payne I see your oxygen on the floor.” Oh crap, I am going to get in trouble for this. This sweet nurse continued and said “I see you are breathing just fine on your own so we will hang this back on the wall and turn it off.” I exhaled in relief.

For 6 very long weeks I had ventured with her to hard appointments, watched her accept bad news, struggle with the pain of finding veins, make the difficult choice to get a pic line. She delayed the pic line until the 4th week. We had been begging her to get it and give herself the relief she needed. I remember pleading with her and taking a different angle. I told her she’s causing other patients to suffer because extra nurses had to leave their patients to some come tend to her. A nurse is only allowed 3 failed attempts at finding a vein and then someone else has to try. We were going through nurses like paper napkins while eating chicken wings. I asked mom why she was so opposed to getting it. “Because that means this is dire.” “Um well yea, we have been upgraded to a private room in the cancer enter for infusions and routine blood transfusions. Mom, this is dire.” She agreed and it was just a week before the decision to stop all treatments and move to hospice. Sigh…

A couple of hours later we felt it was time to head home. She was resting peacefully and was no longer agitated. Johnny had a private goodbye with her and then it was my turn. I pulled up a chair again, this time a little closer. While weeping I told her I knew the only thing in the world she cared about was me and she would go to the ends of the earth for me. She agreed. I told her I needed to let go. I never forget what she said next. “DAMN IT I’M TRYING!!!” I told her I knew, but that I was giving her permission to let go and it was time. I told her I was ok with finally letting go and I was proud of the fight she had lived, really since she was 40 years old and essentially recreated herself, her career and the rest of her life. She was loved, respected and faithful to those she loved. She had done well. I kissed her on her forehead and left.

I had been sleeping with my phone in my hand each night in case hospice called. That evening I slept more soundly than ever and sometime during the night my phone fell on the floor. I woke up around 4 am to a slew of missed calls from hospice and my brother. I called hospice immediately. Shortly after midnight mom took her final breath. To this day I believe it was the connection mom and I had, the permission I gave her to let go and her ultimate commitment to doing anything in her power to take the best care of me. She lived a beautiful life and had an equally beautiful ending.

As we celebrate my mom, go do something wild, crazy and unexpected. While we mourn her terribly, she continues to teach us to live big, live wild and live free. Do as she did and be brave in all things.

© Gatewood Campbell, April 2025