Heartbreak

By Jean Kearney

Matt’s mom, my mother-in-law, lives in an assisted living facility on Long Island. Matt’s siblings, all four of them, live nearby. She had been living with one of her daughters until she had a fall. She was not sick; she just had balance problems and occasionally would wander off outside if she was left alone. Otherwise, she was happy, enjoyed being with family, and especially liked watching golf matches on television. When the COVID lockdown was ordered, her doctor felt she should not be left alone, so the decision was made for her to try it, have the daily visits from her children and grandchildren that she was used to. She did not understand why they were not coming and did not want to talk on the phone with anyone. It was as if not seeing her family made her lose some mental faculties.

After a while she stopped asking about them, and the family was in contact with the staff only. Everyone was upset that she did not understand what was happening and that she might think we were not visiting because we had forgotten about her. Eventually the virus caught up to the facility and Matt got a call that his mom had a cough and was listless. A kind aide used her own cell phone to Facetime with Matt and his mom. We crowded around the phone and called out that we loved her and would see her soon, that we were sorry we were not allowed to come visit but would as soon as we could. I don’t think she recognized Matt or any of us on that call. She looked lost, sitting on the side of her bed with the aide in full PPE gear, looking like someone from outer space.

The next morning that same aide called again from her own phone, Facetimed again, but this time my mother-in-law was unconscious. She could not be roused. There was an oxygen mask on her face. My darling Matthew spoke to his dying mother for a half hour on the phone, watching her shallow breaths. He spoke so lovingly about his childhood, about what a happy life she had made for them, and how his dad was waiting for her. She passed away while he was Facetiming with her. After the call, Matt was quietly crying. It was the first time Kofi and Fynn had seen their grandpa cry. They immediately put their arms around him and leaned against him. It was such a perfect, natural reaction to hug someone who is in pain. That these children did it automatically made it one of my happiest moments. They are good people. Here was Matthew with so much love and kindness around him, as he should be in his grief. What a stark contrast to his mother alone in her bed on the other end of a cell phone call, no familiar face seeing her out of this life, no arms around her. I wondered if she recognized her youngest son's voice. I hope she did because it was the last voice she heard.

It was difficult to cope with this loss. We were not able to be with her, see her pass away, touch her or hug her. We prayed but we were miles and hours away. I had never thought about it before, but the rituals around death are comforting. The wake, sharing time and memories with friends and family- these things do help. With this death there is no ritual of gathering and weeping together. Matt saw his brothers and sisters on Facetime, but it is not the same. Normally we would have a funeral Mass, she would be eulogized by her children, gently laid to rest. This was awful. There was nothing. We hope we can have an in-person celebration of her life at some point, but for now the funeral director had a quick burial and none of the family was permitted to attend. I thought about all the people who lost family to the virus and how they must all feel the same. Unfortunately for them and my mother-in-law, the vaccine came too late. I think about the kind woman, the aide, who held her own cell phone up for us to be able to be with my mother-in -law as she was dying. She is the reason we are able to get through our grief. At least Mom heard us, at least we could see her in her final moments. For this we will always be grateful. One day we will find her and tell her what it meant.