In September 2010, we were in Morganton, North Carolina, house sitting for a wonderful two-months. Unknown to us, the weeks to come would be simultaneously difficult,  heart-wrenching and rewarding.

We had been in Flint with Mom for a few weeks in July, toward the end of which she was experiencing minor but nagging digestive related issues. We left Flint in early August shortly after her 83rd birthday for our two months in Morganton.

Betty Jane Blondin 1927-2010, RIP

The whirlwind started in late September when a routine call to Mom went unanswered. A call to my sister revealed that my mother had entered the hospital. She was admitted with jaundice, which led to the insertion of a stint and a biopsy taken, we were later told,  from the tip of the pancreas.

In the next couple of days her condition improved. Not strong enough to live alone, she was transferred to a nursing home for rehabilitation. We arrived in Flint on October 4.  The next few days were spent familiarizing ourselves with doctors, symptoms, health insurance coverage and Medicare regulations, while assessing the nursing home conditions, Mom’s condition and determining how, when, and even if we could get her home. We still didn’t have a diagnosis.

It was not easy, we were dealing with at least three specialists trying to pinpoint who was responsible for what, which offices to deal with, talking to receptionists, more tests, reports, a second biopsy, calls and more calls, returned calls, sorting and processing information, Internet research, interactions with the nursing home, all while reassuring a weakened but brave and determined Mother that we were there for her and would all do the best we could.

Looking back, the next call should not have been such a heart-stopping surprise. I was in the car when the oncologist office called, the office manager introduced herself and said, “I didn’t want to break the news to you this way…” it was a shock to hear the diagnosis of pancreatic cancer.

I was not conversant on the disease but knew the prognosis was not good. The University of Michigan had confirmed cancer from the biopsy. Appointments were scheduled and options clarified, but in the end we were facing up to six months of life. The next step was clear — we were out of the nursing home and setting up in Mom’s house.

Hospice was called, interviews held, and a service chosen. Hospice brought a veritable hospital room and a nurse two times a week along with help for baths. This all happened fast. Mom was still very weak, and many times it would take two of us to help her to the bathroom. In and out, and in and out of the wheel chair handled with as much grace as possible.

We managed the next few weeks, the drugs took a toll on Mom’s energy level, we had a Thanksgiving meal, her friend and hairstylist came twice to do her hair, and we had laughs, but as the days progressed we witnessed Mom’s decline.

Our daily routine was pretty simple: we read to Mom, walked her around the house, even got out one day on a fun trip to Hobby House, but the inevitable end was approaching. We just didn’t know how soon. The hospice nurse was great, different medications were tried to keep Mom comfortable and she seemed relatively pain-free, but then she wasn’t one to complain.

It was early December when the nurse suggested — looking back, I am sure she considered the toll on my wife and me — taking her into the hospice facility for a couple of weeks to stabilize her. We visited daily, took shifts, and were there as much as possible. On Saturday, December 18, 2010, Mom died in her sleep. While there must be more ideal ways to die, and many of us consider our perfect scenarios, being able to be there with her for the final months and allowing her the peace of being in her own home as long as possible, was a precious gift for all of us.

Mark Blondin, The Next Road