MY MOM ANN
The phone rings; it’s 7:00 am, I’m still groggy from sleep. A voice on the other end introduces themselves as nurse so and so, from the hospital. My mother has just passed away. A call I was not unexpecting, but it still hits you like a hammer. I immediately call my sister Susan who is already at work and let her know. I can still feel the vibration of her wailing, the guttural, primal cry of a wounded soul. Susan has just lost her best friend. It’s time to get up to the hospital and make arrangements. It’s December 20th, three days before our family’s flight to Tokyo.
One of my often used sayings is everything in life has a beginning a middle and an end. While I wasn’t there for my mother’s beginning, I can safely say I was certainly there for much of the middle and most definitely at the end.
This visual story is an accounting of the final weeks of my mother Ann’s life. During the first week of December, she suffered a devestating stroke that left her unable to speak and unable to swallow. At the time, we were hopeful it was just a minor setback, perhaps another urinary tract infection, perhaps something else not too serious. We didn’t realize that the stroke she suffered and the next few weeks would be her end story.
As I write this it’s now approaching May, over four months since those early days in December. Many of the images I took I’m not really comfortable in sharing. Nor do I think, if my mother was alive, she would want to be remembered in that way. To honour her and her memory, these images I hope will give you visual cues to what we experienced. It was a brutally difficult time for our all of us. My mother was the beloved matriarch of our clan and knowing that we would never have another chat, another laugh, another hug was and still is a painful thought.
The images take us from the early days when my mom was still alert and seemingly aware of her surroundings to the day of her passing on December 20, 2023.
Besides our family members, my mom had the constant and loving care from her primary caregivers Roxie and Margie, two people who are heroes in my book. And of course the many wonderful doctors and nurses and support staff at Cortellucci Vaughan Hospital.
As an epilogue, I can only say I hope that I have as many people surrounding me in my final days as my mother had. While there were many years where I can admit to us having our differences, I can also say that the final years, with her memory and health declining, were the most happy between us. They say that people with dementia can go one of two ways; they can become angry and bitter or they can become loving and caring. My mother was definitely in the latter camp. Her genuine joy in seeing us when we entered her apartment every Sunday was heartwarming. She expressed to us how important we were to her and how much she appreciated us being in her life. There was nothing that was left unsaid.
All of us, my wife Alice as well as our sons Maximilian and Solomon witnessed on a weekly basis the love of a kind, caring and grateful women. She was lovingly referred to by our sons as “The Bubinator”. I don’t think she was fond of that nickname but it definitely captured something of the iconic status she had in our family.
Jewish people say “May her memory be a blessing”. We were definitely blessed having such a loving person in our life. I hope the images speak for themselves and give you a sense of those weeks up at Cortellucci.
We made it to our flight to Tokyo. I kept reminding myself, it’s what my mom would have wanted. Thanks mom.
SHOT WITH THE FUJIFILM X-PRO3, XF 27MM, XF35MM F2
