Final Inhale

I will admit, I don't really understand the true intricacies of how the human body works, but I do know that everything sends a signal back to the brain; the brain is the command center that rules it all. Just the sheer complexity of how the brain knows that we require that initial gasp of air upon exiting the womb, makes me squint  my eyes up in wonderment. To know it's the brain's inherent behavior to keep us breathing without ever having to think about it. Fascinating! I am thankful for this.

But what about that last breath? How does the brain know how to take just one final inhale and know an exhale is no longer required? 

Upon reading about my mother's condition during her final hours, she most likely went into shock which caused her to become unconscious. Her symptoms were mounting, increasing as hours passed throughout the day. All she knew is that she felt awful, dizzy, bloated, unaware at times, and irritable. Unknown to her were the onset signs of a stomach hemorrhage, perhaps even hypovolemia. This severely compromised her frail body and placed her well-being in an irreversible state. 

I arrived at the house that afternoon. She was gone. As I stood in the doorway of her bedroom where I knew she drew her last breath, it was all I could think about...her last breath. She inhaled, yet did not exhale. It was as if I could hear the sharp intake of air. It was if I could feel it, as if it were my own.

I took me awhile to be able to enter the bedroom. When I did, I tentatively approached the spot where she took her last breath. I stood there beside the bloodstained carpet, for she had vomited blood right at the very end. I pictured her not having a true sense of what was happening to her body, just that she no longer had control or a voice to even state this. 

I stood there in the shadow of the hallway light and in the stillness of the moment. I felt her presence in this dimly lit, warm room. I drew in a deep breath and exhaled. 

I like to think that I breathed in her aura and her soul and that she now (not that she wasn't before) is a part of me on a daily basis. I love you, Mom. Happy Birthday on this January 16th. 

cdl