Remembering Those Who’ve Gone Before Us
My mother, Patricia Ellen Brown Darling, had a happy childhood and a faith-filled life. She was a genealogist and not only researched our ancestors, but she also wrote many stories about their lives, from cowboys to Civil War soldiers to families that survived the Great Chicago Fire. She was married to Don for 63 years, had four children, six grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren (and counting). She did her Nurse’s Training at St. Mary’s Hospital and worked in hospitals and nursing homes in the many places they lived. She loved her Catholic faith. She had wonderful memories of playing Our Lady of Fatima in a school play and was faithful even when far from any church living on an Aleutian Island. She was a generous, selfless, loving woman.
When she started having memory problems, it was very frustrating for her. She had a very large correspondence and helped other people research their ancestry. Over several years she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s dementia, which had taken several of her cousins. Older memories came more readily than current ones. Names became elusive but faces were easier. Don cared for her at home when she no longer could, a major role change for them. It wasn’t until the doctor insisted that she was admitted to a nursing home. She told everyone that she worked there and gave tours to her grandchildren when they visited. “Sure, you can take my picture. Thanks for visiting our facility.”
Her husband, Don, died suddenly three months after she went into the nursing home. Thankfully we moved her to a nursing home in Rochester to be close to me and her grandchildren.
The grieving had started before she died, with all the losses she endured. The staff at the nursing home were very good. Old friends and new friends visited, and the great-grandchildren came regularly.
She slowly began to lose interest in eating and started sleeping more. It became hard even to swallow. I wanted so much for her to eat. Her sense of humor still came out, even when she was nearing the end.
One morning her breathing was more difficult. She sat in the wheelchair, and I held her hands. The nurses were great, but I didn’t know what to do. How could I help her? Then a good friend showed up and sat with us. Then another friend called and asked if he could visit. I wasn’t alone.
We were grateful to find a priest who could give her a blessing, and we all prayed together. Then her breathing slowed down, very peacefully. It wasn’t until then that I realized she would die. We weren’t alone. We were accompanied. I looked at my friend and said she’s not breathing very good, and she nodded. She was so peaceful. She died within minutes after the blessing was over. She was waiting for that. I have no doubt she was called to heaven. Through my tears I told her she would see her parents again.
We are made for Christ, and we will be with him as he said. I remember smiling at the funeral. The weight of the world and our mortal bodies will never touch us again. He died for us so we could live with him.
Ginny Darling