She Just Let Go

I think it's about time I stop putting off this blog post.

For those of you who don't follow me on Twitter or Facebook, my mom passed away on Sunday.

We were all expecting it to happen. Honestly, I am so incredibly amazed and impressed with my mom for staying alive as long as she did. She fell into a very deep sleep on July 19th and never woke up. She went 10 days without any food or water. And as she requested, no feeding tubes or IV fluids either. I didn't know that was even humanly possible! How does someone survive 10 days without food or water? I know I couldn't do that.

We don't know why she was holding on for so long. After a week, my dad starting telling her that it was okay to let go. But she just didn't seem to want to leave us. We all told her over and over again that we would be okay and that we love her very much. But she kept hanging on.

On Saturday, I decided that we should watch my mom's favorite movie. It's an Italian film called Cinema Paradiso. She absolutely loved that movie. I knew she couldn't see it, because she was asleep. And I know she couldn't she couldn't understand what they were saying because it's in Italian. But I know she loved the music from the movie so I moved a tv into her bedroom and played the movie for her. Here's the trailer for the film:

It was a women's movie afternoon. It was me, my mom, my sister, both my grandmas, both my aunts, and my friend's mom. I really enjoyed it and I think my mom did too because her breathing slowed down.

That night, I wanted to stay awake with her, but I was so exhausted, I just couldn't. My aunt and I slept in my parents' bed, which was next next to the hospital bed. And my dad and my sister slept in sleeping bags on the floor.

My dad says he got up at 2:30am to give her a half dose of morphine. (He was so worried that she was in pain, even though every nurse said she looked peaceful and pain free.) He sat with her as her breathing became slower and slower. Sometime just before 4:00am, he must have started dosing off because just at 4:02am, both my aunt and I woke up. I'm not sure what woke us up, but I opened my eyes and was listening. I knew not to get too worried when I didn't hear any breathing because my mom had been taking up to 20 second pauses between breaths. As I was laying there counting the seconds, my aunt jumped up and yelled at my dad "She's not breathing anymore." She was right. My mom slipped away just when no one was watching.

We woke my sister up, which is always very difficult - she's a really deep sleeper. She later told me it felt like a dream. I told her it did for me too. And she said "No. Like it REALLY felt like a dream. I wasn't really awake."

My sister and I sat with my mom while my dad and aunt called hospice and the funeral home and all the family. She and I sat next to her and my sister said "Look! Isn't she smiling?" And she was. I couldn't help but take a picture of it. It was just so beautiful. I compared that picture to several pictures from when she was in the coma thing. That was the only picture she was smiling in. She was happy to finally go to a better place. She didn't have to fight anymore. She just let go.

We talked to her. I told her "I know you probably think this is really stupid. We know that you're looking down on us now, and what do you see? Your two girls talking to a dead body that isn't you anymore. I know you're always with us now."

Of course I broke down crying once or twice too. We all did. But after an hour of that, I just wanted to go back to sleep. I wanted to dream of something happier. But unfortunately, my dad is that kind of person that just babbles when he's uncomfortable or doesn't know what to say. He wouldn't let me sleep. After about an hour, I was finally dozing off when the hospice nurse arrived. She was way too cheery to be dealing with a death at 5:00 in the morning.

We chatted with her. Too much small talk in my opinion. After she left, the men came to take her body away.

I was terrified of that moment, but it didn't seem to bother me as much as I thought it would. I sat in the living room alone as I watched the men carry her out of her bedroom and out the front door in a black bag.

It was about 7:00am when they took her body away. My sister and I just sat on the couch. We really didn't know what to do with ourselves. We turned the TV on and it happened to be the start of the Olympics. We watched the Olympics all day. I think it was the perfect distraction.We left the Olympics on the TV for several days. I think I'll always associate the London Olympics with my mom's death. But not in a sad way. In a way that the Olympics has really helped with through this time. It's given us something to focus on that wasn't about death. And it's something that everyone can relate to and talk about. So thank you to the London Olympics.

For the next few days, I felt like we were all just waiting around the house for people to come and bring us flowers or food and give their condolences. It was awful. Staying inside all day because people expected us to be there. I don't think my dad left that house for over a week.

We were able to transport my mom's body to UCSF so that her brain could be donated to research, just as she requested. It was her dying wish and I'm so glad that we were able to make it come true. UCSF did an MRI of her brain and then took her into surgery and removed the brain. They will compared the MRI results to the actual brain so that they will hopefully be able to better read MRI scans. I hope my mom's brain will benefit other brain tumor patients. I remember about a year ago when my mom had an MRI and her oncologist said, "There is something growing, but it's probably just swelling, not tumor growth." Then 4 weeks later, another MRI and the oncologist said "It's still growing so I'm guessing that it's no swelling, but actually tumor growth." The next week they took my mom into surgery, and what did they find? It was just swelling. But because we had to stop the chemo for the surgery, the tumor cells that were there had developed a resistance to the chemo that was working. I was so mad. I couldn't believe that scientists and doctors could know so little. Give me the MRI scans, and I could tell you just about as much as the oncologist did.

I know it's not the oncologists fault though. There just isn't the research to know more. I really hope my mom's brain will be able to solve this horrible problem. I don't want anyone else to have to go through that.

The Wednesday after my mom's passing, we had the funeral. We all drove to the funeral home where my mom was being kept and two older Iranian women arrived to wash my mom's body, as is Muslim tradition. All female friends and family were invited to participate in the washing, but I chose not to do it. I was too scared at the time. Even my aunt didn't do it. Only two of my mom's very best friends went in to help. I spoke with them after, and they said that it was very spiritually cleansing. Like this was the final thing that they could do for her. They cleaned her body and prepared her and made her look nice. Looking back, I kind of wish I had participated, but I think my mom understands that I just didn't feel comfortable at the time.

As my aunt had insisted, a Muslim man came to recite the prayers and oversee the Muslim burial. I understood most of what her said, and trust me, he rambled on for about 15-20 minutes longer than he had too. It was so hot that day and I swear I almost fainted standing in the sun while he was just babbling. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that he volunteered his time to lead the prayers. I just don't think my mom gave a shit. I sure didn't.

After he finished speaking, several people each read things in front of everyone who was there. I read the excerpt from the Richard Bach book There's No Such Place As Far Away that I included in one of my previous posts Now Death Is Really Near.

You have no birthday because you have always lived.You were never born, and you will never die. You are not the child of the people you call mother and father, but their fellow adventurer on a bright journey to understand that things that are. Fly free and happy beyond forever, and we'll meet now and then when we wish, in the midst of the one celebration that can never end.

 My mom's friend read a poem that we actually found saved onto my mom's computer. It's called She Let Go

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.
She let go of fear. She let go of the judgments.
She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming
around her head.
She let go of the committee of indecision within her.
She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons. Wholly and completely,
without hesitation or worry, she just let go.
She didn’t ask anyone for advice. She didn’t read a
book on how to let go... She didn’t search the scriptures.
She just let go.
She let go of all of the memories that held her back.
She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.
She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.
She didn’t promise to let go.
She didn’t journal about it.
She didn’t write the projected date in her day-timer.
She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.
She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.
She just let go.
She didn’t analyze whether she should let go.
She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.
She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.
She didn’t call the prayer line.
She didn’t utter one word. She just let go.
No one was around when it happened.
There was no applause or congratulations.
No one thanked her or praised her.
No one noticed a thing.
Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort. There was no struggle.
It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.
It was what it was, and it is just that.
In the space of letting go, she let it all be.
A small smile came over her face.
A light breeze blew through her.
And the sun and the moon shone forevermore.

While preparing things for the funeral, I remember that years ago my mom had emailed me a worksheet that she had done at a workshop about finding your "primary aim" in life. She encouraged me to also fill out the worksheet, but I never did. I should probably do it now. I searched through my old emails, and found it. She listed these five things as the most important things she wanted in her life:

1. I want a life full of new learnings everyday. I want my life to be filled with personal growth and understanding.

2. I want my mom to accept me for who I am not who she wants me to be. I want us to relate to each other.

3. I want my children to be independent, intelligent and capable to make decisions in their lives that best suits them.

4. I want to surround myself with people that I love, respect and trust. I want to live in an environment free of hatred where people could accept and respect each other's differences.

5. I want to grow old gracefully, with dignity and self-respect. I want to die while I am still healthy and active.

 I can't explain the feeling of reading this list of things most important to my mom the day after she died. She wrote this list over 5 years ago.

I will do my very best to make my mom proud and fulfill her #3. I'm sad to report that I don't think my grandma ever fulfilled #2. She such stubborn lady, just like my mom was. Like mother, like daughter. My mom worked so hard to make sure she developed good relationships with her daughters.

#5. I wish #5 were true. My mom was never able to grow old. She was not able to die will she was still healthy and active. Brain cancer took that away from her.

The last assignment of this worksheet is to write your on eulogy. We also read this eulogy at the funeral. This is what my mom wrote about herself:

Throughout her life, through hard work and persistence, Noushin managed to grow from a fearful follower to a fearless leader! She enriched our lives with her sense of restless conviction to her beliefs and values. She was a creative visionary who saw beyond appearances through the depths of the people around her and was able to bring out the best in them. She had the strength to pursue her dreams despite insurmountable barriers and limitations surrounding her. Her highest sense of truth was her commitment to her friends and family. The gift she left behind is the beauty of her character that touched us all.

 This is my mom. This is her.

I also made a slide show of my mom: