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Finally, some time to travel

After her mother's death, Charlene Sue Rubush, relieved of nursing duties, could take a vacation. But she and her husband wouldn't be traveling alone.

By CHARLENE SUE RUBUSH
Published September 27, 2005

In some ways it seems light years away, and at other times, just like yesterday. When I think back to last September, the bittersweet memories well up. I picture my dear mother lying in her hospital bed, dying a prolonged death from the ravages of diabetes, breast cancer and kidney failure.

While I still refer to that time as my summer from hell, there was much to be thankful for. We had brought our mother home, where she wanted to be when she made her transition: no more hospitals or nursing homes.

Our family pulled together to lovingly embrace her and the dying process. We had the care and support of our local hospice, a true godsend. Things were as good as could be expected as we tried to prepare for the loss of our matriarch, the soul of our family.

Then the onslaught of hurricane threats began. One, two, three, and then, unbelievably, the fourth. How we hated to have to board up the windows of mama's bedroom, how sad to lose the precious streams of sunlight. As Hurricane Ivan barreled our way, I prayed, "Dear God, please don't let my mother's last moments be those of terror." Visions of the roof being torn off became my nightmare. How I wanted to provide her a peaceful passing.

Frantic, I called Hospice, wanting to know if we should take mama to a shelter. The nurse was forthright. The shelters offered bare-bones living. While she left the decision to me, she intimated it would be better to take our chances at home.

So we stood our ground and waited, and God provided. The hurricane detoured and although my heart ached for others affected by it, I thanked heaven for our miracle. August turned into September, and mama defied the experts. They had told us she would probably pass soon after she was taken off dialysis. But mama's body was strong.

By the third week of September she was still with us, asking, "What's taking so long? I'm ready."

Our answer was "Mama, it must be pretty crowded in heaven. They're probably waiting for a special space just for you." And so it was, on Sept. 23, 2004, God must have had a vacancy. It was not an easy passing. I will always wonder why.

While it has been a difficult year adjusting to being deprived of her presence, the demands of caregiving are no longer mine. My husband and I were finally able to plan this summer's much needed vacation.

Packing a travel trailer for a two-month vacation is no easy task. There are many decisions to be made. How much clothing to take, what kind, which toiletries will be needed, how much food to carry.

Don't forget laptop and cell-phone chargers, and take the hair clippers, for hubby will surely need a haircut. Which reminds me to take my hair color, special shampoo, curling iron, hair spray, you name it.

I tell myself that the numerous trips between the Airstream and the house are good exercise. Yet, as I climb the steps of our home away from home, I begin to doubt the soundness of my mission. Oh, yes, the mountains are beckoning, I remind myself. I close my eyes and picture the lush, inviting landscape of the Shenandoah Valley. Then I'm good for a few more hours.

Finally, departure day is near. I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I think I've packed all the necessities. But I can't help feeling I'm forgetting something. Suddenly, it dawns on me. What about mama? I almost forgot mama.

I rush into the house, to the back bedroom. I pull out the small stepladder and climb up to the highest bookshelf. There she is, waiting patiently. I pick up the bright pink velvet heart-shaped box of cremains and laughingly say, "Mama, you're going with us on a trip. Oh, the wonders we'll see!" I grab the framed glamor photo too. Not that we could ever forget her beauty, but a photo can bring such great comfort too.

I carry her respectfully to our little aluminum home, and place her in a storage compartment underneath the sofa, which is our living room, family room and dining area for the next 60 days. I want her close. Close enough to share in our latest adventure. In her lifetime, mama was too tied down caring for our family to take many big trips. She and my father had always dreamed of a voyage to Hawaii, yet that dream was never fulfilled.

It may seem a crazy notion to some, this idea that now mama is free to go traveling. Perhaps it is my way of holding on to her and her dreams. But I think this will become a comforting ritual. Perhaps she's looking down from her lofty perch and enjoying my symbolic gesture. For who really knows what lies on the other side of the veil?

I think of her every day, even more so on Sept. 23, the first anniversary of her departure from this world. But who knows what beauty awaits us next summer? For now I'll hold onto that thought, for my traveling mama and me.

-- Charlene Sue Rubush is a freelance writer living in Seminole with husband Bill. A graduate of Eckerd College, she is currently at work on a nonfiction book regarding returning combat veterans, post-traumatic stress syndrome and its effects on family members.

[Last modified September 26, 2005, 20:31:06]