Ever since her stroke last Tuesday, my mom has been talking about “going home.” How her people are waiting for her. Aunt LaLa (her mom’s sister), Pearl (her sister), her mom, and her dad…all of whom have passed away.
Yesterday she was particularly adamant that she had to get up and get going home because her people were there waiting for her.
“Your people are here, Dorothy,” Wayne said. “Courtney, me, Murphy and the cats. You’re not going home just yet. No one’s there.”
“That’s true. I do have to go by myself. But I don’t want to. I don’t think I can make it home by myself.”
“Mom, if you get well enough to go back to Denver I’ll be there to help you,” I said.
“Denver? My flight’s not to Denver. I’m going home. With mom and daddy, Lala and Pearl. They’re waiting.”
I had to leave the room because my grandmother started talking in a similar fashion near the end of her days too. I broke out balling.
Thankfully so far this morning even though she’s been talking about LaLa and her mom, it’s only been to say things like, “I wonder where they lived when they were here.” (She thinks she’s in New Orleans today, where her mom and aunt were born and raised.) Or, “I wonder if their house was designed like this.”
I’ve been talking to others who’ve said their loved ones also referred to “going home” shortly before they passed. They, too, mentioned those who had passed before them.
It’s spooky on the one hand, but comforting on the other. I at least know someone will be there waiting for her and she won’t be alone.
The one thing I find interesting is how it’s always been people both my mom and grandma have referred to. Loved ones they lost long ago.
Not that either really had pets. My mom knew Mackie well because we had him for 10 years. My dad brought him home before the divorce. Mack lived with me and mom afterwards. (Because he was my dog and it was written in the divorce papers where I went so did Mack.) But my mom was the one to make sure he had food and water and was let out. (Even though I loved him dearly I wasn’t very responsible about taking care of him like that until his last year.)
But she never mentions him. Or Mike, the very first family dog. And they had him for 18 years! Curious.
I can’t help but wonder who will be waiting for me if I ever get to the sate my mom’s in. I wonder if I’ll see Mackie and Budly, and if I go before Murphy, Tabby, and Mr. Meow, if they’ll be there too. Or if I’ll just see my people.
I sure hope all the pets I’ve loved over the years are the ones to greet me. Not that I wouldn’t be happy to see my “people” people, but I just can’t fathom any “home” without my fur people greeting me with wagging tails, puppy dog kisses and kitty hugs. That just wouldn’t be home for me.
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