"Lasts" That I Didn't Know Were Lasts... Spaghetti Sauce

The last time I'd ever eat Mom's spaghetti sauce

My favorite meal at home was Mom's spaghetti and garlic bread. Mom made her own spaghetti sauce. I'm craving it just thinking of it now. After I'd eaten all the spaghetti, I'd dip my garlic bread in it to eat the rest. Dad called it Mother Mowdar's spaghetti, and he says that even if we find the recipe it won't be the same because it had the secret ingredient of her love for us.  What is certain is the meal wouldn't feel right with Mom's seat empty.

Cheering for Michigan State.

Since we lost Mom, I've been taking on a lot of her traits. In grieving books, this is called "identification", and is a way for me to connect with her. Mom liked Tim Horton's, so I've been getting an iced latte with caramel and maple dip donut (her order); I've eaten strawberry rhubarb pie (her favorite pie) and dined at Meriweather's (her favorite restaurant). And I'm cheering for Michigan State in the NCAA tournament.

Mom was a proud Spartan while my dad and I are both Wolverines. With Michigan failing to make the tournament, I decided to pick Michigan State to win it all in honor of Mom. At the start of the tournament, expectations were low for Michigan State, but they've stormed their way into the final four. It feels, again, like another shower of magic that has fallen on my world after mom died. In the wake of that terrible news, some spectacular things started happening: our dog begins to walk again after becoming a parapaleggic, we win a flat screen TV from Tim Horton's, and now, Michigan State makes an improbable run towards becoming national champions. 

As I watched the Louisville game, I found myself wanting Michigan State to win - more than I've wanted any other team to win within memory. I'm not cheering for myself; I'm rooting for them for my mom. So if they lose, it is like Mom has been let down again. When it looked like Louisville would close out the game, I felt a crushing dread falling over me. The emptiness and finality began creeping in. I was on the verge of tears. Then, in an instant, the tide turned. Mom and I were still hanging in, still cheering for the Spartans for a little while longer.

At some point, win or lose, Michigan State's journey will end. When that day comes, I will mourn the lose of another connection with Mom. But I hope that we'll be able to celebrate an improbably win for her Spartans. It will be a little more magic dusting from Mom.

The end of the beginning.

On March 11, 2015, at 8:56am my mother's heart stopped beating.  I was in the hospital with my dad, but we have been taken to another room by three doctors who wanted to have the talk with us.  The talk is where doctors discuss with the family whether a "full code" (ventilation, chest compressions and defibrillation) should be performed in the event of cardiac arrest.  After hearing their sales pitch, I called my best friend, a doctor himself, and started talking through the options.  In mid-sentence, I paused, as I heard a siren sounding and mom's room number announced over the intercom.  My best friend still on the phone, my dad and I ran back to my mother's room which was stuffed with doctors.  Without additional instructions from us, the doctors had begun chest compressions.  They had already performed three cycles of compressions (2 minutes of compressions, followed by checking for a pulse), and asked how long we would like them to continue. My mother was a small woman, and her body was being punished by the hulking doctors, pressing on her chest, cracking her ribs. This was her only chance to live. A minuscule chance, but the only chance. "Five cycles?" I said quietly, looking to see how that sat with my dad. He was in shock, unable to fathom that his wife of 38 years might be leaving. Hopelessly, he asked my best friend, "Is that a good try?" My friend could not hear the question though in the commotion. The fourth cycle finished and still no pulse. My dad and I had our arms around each other, tighter than we've ever held one another before. The fifth cycle finished and still there was no pulse. They gave my mom a shot of epinephrine and performed one more cycle to see if it would make a difference. Our eyes on the heart monitor, Mom's heart beat three times, but the line flattened. She was gone.