Per hospital policy, the deceased must be moved to the morgue within three hours of the time of death.
A great many things happened during those three hours, and I'll likely discuss many of them in later posts. I cannot briefly describe the many different emotional states I passed through during that time and the remaining hours we spent in the hospital afterwards. But during that time there were things to be done that took me away from my own confrontation with the situation... selecting the person to perform an autopsy, beginning the process of coordinating with a funeral home, trying to help my dad deal with the situation, notifying my Uncle Karl...
It wasn't clear how long we would have to spend with my mom, and at a certain point it seemed like there may be no limit. I thought that my dad and I might never leave that room, our lives forever halted at the same time as my mom's. Our family choosing not to continue on if we could not continue on together. But at a certain point, we were notified that we would only have another 15 minutes or so before they needed to remove Mom. In my last minutes in the room, I put my forehead on Mom's forehead and gave her a kiss. I held her hand. After they had prepared her body, we were able to head down to the morgue and spend one last minute with her. As I put my head on hers for the last time, the cart she was on rolled away from me a bit. I gave her one last kiss goodbye, and that was the last time I ever saw Mom when she was Mom - my dad and I agree that Mom wasn't at the funeral.
When I was with my mom - being present with her and feeling our connection - I felt the pain distinctly. When I was handling other things, I felt disconnected from any personal harm. The switching back and forth between those situations made it seem like my experience was, in some ways, under my control. I could be severely grieving but still function when I needed to. After arranging to have my mother picked up by the funeral home, there was nothing left for us to do at the hospital. My dad, my Uncle Karl, my best friend and his mom decided we would order dinner and bring it back to our house. As we started to leave, a tremendous dread gripped me. We would go home, and my mom's stuff would be all over the house. Everything in the home would remind me of her and that she would never be there again. I quietly became more and more anxious. Then, as we began to walk towards the exit to the hospital, I had an overwhelming sense that I was leaving Mom behind. Walking out of the revolving doors would mean that it really was over, and that I was willingly agreeing to be separated from Mom. My eyes began to well up as I walked outside, and I broke down into heaving sobs. Every emotion that had built up while my grief was turned off burst forth. If only Mom could have been there to comfort me, but she wasn't coming with us.