The Way She Went

She lingered on, assisted by the ventilator, a day after she was brought in to the hospital with severe cerebral haemorrhage. The doctors had declared her brain dead and the question was about a decision to pull the plug on the supportive machines. I did not want her to suffer or stay suspended like this. The damage was so severe that the doctors said she would, on her own fade away and asked me to wait lest I suffer the rest of my life with the guilt of having taken that severe call.

An ICU has restricted access. So I told them to call me inside when the parameters begin to dwindle. I wanted to hold her hand when she went away. I came into the world holding her's.

In the second half of that day, her parameters began to drop. I stayed right next to her and spoke to her. With a

hope that my words would reach her somehow. There was nothing much between us that was unsaid. Yet at goodbye time, all I could think of was gratitude for the love and life she gave me. My beautiful childhood. The laughters, the hardships. The lessons in kindness. The space she created for me to grow to what I have become today. I also told her to let go. Let go of her old tired body. Let go of her fear of the other side. I told her about the peace and light that awaits her at the other end. I promised her to be responsible. Take care of myself and the family.

The pulse had been hovering at 30bpm all of that afternoon. The blood pressure reading often vanished. The nurse told us it was because the machine was not reading it once in a while. But, she pointed that the heart was beating, albeit slow. Which meant Ma was still alive. Her oxygenation level, thanks to the ventilator was maintained. But about 4.53 pm, the oxygenation level also slowly dropped. A passing doctor looked at the monitor and said, "Ok, I think we can declare her dead" He looked at the watch. "I'll note the time and I'll ask the sisters to turn the machines off". My wife and I argued, showed him the pulse counter. It was still at 29/30bpm. He smiled, said that's hardly any pumping going on down there. That, he said, was some residual electricity, in the heart, that the machine was picking up. He went away to the nurse station to instruct the nurses.

I looked at Ma. This was it. She was moving on.

I swooped down closer to her and planted a goodbye kiss on her forehead. There were no more words in my mind. Pure holding up, showing courage so that the going became easy for her too. But that's when the real last communication happened!

The moment I kissed her between her brows , the machine cried out a weird tone. I looked up. The heart counter dropped to Zero! That moment! My wife shuddered, "Did you see that!!?" It was 4.55 pm.

It was September 26th, 2016.

Despite the immense vacuum, I feel a certain peace inside. I stay in acceptance that death is inevitable. But this goodbye so completed my consanguinity with my mother!

Stay in peace, Ma.