NO DAY SHALL ERASE YOU FROM THE MEMORY OF TIME

​“No Day Shall Erase You From the Memory of Time”

This quote by the poet Virgil is displayed upon the entry of the 9/11 Memorial Museum in New York City. It is an arresting thing to see, should you ever find yourself in Manhattan. It also reminds me of a story surrounding the passing of the mother of my good friend Janine.

Janine is a registered nurse, and an excellent one at that. She is skilled at making split second decisions for her patients, which often requires that she checks her emotions at the door when she arrives at work each morning. Good healthcare workers are known for this separation of personal attachment from people they are treating, especially in an emergency. It is for this reason that it typically isn’t advisable for nurses and doctors to treat family members. Because emotions will always obscure our interactions with loved ones.

​Janine had a mother named Annette. Annette had a colorful life. She was a single mother to her daughter Janine, but that never slowed her down. Annette had worked as an airline stewardess for TWA; her routine flight was between JFK airport in New York and Paris, France. She had her own “yacht” as she called it, (it was really just a pontoon), which she navigated independently through the waterways of Florida. Annette loved cruises, she had an extremely active work and social life, and she never slowed down until November of 2018.

At this time, Annette developed significant trouble with her breathing. Janine was concerned for her mother, and often went and stayed overnight in the hospital rooms where her mother wound up. But as soon as Annette’s health worsened, she would rally and go back home to host Rummikub parties for her girlfriends. There was a spark within her that refused to be put out.

It wasn’t until Easter of the following year and Annette was in the hospital again, when a nurse pulled her daughter Janine into the hallway to talk. “It is really time to consider hospice for your Mom. At this rate, she will likely die within a week, but it won’t be comfortable and she will be gasping for air.” Janine was torn. The nurse within her knew that hospice was the best idea. But the daughter within feared losing her mother.

Janine returned to her mother’s hospital bed and brought up the idea of hospice. Annette’s reply tore at Janine’s own ribcage: “Are you saying that you just want to erase me?” I know Janine pretty well and she is a very quick thinker on her feet. “It isn’t that I want to erase you, Mom. But I think it would be a good experience for you to try hospice. If you don’t like the place, you can always leave.”

Somehow, this exchange convinced Annette to get admitted into hospice care. A phone call was placed and just two hours later, Annette was transferred from the hospital and was now resting in bed in her new location. Janine discovered that the doctor working at this hospice facility was none other than Anson Buttles. Janine had worked with Dr. Buttles as a nurse during her very first job in a psych hospital when she was only 21 years old. “He was such a good physician to learn from as a young professional,” Janine said. “He taught me so much years back and now he was in front of me, taking care of my Mom. I couldn’t have picked a better person for this moment.”

Janine and Dr. Buttles had a huddle between themselves. They were both on the same page. They wanted Annette to feel calm and at peace and they wanted the process to go quickly. “May I spend some time talking to your mother?” The good doctor asked Janine. Janine agreed and went out for Italian food with her husband at a local restaurant.

Dr. Buttles spent two hours talking to his patient Annette. At the end of the two hours, several things were accomplished. First, Dr. Buttles discovered every single detail of Annette’s life, including why she named her daughter Janine (it was because she loved flying to Paris and adored French culture). Second, Annette made it abundantly clear to Dr. Buttles and the priest on staff at this hospice place that she didn’t want others to pray or engage in any religious practices for her benefit. And thirdly, Dr. Buttles was so persuasive and kind that Annette agreed fully to hospice and even stated, “If we are going to do this, let’s DO THIS! Let’s get started!”
Janine returned from dinner with her husband to find a very relaxed mother. After all, Dr. Buttles knew what he was doing: he gave his patient morphine pills frequently to gently slow her breathing and Annette opened her mouth readily for this medication. She no longer gasped for air, either.

As the night wore on, Janine and her husband and several family friends knew they had to go home and get some rest. Janine was exhausted, as the hospice decision and transfer had occurred during the past 24 hours. As she sat at the edge of her mother’s bed, Janine asked her mother if there was anything that she could do for her before leaving for the night. “Yes, you can do something for me,” Annette replied, her countenance tranquil and sublime. “I want you to go home and fv#k your husband.”

The daughter within Janine was appalled. Annette had never used the F word as a verb, and certainly not to her daughter in a room full of family and friends! But shortly after the initial shock, the nurse within Janine remembered the awesome power of morphine. Janine knew better than anyone what this drug was capable of. For end of life matters and to suppress breathing, morphine is the drug par excellence. It can also loosen lips, as it did in this case.

Janine awoke the next morning and made pastina to bring to the hospice house for her Mom. Yet she got a phone call from a worker there who said, “Your Mom isn’t waking up.” Janine arrived and her mother was peacefully sleeping. Still alive, but unable to open her eyes and converse. A throng of family and friends were within the room, enveloping Annette with their love and support.

Janine had a family member who was a monsignor of the Catholic church. He suggested performing Last Rites, so the group gathered in a circle while the monsignor read aloud what is called the Commendation of the Dying. In the middle of this officiation, a black crow flew into the window above Annette’s hospital bed and fell to the ground. It was at this moment that the crowd realized they had violated Annette’s request that no religion be offered to send her on her way. “That crow made a very loud thud and it scared us a little,” Janine told me. “We stopped praying at that point. But that crow eventually got up and flew away a few hours later. Just as my mother finally stopped breathing for good.”

As ‘end of life’ stories go, the story of Annette tops the list as one of my personal favorites. I have never met Annette, but in listening to Janine and writing this, I feel almost certain that I have. It all goes back to that quote by Virgil: “No day shall erase you from the memory of time.” Annette had feared the idea of hospice and asked her daughter if she would be erased.

From her young beginnings of sunbathing and flying across the Atlantic Ocean, to raising her daughter who would become a nurse, to riding on her “yacht”, Annette had a wonderful life of parties and joy. And her departure from this world was equally as dramatic as her life had been, when she instructed Janine to “go home and fv#k your husband”, after which a black crow flew into a window to put the kibosh on the monsignor’s prayers.

This is a working theory which suggests that Annette was not erased after all. None of us are. That dude Virgil was onto something. We are not erased from the world on the day that we leave it. We matter. The next time I go boating, I will look out on the shimmering water for a woman on a pontoon with a broad smile and an open laugh. She will appear in streaks of brilliant color, just on the periphery of my vision. Never to be erased.