The Worst September
September 22, 1994MUSC, Charleston, SC
It was Monday morning. September. I’d been the Media Coordinator in this new middle school for maybe three weeks. They didn’t know me yet. I didn’t know them. All the teachers cared about was making sure their students had somewhere to go for 45 minutes so they could take a break. All the principal and assistant principal cared about was that the library was open and classes were on schedule so teachers didn’t come running to them fussing about not getting to take a break because the library was closed.
I was distracted. I’d gotten a call that Daddy had taken Mama to the local hospital. She’d been coughing horribly. She brushed it off as her usual sinus trouble. Daddy had tried to make her go to the hospital on Saturday. But she hadn’t had a shower and didn’t feel like taking one. Being a nurse who had had one too many patients come to see the doctor who hadn’t bothered to wash before they came had stuck a little too hard with Mama. She should have known they would understand. But that was one area of pride for her. Finally on Sunday Daddy just made her go. Bronchitis. Bad. Then the diagnosis of congestive heart failure. I talked to her briefly on the phone, telling her I was going to school to write my lesson plans then I was coming to Marion.
Had I only known.
That was the last time Mother and I ever talked. But she was coughing so much she could barely get two words out. I told her I loved her and I’d see her tomorrow and she should go rest.
So - I went to school Monday morning, was trying to deal with the students coming in to exchange their library books while at the same time writing up some simple Lesson Plans so that I could hurry and get out of there and start the drive to Marion.
Then I got a call-out on the loud speaker, “Ms. Cotton, you need to come to the office. There’s a phone call for you.”
I rushed out, fearful of what I’d hear.
I don’t even remember who it was, “They’ve airlifted your mother to MUSC.” (The Medical University of South Carolina)
After that’s it’s a blur. I did what I had to do to get out of the school and drive to Greensboro. John and I threw some clothes in the car and, instead of driving to Marion as we’d expected, we headed to Charleston.
By the time we reached Charleston and MUSC, Mother was unconscious. We got various versions of why she’d needed to be air-lifted to Charleston, why they’d had to intubate her and the possibility that she’d gone without oxygen for longer than she should have. Even now I don’t know what happened. In retrospect, I wish we’d sued. Just to find out what happened. I just asked my husband if he remembered. He thinks the MUSC Medical Transport Team had to intubate her because someone at the small town hospital had “messed up” and she stopped breathing. Hence the need to intubate.
I walked into her room. There she was. All connected to machines, drip lines, paraphernalia. My niece had taped a photograph of Mother on some piece of equipment so they would see the Vibrant Woman, Wife, Mother, Grandmother, not just the still, quiet, “little old lady” in the bed surrounded by blips and bleeps emanating from the machines keeping her alive.
My Mama was a Strong Woman. (She would have pshaw'd that if she'd heard you say such!) The daughter of an alcoholic father. The oldest child of seven children. I never knew until reading on ancestry that when she was seven her mother had a daughter who died when Mother was eight.
Mother never talked about her problems. She was the oldest. She was the caregiver. She took care of others, she wasn’t supposed to need taking care of.
When Mama was sixteen years old she wrote a letter to the Louisburg Junior College, explaining why she wanted to be a nurse, why she would be a good student. That she wanted to take care of people.
At Sixteen!
And she was accepted.
At Sixteen!
And she was accepted.
She followed that two year program by enrolling in the Inaugural Thompson Memorial Nursing Program of maybe 16 young women who became the first ever Nursing Class to graduate from Thompson Memorial Hospital’s Nursing School, a full four year program.
Those women remained friends all their lives. I tight group steeled by a strenuous shared experience.
On a side note, when they were still school, one of them eloped with her beau who was shipping out in just a few days. She didn't have a wedding dress. Mother had One White Dress. She gave it to her friend.
Later, after graduation, when she and Daddy were getting married, she wore a navy suit.
She'd given her only white dress to a dear friend.
That was Mary Ella.
I wish I had known my mother better. As a woman, not just Mama.
She loved playing Bridge. Couples and with her, as we would say today, her Girlfriends. She was in a Bridge cCub. They met once a month (?) alternating hostessing. My sister and I loved it when they met at our house. Mama would set up two card tables in our living room. (Tight squeeze, but she managed it.) She’d have out her hostess dishes, the clear glass ones with the matching cups. She had “fancy sandwiches” and punch or coffee. And desserts course.
And the ladies would chit chat and laugh as they played cards.
My sister and I felt so important when we got to “serve” the ladies, refill their little cups and bring more nuts and snacks.
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| Mother on her "Capping Day" at Robeson County Hospital Nursing School |
I wish I had known my mother better. As a woman, not just Mama.
She loved playing Bridge. Couples and with her, as we would say today, her Girlfriends. She was in a Bridge cCub. They met once a month (?) alternating hostessing. My sister and I loved it when they met at our house. Mama would set up two card tables in our living room. (Tight squeeze, but she managed it.) She’d have out her hostess dishes, the clear glass ones with the matching cups. She had “fancy sandwiches” and punch or coffee. And desserts course.
And the ladies would chit chat and laugh as they played cards.
My sister and I felt so important when we got to “serve” the ladies, refill their little cups and bring more nuts and snacks.
 |
| Mother in her Navy Suit |
Mother loved being a Nurse! Many a night supper would be interrupted with a call for “Doctor Cotton”, as a few of the patients lovingly called her. If she were in our generation, I have no doubt that she would have become an MD. She was smart enough, of that I am certain.
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| Mama and Nannie Bullock Two Strong, Sweet, Southern Women |
Mother was the one who got me interested in Cake Decorating. Now, Nannie Bullock taught me Baking, from my earliest days at her apron strings.
But Mama took Cake Decorating Classes when my first husband and I were stationed in England. She surprised us with an English themed welcome home cake when we had our first “furlough” trip home. After that tour of duty was done, Mama and I took a cake decorating class together at Horry Georgetown Tech. We had such Fun doing that together! Mother was much better at precision and line work than I could ever be. She had a Steady Hand. (She always said I was more creative.)
I’ll never forget the GODSPELL cake Mama made for Opening Night. The cast was wowed. She made a replica of the cast album. It was amazing.
She made Kelly several birthday cakes over the years. One year it was a Tiger. (Clemson, of course) One year, she made Kelly a cake that looked like you could cut the slices and serve it up with Beer, it was so much like a Pizza! Complete with Onion Rings and Pepperoni Slices!
Mama was always embarrassed by her overbite. Only back then it was called “buck teeth”. How unkind. Therefore, we don’t have many pictures of my sweet Mama.
She never knew how beautiful she was.
Mama had to be a patient person to put up with Daddy. He was a good man, but, like me, he went off on tangents. Forgot tasks. Left a trail. Mama was always picking up after Daddy in many ways. But he was good for her, too. He “gave her permission” to laugh, to be silly, to have fun.
One thing I remember about the few days Mama was in the hospital that I’m still angry about. Kelly was at NCState. He came to see Mama, his Grandmama Cotton. He stood at the end of her bed. I saw him watching her. It was like he was frozen in place. He didn’t want to leave. But he had a test the next day. And this particular teacher had no empathy. He’d give Kelly an F if he weren’t there. No matter the reason. Self-important prick. So Kelly had to leave and he was not with us when Mother left this world. That man robbed him of that time with his family.
Too bad so many people fail to understand that Death is as an important an event in Life as is Birth.
Maybe the day after Kelly left, I remember us talking to Mama. Together, individually. I remember telling my Sister and Daddy, that I’d read somewhere that family members sometimes need our “permission to leave”. I felt that for Mother that might be especially true. I don’t know much about Faith. I know Mother had Faith. As did my Nannie Bullock. But if Mother wasn’t going to get better, if she were never going to be able to help her family again, I knew she would NOT want to be in a vegetative state. She’d cared for people who were “no longer there” and she’d stated emphatically that she never wanted to be in that position.
So, we each had our turn to talk to Mama, to tell her how we felt. Individually.
I don’t know about the others. I only know that I told her that I didn’t Want her to go. But that if she Needed to, that we would be alright. That I loved her. That Kelly loved his Grandmama Cotton. And I kissed her forehead. And cried.
But Mama took Cake Decorating Classes when my first husband and I were stationed in England. She surprised us with an English themed welcome home cake when we had our first “furlough” trip home. After that tour of duty was done, Mama and I took a cake decorating class together at Horry Georgetown Tech. We had such Fun doing that together! Mother was much better at precision and line work than I could ever be. She had a Steady Hand. (She always said I was more creative.)
I’ll never forget the GODSPELL cake Mama made for Opening Night. The cast was wowed. She made a replica of the cast album. It was amazing.
She made Kelly several birthday cakes over the years. One year it was a Tiger. (Clemson, of course) One year, she made Kelly a cake that looked like you could cut the slices and serve it up with Beer, it was so much like a Pizza! Complete with Onion Rings and Pepperoni Slices!
Mama was always embarrassed by her overbite. Only back then it was called “buck teeth”. How unkind. Therefore, we don’t have many pictures of my sweet Mama.
She never knew how beautiful she was.
Mama had to be a patient person to put up with Daddy. He was a good man, but, like me, he went off on tangents. Forgot tasks. Left a trail. Mama was always picking up after Daddy in many ways. But he was good for her, too. He “gave her permission” to laugh, to be silly, to have fun.
One thing I remember about the few days Mama was in the hospital that I’m still angry about. Kelly was at NCState. He came to see Mama, his Grandmama Cotton. He stood at the end of her bed. I saw him watching her. It was like he was frozen in place. He didn’t want to leave. But he had a test the next day. And this particular teacher had no empathy. He’d give Kelly an F if he weren’t there. No matter the reason. Self-important prick. So Kelly had to leave and he was not with us when Mother left this world. That man robbed him of that time with his family.
Too bad so many people fail to understand that Death is as an important an event in Life as is Birth.
Maybe the day after Kelly left, I remember us talking to Mama. Together, individually. I remember telling my Sister and Daddy, that I’d read somewhere that family members sometimes need our “permission to leave”. I felt that for Mother that might be especially true. I don’t know much about Faith. I know Mother had Faith. As did my Nannie Bullock. But if Mother wasn’t going to get better, if she were never going to be able to help her family again, I knew she would NOT want to be in a vegetative state. She’d cared for people who were “no longer there” and she’d stated emphatically that she never wanted to be in that position.
So, we each had our turn to talk to Mama, to tell her how we felt. Individually.
I don’t know about the others. I only know that I told her that I didn’t Want her to go. But that if she Needed to, that we would be alright. That I loved her. That Kelly loved his Grandmama Cotton. And I kissed her forehead. And cried.
Now to Thursday, September 22, 1994.
Our sweet cousin Phil and his lovely wife, the other Ann (no E) Cotton, offered their Charleston home while Mother was in the hospital. Thursday morning, my Sister and I were sitting on the deck, maybe having coffee after breakfast, getting ready to go back to the hospital. Sis had picked up Ann’s “Upper Room”, a Methodist Daily Devotional. She read the daily devotion for Thursday, September 22, 1994. She pushed the magazine over to me, opened to the page. I read it, too. I wish I had a copy of it. I wish I could remember it. But we were both comforted. And we looked at each other and we just knew. We knew that this would be the day that all the machines would be turned off.
Daddy, Sis (and her daughter, I think) and I went to MUSC, we talked to doctors.
Mother was non-responsive. There was no brain activity. There was no pain response. (We had been thinking that we’d seen some eye movement. Wishful thinking I guess.)
After listening to the doctors and nurses, we talked together. We made the hard decision, the decision we thought Mama would want. We decided to take her off the ventilator. If she was supposed to come back to us, she would. But we knew.
The nurses came in the room, asked us gently to let them take care of Mother for a little bit. They were going to move her to a different room. They moved her to a room that was bigger. That allowed for more family. She no longer needed to be in the ICU.
When they had her moved. They let us know we could come back in to see her. More family came in. Her brothers, her sister. Friends. Cousins.
There was Mama. L’il Bit, her nursing school nickname. She didn’t fill a hospital bed. Surrounded by people she had loved. Many she had taken care of. Aunt Hilda, her sister, when she’d been nearly crushed to death in a car accident. Her brothers and her sister, whom she’d taken care of as children. Her own little family.
The staff had taken all the equipment away from Mother’s face. She looked peaceful. She stayed with us for a long while. Sis and I hadn’t eaten much all day. Some of the aunts and uncles had gone to get a bite and brought us something back. I don’t think either of us more than touched it.
Out of nowhere, Sis said, “her Breathing just changed!”
And then there was the Sigh. And just like that.
Mary Ella Bullock Cotton; Mama, Grandmama, Aunt Mary Ella, Nurse, was gone.
Our sweet cousin Phil and his lovely wife, the other Ann (no E) Cotton, offered their Charleston home while Mother was in the hospital. Thursday morning, my Sister and I were sitting on the deck, maybe having coffee after breakfast, getting ready to go back to the hospital. Sis had picked up Ann’s “Upper Room”, a Methodist Daily Devotional. She read the daily devotion for Thursday, September 22, 1994. She pushed the magazine over to me, opened to the page. I read it, too. I wish I had a copy of it. I wish I could remember it. But we were both comforted. And we looked at each other and we just knew. We knew that this would be the day that all the machines would be turned off.
Daddy, Sis (and her daughter, I think) and I went to MUSC, we talked to doctors.
Mother was non-responsive. There was no brain activity. There was no pain response. (We had been thinking that we’d seen some eye movement. Wishful thinking I guess.)
After listening to the doctors and nurses, we talked together. We made the hard decision, the decision we thought Mama would want. We decided to take her off the ventilator. If she was supposed to come back to us, she would. But we knew.
The nurses came in the room, asked us gently to let them take care of Mother for a little bit. They were going to move her to a different room. They moved her to a room that was bigger. That allowed for more family. She no longer needed to be in the ICU.
When they had her moved. They let us know we could come back in to see her. More family came in. Her brothers, her sister. Friends. Cousins.
There was Mama. L’il Bit, her nursing school nickname. She didn’t fill a hospital bed. Surrounded by people she had loved. Many she had taken care of. Aunt Hilda, her sister, when she’d been nearly crushed to death in a car accident. Her brothers and her sister, whom she’d taken care of as children. Her own little family.
The staff had taken all the equipment away from Mother’s face. She looked peaceful. She stayed with us for a long while. Sis and I hadn’t eaten much all day. Some of the aunts and uncles had gone to get a bite and brought us something back. I don’t think either of us more than touched it.
Out of nowhere, Sis said, “her Breathing just changed!”
And then there was the Sigh. And just like that.
Mary Ella Bullock Cotton; Mama, Grandmama, Aunt Mary Ella, Nurse, was gone.
-----
How can it be?
One minute you’re there.
And the next, you’re not.
----
As all of you who have lost a parent know, there is no describing the loss.
It’s a void that just can’t be filled.
I love you, Mama.
You might have been a L’il Bit, but you were a huge presence. You touched the lives of so many people, with gentle kindness and your own inner light.
“A person who always brought her own light into a room.”
Your loving daughter,
We miss you, still,
Anne
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