Such devoted sisters

 Last week my mom fell down and broke her arm. It's not good.

Mom is 90 years old; she suffers from missing my dad (who died four years ago), osteoporosis, and from...just age-related issues. We were told that the break is a clean break—which sounds kind of good, but I didn't know exactly what that meant so I looked it up just now. Basically a "clean break" means that the bone broke, but didn't shift out of place. So, theoretically, if it was in a sling and immobilized, then gravity would help it to heal. But most likely not in a woman my mom's age and with osteoporosis. To put a cast on it, though, they would have first had to put in a surgical plate, and because of Mom's age and health, they couldn't do that. So she came home with a sling on her arm, lots of pain-killers, and a home-nurse to attend to her...every other day? or maybe every day.

That's the backstory for today's post. 

Bruce and I came to Salt Lake on Saturday to see how Mom was doing; my sister, Melanie, was worried that she was going downhill fast. When Bruce and I arrived at her house my Aunt Helena (Mom's sister) and my cousins were all here visiting. Mom was mostly awake for that visit, but slipping between speaking English and Portuguese, and sometimes talking to people who weren't there.

On Sunday she seemed to rally a little bit. At least she was able to say a sentence or two to most of the family who came to visit that day.

But Monday was scary; Mom was in terrible pain. She would be lying back, with pain written on her face and in her body, then suddenly she would jerk up, trying to sit up, because of the pain. She would plead, "Please. Please. Por favor," over and over again. She was talking to people who weren't here—many of them had already passed away. She kept trying to get out of bed, but she's not able to, and we had to try to keep her in the bed. It was so hard to watch, and we felt helpless to know what to do.

Here is where today's story really starts.

Aunt Helena on the left, and Dolores (mom) on the right
(a colorized photo)

When Mom left Brasil to come marry my dad, her parents sent her sister, Helena, with her...to act as chaperone, and make sure everything was on the up-and-up. It was. Dolores married Orlin, and later Helena married Orlin's brother, Norman.

When I was growing up, Aunt Helena's family and our family were like siblings rather than cousins. We probably went to each others' houses weekly—sometimes more often than that. And through the years Mom and Aunt Helena were always there for each other. They had times when they'd get really mad at each other, but they always made up. And in these late years, with both Orlin and Norman gone, they have been even more important to each other.

So on Monday morning, Mom's really bad day, Aunt Helena came over, not knowing how bad Mom really was. She walked into the house, straight to Mom, and tried to give her a gift of a little fleece blanket. She told her she loved her and asked her to please get better. Within minutes Mom started having one of her big, painful struggles. As she thrashed in her reclining chair, and cried out, "Please. Please," Aunt Helena instantly switched from begging Mom to stay with her, to begging God to take her and release her from this suffering.

Aunt Helena asking the angels to come help Dedé .

Here are some other things I saw my sweet aunt doing that day:

Aunt Helena leaned over Mom as she was talking to Papai (dad) and Mamãe (mom); Helena looked up and told them, "Dedé is so tired. Help her rest." Then she leaned over and, stroking Mom's hair, sang a ...I guess it's a lullaby or a nursery song...to Mom. (It's a song I recognized that Vovis used to sing to us: "Na na nene, na na bonitinha..." It translates to something like "Na na baby, na na pretty [one]"—or maybe cutie.)

In between Mom's spasms she kept talking to people; sometimes to Aunt Helena, and sometimes to others. At one point Mom asked (in Portuguese), "Are they here? Is it true?" And Helena, holding her hand, still standing and leaning over her says, "Yes. It's true. Si. Ta certo."

Later Mom asks for Papai and Mamãe again and, covering her with the little blanket she brought, Helena says, "Mom is here. See? She's covering you with this blanket. And Dad is sitting in this chair next to you." Mom asks for Sebastiana, their maid, and Helena says, "Sebastiana is here; she's in the kitchen."

And as my mom cries, pleading for help, Aunt Helena keeps praying, asking God and anyone else who might be listening to relieve her from this terrible pain. Mom kept talking to people from her past, and Aunt Helena kept reassuring her that they were there, and they were helping her; she would tell them, "Say 'hi' to Dedé." It was beautiful, and she was breaking my heart.

The good thing is that the nurse arrived in the mid-afternoon and increased Mom's pain meds, and got her to sleep. The sad thing is that Mom is declining pretty quickly; we are just trying to keep her comfortable as she moves onward.

But the beautiful thing is those two sisters...how they've always been there for each other—even through disagreements. They have always loved each other.

Oh, how I love my sweet mother and her sweet sister!