The Greatest Gifts of All — Lessons from A Mayor Mom who Lost her Nurse Mom to Covid
Every day we see images of War, terrorism, disease and even death. How can we prepare for Christmas and this Holiday Season? How?
There are many times in your life,
You will experience bad times and much strife,
Will fear and worry fill your eyes?
Or can you try to smile and change the way you live and die?
Dearest one, please remember your life isn’t guaranteed tomorrow.
But for today you can choose Faith, Hope and Love over sorrow.
Life is filled with choices.
Initially, you may see something as horrendous or disastrous, but if you are breathing, you have the choice to see whatever is before you as the time to be worried, fearful, or hurt, or as a chance to be determined, devoted and divine.
FAITH
Are you ready to take that leap of Faith?
No one said it would be easy, but like throwing your backpack over the wall, you must be prepared to give Faith your all.
HOPE
My mom Audrey was born in Hell’s Kitchen in New York City. Mom’s long-lost relative was bantamweight boxer Tommy Spider Kelly and the fighting gene lived on in her DNA.
It is in her honor and spirit that I pray, if there is one thing gift you get for this Christmas, it’s one that can’t be found on Amazon or in any store. It’s giving your loved ones and yourself the gift of Faith, Hope, Love whenever we share time and space with another sacred soul here on this precious planet Earth.
LOVE
Audrey taught me to face problems, or a path less traveled with fight and Faith — not fear. As Audrey fought to beat Covid-19 we witnessed her strong sprit and calm resolve. She opened her beautiful blue eyes the day before she died and showed us that LOVE is really all we need, and love can be found in her and others if we just open our eyes and our hearts to see and feel it.
Love will feed our souls and sustain us as we travel in these uncertain times.
Love is Phyllis and Kathy, the Prince William Hospital nurses, who armed with their protective gear and an Ipad gracefully allowed us to do live calls with Audrey to say our prayers, to tell her how grateful we are for her and to let her know that she has an Army of Angels that are here today and always to help and pray for her to find peace and comfort and love.
Love is all the doctors, health care workers, nursing home staff and all who run to help others and to help no matter what and where they are.
Love is family and friends who always give us support and prayers.
Love is breathing in another day and listening to our souls — all will be well. No matter what happens. We have done and WILL CONTINUE TO DO the best we can to help ourselves, our community, our Country, and the planet.
FIGHTING ON PAST COVID
Unlike the roaring 1920’s, the 2020’s were filled with chaos, a global pandemic and countless challenges and miracles. Where were you when you first heard about Covid? Did you have any idea that this disease would spread faster than any super bloom? Instead of flowers, we witnessed the shadow of death grow and spread all around us.
Those eyes. The haunting eyes of Doctor Li Wenliang. Did you see how his eyes looked right into yours while he was on the respirator? Those eyes are seared into my mind forever. On February 7, 2020, I was punched in the figurative gut. On that day Doctor Li died. Dr. Li, the 34-year-old doctor from China and hero who appeared to be healthy, tried to warn the world about the Coronavirus back in December of 2019.
On March 11, 2020, WHO declared Covid19 a Global Pandemic and then we witnessed pandemonium as our government and schools shut down and the world came to a standstill. According to Word origins: “Milton combined a couple of Greek roots, pan meaning all + demon, with the Latin -ium ending. So, pandemonium is literally the place of all demons.”
What did you do?
You were advised to isolate and to view everyone we encounter as a possible COVID spreader. You were advised to wear masks and wash your hands. You were advised to stay home.
Audrey Marie Conley, wife, mother, grandmother, nurse, friend, fighter, Saint and simply a gift to all who knew her was in the Birmingham Green nursing home deep in the heart of Manassas Virginia.
On April 9, 2020, Audrey celebrated her 55th Wedding Anniversary with her husband and my father Jim. The nursing home was on lock down, so Audrey couldn’t meet with anyone in person. I was able to arrange a virtual celebration via zoom. Those were the early days of COVID, and my zoom skills were non-existent, so the zoom meeting was a bit unfocussed, but my Mom smiled and pointed at the camera.
Less than twenty days later, on April 27, 2020, Audrey got a fever. I knew something was wrong. I felt it in my bones. I felt the shadow of death coming closer. I didn’t know what to do. All I could do was pray.
Three days later Audrey was admitted to a nearby hospital in the COVID unit.
On May 1, 2020, we were able to have a zoom with Mom thanks to a dear nurse. Her eyes were closed, and she was lifeless. Mom looked like she was in pain and simply unable to smile or move at all.
My Dad read his “Pop’s Prayer”.
“Thank you, Lord for the Gift of your Holy Spirit and Guardian Angel, to Guide and Protect me and my family as we travel this earthly journey in the hope of meeting again in your Heavenly home and there to spend eternity with you as family.”
It was heartbreaking to watch my Mom laying there in the hospital bed all alone. I was in California — she was in Virginia. I wanted to fight for her to get better, but I was too afraid to get on the damn plane and go see her. This is a failure that I will have to live with for the rest of my life.
I knew I wanted to give my Mom something to hold on to and something to hold on for, so I asked her nurse Kathy if there was any way I could please get a rosary for my mom to have with her in the hospital bed. Thank God — Kathy managed to get the last rosary from the Gift shop.
I couldn’t be there to hold her and help her but hopefully the Rosary — God, Mary and the Holy Spirit were able to comfort her just little while she was alone in the Covid unit gasping for air.
I called a doctor who was doing clinical research and she suggested we get Mom some hydroxychloroquine through a feeding tube. I spoke with the Virginia doctor, and he agreed to try it even though he had his doubts.
On May 2, 2020, we were able to Zoom with Mom again. This time her oxygen tube was replaced with a mask, and I couldn’t help but think of the image of Doctor Li Wenliang, only her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be close to death.
On May 3, 2020, we were able to zoom again with Mom. She seemed less red, but Mom still had that uncomfortable oxygen mask on so tight it looked like it would leave a bruise.
My brothers and father were able to get special permission to see her in the hospital. My Dad even managed to kiss her — by putting a tissue paper between his lips and her skin. My younger brother Jim also got on a plane and joined my father to be by Mom’s bedside.
I pray my Mom will forgive me, but it’s harder to forgive myself even after all these years. I still feel like a failure and a coward for letting Covid instill fear in me.
On May 4, 2020, my father elected to stop the treatment for my Mom so they stopped giving her anything but pain relievers. Mom’s oxygen level was at 51%, and her blood pressure was 80/40.
We were able to zoom with Mom one last time. She was able to open her beautiful blue eyes and for a moment, it looked like she tried to smile and to let us know that all would be well.
The nurse called me the morning of 5/5/20, to tell me she would be there to comfort her. At 12:00 p.m. church bells rang and my Mom was reunited with God in heaven.
It’s now nearly 5 years after her death, and I still have not read through the notes sent by friends after she died. The pain is still raw, and I fear that I will be left numb and catatonic if I dip into that deep pain and guilt, but today I will write and share the pain.
It is in Audrey’s honor and spirit that I hope if there is one thing you can remember this Christmas and Holiday season, it is to savor every second and to make this day your best — no matter what may happen next.
