At 9 am on Sunday November 23rd, 2014, I awoke to my 18 year old brother screaming at my mom to wake up... I walked in to find her in her bed, her lips dark blue. I told him to call 911. They told us to lift her out of bed and onto the floor because CPR doesn't work on a soft surface. We gently moved her, and I started cpr.
Her skin was mottled, her belly purple and bloated... I'm a healthcare provider and know the signs of death, but for some reason, I still did those chest compressions until the paramedics arrived. My 12 year old daughter saw all of this.
The paramedics worked tirelessly on my already gone mother for about an hour before they finally called it. Her death certificate reads the time they arrived.
After they pronounced her dead, and told us, they brought the chaplain in. Again, I'm a healthcare provider, and I know this process all too well, but was in denial.
A sheriff showed up, then another. Both questioned everyone in the house twice, including my daughter. At this point, my 24 year old sister (because I called her) and the next door neighbor had arrived (uninvited).
Next, a forensics team and more cops arrived. They took pictures of my mother, her room, her bed, all of her psych meds, etc. My sister has flashbacks triggered by a flash now.
After the forensic team finished, they started along with all of the other cops until the medical examiner arrived, hours later.
The medical examiner took more pictures, did whatever she does, and then gave me her card, telling me a bunch of things I can't remember. As the eldest child, I received a lot of cards and jargon that day.
My mother's best friend asked to hold her hand for a few minutes before they took her, and the ME refused, in case there was foul play because she was only 50 and in perfect health. I believe there may have been, to some degree.
Next, they took her away in a body bag. We had to move all the furniture, and I had to secure the animals while they set up to load her out. Knowing I'd already be scarred for life, I chose to go somewhere else while they bagged and moved her.
The next few hours were a complete blur. Lots of phone calls. I couldn't cry. Not until all the people left.
I am having flashbacks of the events of that awful day, particularly of the way she looked when we moved her, and the gurgling sounds she made as we did. I can barely leave my house (the one where I lived with her, the one she died in) because they're so bad. My pdoc has me on three benzos to keep me out of hysteria, and to try to control the flashbacks.
She was my best friend and we were raising my child together. I was helping her take care of my siblings. To say we were close is a vast understatement. We were inseparable. We were a team. I am now taking care of most of her responsibilities as well as my own. This is just too much...
We are waiting for the toxicology report to be reviewed to have a cause of death. She was too young, we're all too young... The list of things we'll never be able to do is way too long. She was everything to me, and I don't know if I'm able to live in a place that doesn't have my mother in it.
