In my mother’s final days, my brother and I took turns keeping vigil at her nursing home bedside. One of her roommates, Gertrude, who kept residence in the middle bed, would occasionally have visitors with whom she would converse. Sometimes those visitors were of this earth while other times they were invisible to our mortal eyes.
If you read about people nearing the end of life, or speak with those who work closely with them, this is not a rarity. Some believe these individuals are hallucinating, while others believe they are straddling this world and the next. Having spent hours on top of hours sitting on the other side of a privacy curtain from Gertrude, both my brother and I can state definitively, she was having full conversations with someone(s) – there were long pauses where she was listening to “them” and would respond accordingly.
Other times, Gertrude would suddenly speak to me through the curtain or ask me questions about one of the invisible people in the room. From my days of working with a search and rescue team, I learned that when working with someone suffering from dementia, if they produce a story that doesn’t make sense or they think you are someone you are not, it is best to go along with the story to help calm them. I did that with Gertrude, and it did indeed seem to put her at ease.
“Whose dog is that?! Is that your brown dog?!
A couple days before my mom passed, I was sitting beside her when suddenly Gertrude exclaims, “Whose dog is that?! Is that your brown dog?!” I ask her if her dog is there with her. She tells me no and that it isn’t her dog, but that it was my dog. I ask her, “My dog?” (Norbert and Bugg did make the trip with me to the area, but I kept them over at my brother’s house). Gertrude then exclaimed, “That’s your brown dog. And the other one too.” Going along with her, I tell her, “Oh, okay, I’ll keep them over here and quiet.” Gertrude seemed to calm a bit and said, “Oh, I guess they are here to visit.”
I sat for a moment thinking of Norbert and Bugg and then felt the hair raise on the back of my neck as I thought about my first two dogs, Achates and Scout. Achates was a dark brown chocolate lab and was my mom’s first granddog. When he was a puppy, she would dog sit for me when I’d leave on vacation, which included taking him out for drives during the day so he wouldn’t get bored.
My second dog, Scout, was one she was particularly fond of and was also her namesake. My mother’s name was Socorro Marina so I named Scout, Scout Marina. Achates was named after my dad, Hal, who had passed in 1988. My mom’s pet name for him was Prince Hal so I gave him the full name of Prince Hal Achates.
Achates and Scout
For the next several hours, Gertrude would occasionally comment on the dogs – sometimes telling me that she wasn’t sure they were allowed in the room and other times noting that it was nice that they were there to visit. I found myself feeling a sense of peace and calm with their presence and feeling that they were there to ease my mother’s transition.
That evening, my brother came in to relieve me as Gertrude was talking about the dogs. He looked at me a bit perplexed so I told him what happened. We talked a bit about her very elaborate conversations that she would have with others and agreed that she was definitely speaking with someone. I left to go feed and walk Norbert and Bugg and told my brother I’d swing back by later to visit, before calling it a night.
When I returned a couple hours later, having not said a word or being seen as I entered the room, Gertrude yells through the curtain toward us, “You can’t bring those two dogs in here! Is that your dog? Is that your brown dog? They aren’t supposed to be in here!” My brother looks at me a bit startled and I reply to Gertrude, “It’s okay, they’re with me.” She calms a bit and grumbles, “Well, I guess that’s okay but I don’t think they are supposed to be in here.”
The next day, one day before my mom’s passing, I was helping one of the nurse aides assist with my mom and change her bed sheets. As we finish, Gertrude turns to us and asks, “Is there a dog in here?!” The aide tells her no. I turn to the aide and say, “Well, maybe there is.” She smiles and nods, and says, “Yeah, maybe there is.”
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Epilogue:
Throughout my life, I’ve dreamt many times of dogs from my life who have passed and have always found comfort in their visits. This past year, I’ve had several dreams about my parents where I interact with them in different times and space. Most recently, I had a vivid dream about them and in one part of the dream, I was in a future state with my future dog and was with my dad looking for my mom. We were about to venture out in search of her when I find that future dog has called upon his friends to help with the search. As I look outside on the porch, I see there are hundreds of spirit dogs there beside us, ready to help (perhaps, the hundreds I worked with in Tylertown, Mississippi, post-Hurricane Katrina?). I woke from that dream feeling such a wonderful sense of support and companionship.
As I took Norbert and Bugg for a walk that day, I felt we were not alone and that the spirit dogs, both past and future, were there with us, walking in stride.
My mother, Socorro Marina “Penny” Ford, passed away very peacefully in the early hours of June 26, 2019.
