by Luisa Ruiz

When I met Catita she was only spending weekends at the senior residence where I worked. Gradually, more and more, her health deteriorated, until her children decided that the best option for her was to move into the residence permanently.

Catita was still lucid, but her children neither asked her opinion nor told her of their decision. One Friday afternoon she arrived as every week. Then, over the weekend they moved her bed and some furniture into the room that was vacant, and, come Monday morning, she remained.

I remember those first few days, sitting down with her. She spoke of her disappointment with her children, not understanding how they had made that decision without asking her opinion. She felt abandoned and didn't want to be there. Little by little, over time she became resigned to her fate, a process made easier because she was well cared for by all those who worked there.

Some time later, Catita had not be sleeping well. She would wake up in the middle of the night and, not recognizing her surroundings, ask where she was. She didn't like being alone, especially at night. I spoke with her children and we agreed to take turns and accompany her during the night.

The night of October 26, 2020 was her son David's turn, but, as it was, he did not arrive. Catita was left alone in the room. From time to time, nurse Lolis came in to check on her. One time, Catita was awake and complaining. Lolis asked Catita if something was bothering her. Catita said no, but emitted moan after moan. Suddenly, Lolis witnessed Catita twist both her arms and her legs. Then, her stomach swelled. Between groans she asked:
"Where's my daughter Mary? Why is my daughter suffering?, Why does she have a tube in her throat?"

Lolis didn't know what she was talking about. She didn't know her daughter Mary or what she meant by the tube.

The next morning we received notice that Catita's daughter Mary had died the night before. Neither Catita nor we knew that Mary had been hospitalized for several weeks with COVID, nor that she had been intubated days before her death. Her other children did not want to tell Catita that her daughter Mary had died. I told them about their mother's episode and that she already knew about Mary´s death.

Mary had died October 26. Catita died November 21. May they rest in peace.

A few days later, I wrote the following poem:

Wait For Me At The Entrance

for Catita

I'm in bed and you don´t come,
weeks prostrated and you don´t arrive.
Then you do come
to visit me and say the last goodbye.
I don't know why you are suffering,
I just see a tube going through your guts.
I scream your name and you disappear
like a spark going extinct.

I want to let go, let me go, let you go.
The more I try, the more I hold on.
My crying becomes an eternal whimper.
Why you if I'm the sick one, the dying one?
Why you, the young one?
You already crossed the threshold.
When will I go?
Wait for me at the entrance, I'll be there soon.

**************

Luisa Ruiz is a chemistry teacher, transpersonal psychotherapist, grief counselor and workshop facilitator, death doula. The Founder of Death Café in Mexico, she has worked for the NGO Uno en Voluntad giving grief workshops. She also worked for Elisabeth Kübler-Ross Foundation as a course and workshop facilitator and as a death doula. She loves reading, writing, hiking and travelling.

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