Chapter 30 Epiphanies
Epiphanies
“Alisa? I’m your mother’s doctor. She’s alone and on a ventilator. If you want to say goodbye to her, now’s the time.” I knew she had been sick; my mom was prone to pneumonia , so her going to the hospital was never a big to-do.
But I was shocked when I heard she was on a ventilator and I needed to come say goodbye.
I didn’t even pause to think. I just knew I wasn’t going to let my mom die alone—no matter what our relationship was like.
She deserved someone there holding her hand.
After all, in my darkest times since we reconnected, she’d been there for me.
I hopped in my car and drove four hours from Nashville to sit by her side.
She was in a run-down hospital in a gloomy little town.
I walked in and examined her hands. They were so swollen, but they looked just like mine.
So that’s where I got these sausage fingers, I giggled to myself.
I stroked her gray hair and kissed her forehead and whispered softly.
“Hey, Mama. I’m here.”
The next couple of days were a lot of her heart monitor beating, me talking to her, playing her classic rock, and talking to the nurses and doctors who came to check on her. Each one told me it wasn’t looking good and she wasn’t going to make it
I cried a few times to her and said things I’d held in forever about how my childhood had played out after she abandoned me and what it felt like not having my mom in my life.
But the next day, with odds stacked against her, the old bird woke up.
The doctors decided to do a test to lower her medication to see if she could breathe on her own and wake up by herself.
They did, and as I sat beside her, she started moving her fingers.
Then her legs. I got so excited I jumped up.
“Mom!” I said, quiet but excited.
Her big beautiful blue eyes opened slowly.
My mom had the prettiest, most piercing blue eyes I ever saw.
She was too groggy to realize it was me beside her, and it took her a few hours to fully wake up, but eventually the ventilation tube came out of her throat.
I sat at the end of her bed talking, but she just stared at me blankly.
It was almost as if she had no idea who I was.
I knew she was on heavy amounts of medication so I assumed she was confused.
My aunt—my mom’s best friend—heard the good news and came right away. She walked in the room and my mom lit up and started chatting away like they hadn’t missed a beat. In the middle of the chat, she leaned over to my aunt and pointed at me.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“That’s your daughter, Alisa,” my aunt chuckled.
“Aww, hell, honey! I didn’t know that was you!” she yelped and held out her arms for a hug. Maybe I should have cried that she didn’t recognize me after I’d tried so hard, but to be honest, I couldn’t find any more pain in me. I’d let go of expectations with her. I just shook my head and laughed.
A few days passed, and things were looking up.
I knew in my heart that her going back to that house was a no-go.
I also knew that if I asked her to move to Nashville, it would be a fight.
But this time, I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“Come to Nashville,” I told her. “Let me take care of you.”
Business was booming for Dumb Blonde, and I’d built a decent life for myself alongside my husband. A part of me felt like this was my chance to do more healing when it came to my relationship with her. And at this point in my life, bring it the fuck on. I wasn’t scared of anything.
* * *
TO MY SURPRISE SHE SAID yes. I’d get what I affectionately called “custody” of my mother—I became her POA (power of attorney) for all her medical care.
After years of being rebellious and not accepting my offers of help, she was finally ready.
Before she could change her mind, I arranged for her to be driven by ambulance from Indiana to Nashville and right into a glam nursing home with apartments for seniors.
This place was fancy! Chefs, card-game nights, and karaoke.
I had big dreams for Mom when she came to Nashville.
Meme, her husband, and I all pitched in to make her apartment the cutest, coziest space.
I wanted her to be happy and feel welcome.
Unfortunately, my mom had other plans. In true Vanessa fashion, she wasn’t fully honest about how bad her health was and how much she had given up on life.
She had become such a recluse that she’d been bedridden for a year already and entirely given up on walking.
I didn’t find out she couldn’t walk until we got to Nashville.
Her muscles just didn’t work anymore. She needed oxygen full time for the COPD she battled.
When I asked why she hadn’t walked in over a year, she told me she just didn’t want to be alive anymore.
“Why?” I asked.
“I’m tired,” she said.
I knew that feeling all too well. I had battled my way out of a depression not so long ago.
All I could think of was how to get her motivated and happy again.
I had brought in a therapist to help her walk.
I visited at least three or four times a week.
I pushed her to try the activities with the other residents and even eat dinner down in the restaurant—but she just wouldn’t.
She wanted to sit in her recliner in her room.
At first, I really tried to understand. And since I’d never eaten a meal with my mom I ordered take out and we sat on her couch for our first dinner together—ever—as mom and daughter. It was a special moment for me, and I hoped there would be many more.
As the days passed, I learned more about her side of the family, which was fascinating. I hadn’t known anything about either side of my family because it’s all just so broken. My dad never spoke of his parents, and Mom only spoke of hers one night.
She told me I was a product of white-trash Kentucky witches.
There were seven sisters, and one of them, my aunt Bunnie, always dressed in full glam, big fur coats, and fake eyelashes.
My mom told me I reminded her of Bunnie so much.
How had I never known about her? Bunnie was my entire brand—my whole persona. I’d never known she existed.
My mom told me how all the women on her side of the family had spiritual gifts.
They all, including herself, were riddled with anxiety because they didn’t know how to deal with the feelings of such powerful spirituality.
This was the first time I understood my mom.
She was speaking my language. She was describing feelings I had known my entire life.
As the weeks went on, I kept trying harder to push her out of her shell and get her walking again and feeling better. I just wanted her to have the best life she could now that we were finally connecting. It was the least I could do for her.
But old habits die hard. My mother refused to help herself in any way. I opened up, only to realize that I couldn’t trust my mother fully. I was disappointed in the expectations I had of a woman I barely knew. It was heartbreaking, but it was reality.
* * *
I GOT A CALL FROM the nursing home. My mom’s oxygen had started slowly declining again, and an ambulance was needed. I went to the hospital, and immediately there was talk about intubation. This time, my mom refused. Who was I to force her to be intubated? I stood by her decision.
One of the doctors pulled me in the hallway and told me there was no way she could go back to the senior home. She needed to be in a 24-7 medical facility. She needed constant care. I transferred her to a facility that could give her the care she needed.
But she was miserable, bedridden, and done. Mentally, she had already checked out, and visiting her became tough for me. It was devastating to have so much hope for someone—and watch them not have hope for themselves. Soon, my mother began to stir the pot, wreaking havoc.
So I gave her an ultimatum.
“If you have time to gossip and be unproductive, then you have time to do therapy an hour a day and learn to walk again. And until you start making progress, I won’t come visit you.” I was trying to give her a reason to want to be better at life.
We didn’t speak for the last few weeks my mom was here on this earth.
I was just so frustrated with her. Why didn’t she want more out of life?
Why was she giving up? A part of me held a grudge with her—I was more her mother and she was more my child, and my inner child was distraught.
Being around her triggered me so much. So I just removed myself and chose peace, thinking she would eventually come around.
Her nurses called with updates. She was doing better. I had hope.
* * *
WHEN I VISITED MY MOM in April 2022 at the hospital where she was on her ventilator, she told me her favorite song was “November Rain.” I was excited to play it right there in her hospital room and share a musical moment with her.
“Don’t play it now,” she said. “It’s about someone dying.”
To my surprise, on a cloudy day—November 3, 2022—I received the phone call that my mother had passed. Alone. In her hospital room. My biggest fear for her.
I didn’t understand it. I had been told she was getting better. I was so angry. How was she dead?
J was boarding a flight when he got the call about my mom, and he immediately got off the plane and raced home to be with me—even though I told him not to. I could handle it myself, I told him. But he refused. He always shows up when I need him the most.
We raced down to the hospital and when I got there, they led me to her room.
J stood outside so I could say my goodbye to her alone.
When I walked in, the window was wide open.
I knew it was so they could “let her spirit out,” and I just gazed out the window for a moment before allowing my eyes to scan over to my mom’s lifeless body.
Lying in her hospital bed, she looked so peaceful.
But her gray hair was tousled in a bun, which hurt my heart.
She’d begged me to get her hair done. I’d agreed on one condition: if she would get up and just walk for me.
The tears started pouring and I wanted so badly to just drape myself across her body and be held by my mom like I had never been my entire life. But I was petrified after what happened when I touched Chizzle’s body.
So I stood there, bawling my eyes out and telling her how sorry I was that I didn’t realize how sick she truly was. That I loved her so much and thanked her for allowing me to be a part of her departure from Earth—even if I’d had no idea that’s what I was a part of.
It was just her and me in silence. I never realized how loud silence really is. I just kept examining her face, knowing I’d never see it again.
Finally, I pulled myself together, wiped my face, and walked out to J. And I started questioning the doctors. I asked for medical records. I just couldn’t help but feel like there was some sort of foul play.
I was in such disbelief that I immediately ordered her body to be picked up by the coroner’s office for a private autopsy. There was no way she wasn’t overdosed in the hospital—something had to be wrong. I couldn’t live with the guilt of knowing I abandoned my mom in her final hours.
But when I got the autopsy results, the facts were clear.
The years of hard drugs and beating her body up had just taken their toll.
Her lungs were like cement, and her heart was so enlarged, the coroner said it was bigger than any grown man’s he had ever seen.
Her body was just tired. Just as she said.
I cried for days, mad at myself for forcing my wants on her when she clearly told me hers. As her daughter, was I just supposed to let her give up on life and sit by her side while she died? I couldn’t accept that answer then. Now, my heart tells me yes.
She taught me more in her death than she ever did living. She taught me that forgiveness was for me, not for her, and that free will is what each of us has while we’re here on Earth. What I may have wished and longed for our relationship is not what she wished and longed for.
I truly believe her gift to me was moving to Nashville to be close to me at the end. And I also truly believe that she stayed alive those extra seven months just for me.
I love you, Mom. Thank you.
Her life was a disappointment, but Vanessa was so full of love. She was not a good mom in the slightest, but she was mine. And when I needed her the most, she answered.