Mary Ellen Rushing-Chumbley



No matter how far we travel from our beginnings

- whether in miles or in mind -

a part of us will always await for our return.


On Saturday, November 18, 2006, just minutes before midnight, I witnessed the woman who gave me life 51 years ago take her last breath as a mortal; as my sister, Patricia, laid in the hospital bed with her - as she had done so lovingly many, many a night. For a second, I felt a sense of relief that her pain was finally over, before a massive wave of sadness crashed over me. Nothing can prepare you for that moment or the pain that takes over your heart and grips your soul. After the wave passed, the emptiness it left is indescribable.
   Toward the end of her life, my dear mother suffered a great deal. I had lost count of the times she was in the hospital the last year. I think it was 14. During the last few weeks, she was put on life-support twice and then fell into a coma. The doctors told us that if she was ever to wake up, Mother would be death, blind, paralyzed, or a combination of the three, and there was just too much brain damage - from lack of oxygen - to hope or expect anything more. Painfully, my sister, brother and I thought it was time to stop her suffering and let her go to find the peace that she so deserved.
   On her last day, some of Mother's favorite music by Anne Murray, was softly playing non-stop. Later in the early evening, Joann, one of mother's good friends brought a special cross. We each held it in our hands, and said a prayer, before Joann placed it under Mother's left hand.
   The seizures were coming every 30 minutes or so since she was taken off life-support on the previous Wednesday afternoon. Around 8 PM, Mother had a really bad one. Afterwards, I notice her labored breathing had slowed. The nurse had turned off the monitors in the room because they were going off all the time as Mother's vital signs were weakening. The nurse was still able to monitor them from her station outside the ICU room. I went out to ask her how much time she thought we had with her. The nurse believed Mother would go that night , if not, by sometime in the morning. I returned to my chair next to the bed I had been sitting in most of the evening and sat silent. My sister had been talking non-stop to Joann, mostly out of nervousness.
   As the night progressed, I noticed another change in Mother's breathing. It was becoming weaker and weaker, and the time between breaths was growing longer and longer. I looked at the clock on the wall. It was 11:54. I stood up and put my hand on my sister's shoulder and told her to be quite for a moment. Mother's body struggled to take a breath. She exhaled. I waited for her chest to rise, but it would be her last one. She was gone.
   By far, my Mother’s illness and passing is the hardest thing I have had to experience. I cannot image anything worse or more heartbreaking. I hope the hours of crying are behind me, at least the majority of them. Since she first became ill, I have cried enough to fill a good size lake - in the car, driving back and forth between Warner Robins and Atlanta - during the long walks of solitude in the park - and the hours curled up, like an orphaned baby, with a pillow in my arms weeping, soaking it with tears of fear, sadness, pending loss, and so much regret. I canceled several of my reading engagements, not wanting to be too far away from her.
   Although, I know there will be many more inescapable moments where I will break down and fall to my knees as I am reminded of the magnitude of her lost, I hope those tears will become ones of relief and peace knowing my Mother is in a better place; finally in the comfort of God, where a lifetime of pain and sorrow are no longer, and have been soothed away by a single kiss from his loving lips. If anyone deserves to be welcomed into Heaven, it is Mary Ellen Rushing-Chumbley.
   Thursday night, the day after she was taken off life-support, I was trying to get comfortable in 2 chairs that I was spread-out-in against the wall of her hospital room, with a pillow and a blanket. My mother had been having seizures most of the night. Some were so bad that they shook the bed. As was commonplace, my sister was in bed with Mother. I would get up when they began so I could put my hand on Mother’s forehead and hold her hand...and I would talk to her telling her she was going to be okay. The seizures made her body pull into its core and her hands would clinch. Although, I knew they were involuntary movements, I wanted to feel her squeeze my hand as she had done so many times in my life. I can remember telling her over the years she would squeeze too hard and that it hurt. Mother's response was always, “Well, that’s just how much I love you, until it hurts.” Later, the seizures lessened and my sister was able to fall asleep. Besides being in the coma, Mother was on two very powerful IV drips that were started 30 minutes before taken off life-support, and were continuous to be sure she felt no pain at any time. After the seizures stopped for awhile, I think I fell asleep around 3 AM. Just seconds later, I notice some movement in the bed. At first, I thought it was my sister repositioning herself, but when I looked over, I saw Mother sitting up in bed. She then slowly and carefully - as not to disturb my sister’s sleep - got out of bed. Mother then walked around the bed toward my make-shifted one, and stopped in front of me for a moment and spoke, “I'll be right back.” She then pushed the door open and proceeded to walk out of the ICU room. I guess I was dreaming, but it felt like it was so real and I was awake. I truly believe Mother's spirit left her body that night. Goodnight, sweet Mother ... I will see you in my dreams.

I want you to know who my mother is, not was. Although she has left this place to begin a new journey, she will forever be a part of this world and of the universe by the very fact she lived as a mortal. I want you to know how much I will miss her physical presence. But, I know she will always be in my heart, and walking beside me as I make it through the trying days ahead, as well as holding me dearly, as only a mother can do.
As a mortal, my Mother was beautiful - both inside and out - with a tender, loving heart. She was also a contradiction. Mother has a spirit like no other - strong, but fragile – determined, but vacillating - sweet, but feisty. And that spirit is alive today.
   Sadly, as much as she was beautiful, she was troubled. The best way to describe her is as a survivor, and someone who held on to hope at all cost. For many years, she struggled with mental distresses, an abusive husband, his alcoholism, as well as that of her own, and his suicide while she was just rooms away as he shot himself. I truly believe, in the beginning, they had a great love – as passionate as it was unpredictable, that later turned turbulent, until it fell into chaos. Today, I know she has forgiven him. It is because of those things, Mother never realized just how beautiful she was, and she never realized her potential. Yes, I would call her a survivor. All these factors left her misunderstood and abandon by some. Where others would have totally given up, she pushed on and tried, tried to find the good things in life and some happiness. She found pieces of that happiness I speak of in some great friends, that I am so very grateful for...

Siggy, an incredible, elegant woman of great faith. Who came to my mother’s bedside time and time again.
Joann, another wonderful woman of great faith, who shared a beloved cross, and stood beside Mother’s bed while it rested under my Mother’s hand as she passed on into Heaven.
Mrs. Pollett, who she spoke of favorably many times. And, her son, Nicky, who passed on several years ago. He was good to my mother.
Donna, thank you for all the meals - flavored with love and compassion - that you brought to her.

What my mother loved about life...

She loved to dance and sing.
She loved collecting sheet music.
As a young girl, she loved to write to movie stars, and cherished 2 brief times spent with one of her favorites, Gene Autry.
She loved to read.
She loved mysteries, both in books and movies.
Mother loved her pets – 3 cats – Denny, Emmy, and Donnie
Her crazy run away dog, Susie.
And, of course, Patricia’s dog, Dallas.
She loved CNN and was Nancy Grace’s biggest fan. Nancy corresponded some with mother, and even called her during one of her stays in the hospital.
She loved Anne Murray and her songs.
And - Chanel No. 5

How I will remember my mother and the things I will miss ...