2025 - My Mom Died

In which Teófilo narrates the events of the week of April 21st, 2025.

Mom died yesterday. Yes, the parent who has had the most impact on my life, for good or bad, is gone. As you know from reading this memoir, she had been a vindictive, malevolent, covert narcissistic woman throughout most of her life.

I'd expected the outcome for a few weeks now since her fall that fractured her hip at her 84th year of her life. It's common knowledge that for frail, aged women, a broken hip is the beginning of the end.

Mom had not only broken her hip, but also managed to catch COVID while at the hospital. She also suffered of manifold organic shortcomings and then she had to fight an infection. It wasn't pretty.

When this happened about a month ago, my brother took charge. While we helped him find a suitable retirement home, he was the one who made it happen. He went to Puerto Rico, made all the arrangements, and was with her every step of the way.

I suffered from a strange case of emotional paralysis. I knew I wasn't able to cope with the load of contradictory emotions I experienced, and felt guilty about it. I did little to help her transition, but I did help. My Mercie was vigilant and also helped along, a lot.

I did talk to Mom twice. The first time from the hospital, courtesy of our cousin Nilda. The second time I talked to her she was already in the retirement home. It was the day my brother had to return to his Army post in Europe. He facilitated the call.

Both times she looked very thin, but by the time of the second call her voice had changed. It was now hollower, like coming from a deep depth within her and only coming out of her gesturing mouth. Both times I maintained a serious, non-committal, expression.

She did say goodbye the second time. She blessed me, my wife, children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren—I don't yet have those. She used both her hands to sign the cross, reminiscent of the way Orthodox bishops bless. I felt it wasn't a "goodbye" moment and I expected to talk to her again. I was wrong.

Shortly after my brother departed for Europe, Mom had another crisis. Her blood glucose level shot up to 1,400 which I didn't think possible. She went sceptic. Her blood oxygen level went down. The clinical picture looked bleak. From the Emergency Room they moved her to the Intensive Care Unit for optimal care.

An ICU Resident explained to me the situation after we linked up. Once she appraised me of the situation, she asked me what measures should they take had she started to die. The Resident was unaware Mom had requested "Do not resurrect" on her retirement home contract for such situations. Divine Providence left to me to state "DNR" on the matter. I asked they keep her hydrated, fed, and pain-free but to allow nature to take her course. I knew "the body knows how to die" from my theological studies.

It didn't get to that. The hospital stabilized her and released her back to her nursing home. She continued to receive excellent, constant care.

My brother was the one who talked to her last by phone. She expressed her gratitude for her caregivers.

But her body had taken quite a pounding and had lost its capacity to self-regulate. Once again her glucose sky-rocketed. Organ failure commenced. The staff called an ambulance. She asked not to be left alone. She reverted to the prayers she'd learned in her girlhood. The Our Father. The Hail Mary. The whispered prayers turned to silence, and then she breathed her last. It was 10:15 in the Morning, Resurrection Friday, AD 2025. By sheer coincidence, it was the same week in which Pope Francis had died.

Dealing with these events awoke old terrors in me. My nightmares intensified. I screamed in the night, as my unconscious mind relieved her terrors. I became aware of my deep hurt and of my dark wishes for revenge, if not for justice. Sundry body aches conspired together to rise and attack me in tandem. The body had kept my trauma count.

It appears Mom dropped all her conceits at her supreme moment. Despite the fact that narcissists have no other gods but themselves, that she died praying gives me great hope. She prayed to God, the real God. She asked for Our Mother's omnipotent intercession. The nursing home staff even described her as "devout" and very "Marian" which she had never been.

Though she died unreconciled with me, I'll take that final good bye and blessings as a good sign. I'll take it all at face value without further analysis.

It may have been that God reaped all the seeds I'd planted in her soul at the moment of her death. And I did pray for her a lot during these last weeks. God, who holds the advantage on the salvation of everyone, saved her. The workers who arrive late get paid as much as those who arrived earlier. This I now from a good source (Matthew 20:1-16). She did die reconciled with Our Lord.

I admit I've been feeling "freer" since her passing. "Lighter" even, like a very old (or young?) part of me can breathe again. Guilt comes with this thought. But I also know Christ will wash away even this, as He washed away's Mom, with His Blood.

Mercie and I will go to Puerto Rico some time next week. We'll set her cremains to rest in the family gravesite in Ponce's Catholic Cemetery. I will do the gravesite prayers. I will set her cremains in the vault myself and with that, I'll also bury my pain with her.

I forgive her all. She owes me nothing. The only thing that will survive us both Mom and I, is Love.

Teresa Vélez Pérez (1941-2025). In peace at last.