Bonnie Bee Bigler Eason was born on October 3, 1927 in Colorado Springs, CO
to Rosetta Bernice Amidon Bigler and Edgar Clarkson Bigler. She was the
baby of the family, Florence Katherine (Kay) and Edgar Jr. being her
older siblings. As the daughter of a coal truck driver, money was scarce
so the family enjoyed spending time together, picnics being one of
their favorite activities. She enjoyed babysitting for her nieces and
nephews, shopping and going to movies with her aunt. She attended school
through the 7th grade and later waited tables in a local
truck stop owned by friends of the family. It was there she met my
father Solomon Edward Eason (Ed) and was married soon after. I was born
in 1959 and my brother, in 1965.
Mom
was very active in our childhood, she encouraged, attended and
supported any extra curricular activities we were involved in and served
as a Camp Fire Girl leader and an assistant Cub Scout leader. In
addition to being a full time mom, she worked part time as a playground
aid at the grade school for many years. She was my best friend. We
talked about everything, much to the surprise of many of my girlfriends.
She
attended church regularly throughout her life, but in 1973 made a
commitment to Jesus Christ as her personal Lord and Savior. She spent
much time in Bible study and prayer both in groups and in private. After
the death of her husband, she became involved in attending Emmaus
Walks. She was also very privileged to go to Hawaii
with several women from her church. She also loved to do paint by
number pictures, crochet, embroidery, sewing (making many clothes for
me) and counted cross-stitch. She has 10 grandchildren.
In
May of 2002 she fell and broke her knee. Her nieces were also concerned
that her memory loss at that time was more serious than just
forgetfulness. I convinced her to move to MI to live near me, something I
had wanted to do for a long time. She enjoyed living in her small
apartment here, but in the summer of 2005 she began to show signs of
real confusion and agitation. In August of 2005 she reluctantly moved to
an assisted living facility, but in less than a year became too much
for them to handle and in May of 2006 I moved her to a nearby nursing
home that had a fairly new and quite beautiful dementia unit. Even
though she liked it there very much, placing her was the most difficult
thing I have ever done.
While
in the nursing home she broke her hip, but refused to let it slow her
down and she amazed everyone at how quickly she was walking with a
walker. In February of 2008 she broke her leg which required much
hardware to repair. On June 6th at her last check-up it was reported
that it still was not healing and she was to remain non-weight bearing
and would have to leave the dementia unit until she was able to walk
again. Her nurse said she came back to the unit after that Drs.
appointment and was a different person, almost as if she had understood
something that was said, and she chose to stop fighting. From that point
on she choked and could no longer handle solid food and slowly began to
take less and less nourishment. On June 8th the nurse noticed something
wasn’t quite right and discovered she had a 101 temperature but no
other symptoms. It was later discovered she had a urinary track
infection. Anti-biotics were ordered, but she couldn’t take them, so
they had to wait for the IV version, and they also added IV fluids, but
she did not regain her strength. On Sunday afternoon around 2:00
I called to check on her and the nurse said she was not improving and
had not been responsive all day. A different nurse called at 4:00
and said she had taken a marked turn for the worse in the past two
hours. I changed my clothes, got in the car and nearly sped down the
highway which was much more congested with traffic than usual. A dear
friend of mine stayed on the phone with me, quite flabbergasted that I
was making the trip alone. When I arrived, I was surprised to find the
door to the unit open which gave me a strange feeling as it is usually
locked down to prevent the residents from wondering off. I later found
out the open door was intentional to “welcome” me. I walked in her room
and as the reality of the fact that she was not breathing began to
register in my brain, the nurse came in and apologized saying that
though they tried everything to keep her going until I arrived, she had
passed away shortly after they had called me. I was disappointed because
I wanted to hold her hand as she left this world. I wanted her to know I
was there and that I loved her and always would. The more I thought
about it I thought perhaps this was the way she wanted it. She always
tried to protect me, and she wouldn’t have wanted watching her take her
last breaths to be my last memory of her. I sat with her for awhile,
cried and prayed, thanking God she was no longer suffering. I held her
hand which was something I never thought I’d be able to do. I was afraid
I would forget how it felt to have her hand in mine and I struggled to
allow myself to let go. After a while I went to find the nurse to ask
what I needed to do next.
The
nurse told me they would take care of calling the funeral home and
cleaning out her room, I only needed to return in a few days to pick up
her belongings which will be boxed up and ready for me. She was so very
kind and told me my Mom was one of those patients she could “put in her
hip pocket and carry home”. Being the night nurse, she told me every
night when she would put my Mom to bed she would give her a kiss on the
forehead. If Mary (the nurse) forgot, Mom would put her hands on her
hips and look at her and say “well”. That became their nightly routine
and one that became a special memory for Mary. One of the aids told me
stories of how she loved to get Mom going, and how they would banter
back and forth and have fun that way. Mom was one to always enjoy a
little banter, but she only did so with those she felt close to. We used
to have quite a time teasing back and forth; I miss it. I’m happy that
Mom’s little idiosyncrasies were a joy to her nurses and aids as they
were to me. I walked back to Mom’s room, hesitant to leave her, though I
knew she was already in the presence of the Lord and no longer
inhabiting that body on the bed. I took one final look, squeezed her
hand one last time, turned and never looked back. My mind returns often
to that picture as she lay there, eyes closed, mouth open, and I have to
force myself to find images of her alive.
I
spent the rest of Sunday evening talking to friends and family on the
phone and crying…lots and lots of crying. Monday I had to go to the
funeral home and finalize arrangements, I am sending her home to be
buried with the rest of her family. It just doesn’t seem right to keep
her here; she never really wanted to permanently move here anyway. Since
my Dad’s ashes were scattered, I decided to have her placed on top of
her mother’s grave. She loved her mother as much as I loved her; I know
it’s what she would have wanted. The urn I found for her suites her; it
is simple, elegant and her favorite color. I struggled greatly with this
decision, but prayed about it and consulted with my pastor. It wasn’t
until I had the idea to open my Grandmother’s grave and have her placed
at her feet, did I feel a sense of peace and finding the “perfect” urn
also added to that feeling. This will also make transporting her home
affordable and much easier for all involved.
Nurse
Mary had told me she sends a corsage or boutonniere for every patient
that passes away on her shift. Instead on Tuesday, a beautiful flower
arrangement arrived. In the front of it was placed a fabric Precious
Moments doll which at first I just thought “how cute” because I have
always liked Precious Moments as did my Mom. When I looked closer
though, I realized it was the same doll I had seen her carry around the
nursing home and I noticed it had been in bed with her the last few
days. I broke down completely! I was further touched when I realized the
doll says a prayer when her tummy is squeezed. Ironically, it is very
close to the same prayer that my Mom taught me when I was a child and
would pray with me every night as I knelt beside my bed. It went like
this: Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I
should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take, Amen. I told a
friend about it and she said that’s probably why my Mom had adopted the
doll, because it served as a connection to me. I do have to fight the
tears each time I see it, but I will treasure it always.
Wednesday
I finished sorting through my Mom’s files and then took three hours to
untangle her necklaces, something I have wanted to do for a long time
now. Many of them hold a memory either of her wearing them, or many of
them because we were together when she purchased them and often we
purchased the same piece because our tastes were so alike.
I
have noticed I “hear” her voice more often than I used to in just
everyday moments. I dribbled something I was eating this morning on my
hand and I “heard” her say “well, sloppy”. That’s exactly how she would
tease. That’s just one example of many. It’s odd how that’s happening
more and it causes me to wonder. I dreamt about her one night. All I
remember about the dream was at one point she was helping me make a bed.
How I have missed her the last couple of years, it’s like having to say
goodbye twice.
Thursday my Mom’s friend from Colorado
called. We talked for 2 hours. She knew my Mom so well and sort of took
over for me when I had to move away. She has been such a support and
has reaffirmed all the decisions I have had to make, saying she knows my
Mom would approve of everything and sited reasons as to why. She even
said she’d do anything to help with the memorial including picking up
the urn if a family member cannot. I reluctantly went to work. I can’t
help but get the feeling that I’m expected to get on with my regular
schedule now. I think my family is getting tired of the tears. Part of
me is just ready to lock myself away until they stop coming to the
surface so easily. Mornings and evenings are the most difficult to get
through.
Today
I went back to the funeral home to pick up the death certificates and
see what contacts have been made to further along the plans for
Colorado. Mom’s urn has been returned from the crematory. I showed my
daughter the picture of it; she thinks it’s perfect too. She said if it
were just a vase, it looks like something Gran would have had in her
home. I also went to the nursing home to pick up the rest of her things;
I now have one large box and 5 smaller ones to sort through. I opened
the one with her clothes in it; it’s so very hard as I can see her
wearing every piece. It will be difficult to find
the strength to donate them. Suki came and sniffed everything; I think
she knew where they came from.
I
heard my Mom’s voice again today. I was trying to think of the name of
one of her favorite actresses and half out loud I said, “Momma, what was
her name?” and I immediately “heard” “Patricia Neal”.
Mom once told me from personal experience that you never stop missing your mom…I believe her.
Rest in peace Momma, you will forever be in my heart. I can hardly wait for my next hug!!
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