My Mom. They were wrong and I'm upset about it. With whom, I don't know. Just the situation I suppose. I'm glad my Mom lives with us and that we can help her on this journey, but the oncologist said she wouldn't have any pain. He said she would just get more tired and sleep more and more, and then peacefully go to sleep one day and not wake up. That was over four months ago. She wasn't expected to last this long. She is still pretty much taking care of herself except for dinner, which we prepare and have with her. Hospice workers come 3 times a week to help her bathe and they clean up around her place. Hospice has several people coming... a pastor a nurse and a massage therapist all once a week. This past week she started having back and abdominal pain. She of course is taking medication for the pain, but we just didn't think it would come to this.
I haven't written about this in a long time because I don't like to make people sad. But this is real and my life, and I want to be able to look back on all of it, not just the pretty, fluffy fun parts of it. It is very controversial... talking about one's personal life on one's blog, but I think that belief misses the point (for me anyway).
My life is good, and it is usually happy. It will become "normal" again someday, it will just be a new "normal" that will take some time (and patience) to get used to.
One night in February I went down to my Mom's (we built a house with an apartment/dual living feature for my Mom 6 years ago).... I had jumped out of bed and had to run and tell her this in case she didn't make it through that night. I meant to just tell her I love her, but it turned into something more difficult. I was crying uncontrollably and all I could say was "I don't want you to go, I just don't want you to leave..." Poor Mom. She said "it's time, baby." Of course that made me cry harder. I meant to go comfort her, and here she was having to comfort me.
The other day when I was thinking about her pain something dawned on me. Maybe she couldn't leave because she was staying for me (after my big embarrassing production a few months ago). I am 53 for Heaven's sake! So yesterday I went downstairs (I started crying again. UGH, what's the matter with me)?? I looked her in the eye and said "it's okay for you to go. Really it's okay, I will be fine. I know you will be here with me. I hope you give me a "signal" so I am positive you're here :). It will be nice for you to see your Mom and Dad and your Granny and your baby you didn't have the chance to hold much." She said "it's time." This time, I said "I know, Mom. I know, and I will be fine. You will be happy and I will meet you there. It's okay for you to go."
I'm not sure, but now maybe she will feel like she really can go and we'll be fine. She is very sweet, and I have never heard her say a mean thing to anyone (ever). Unlike me, she is very quiet and doesn't feel the need to tell people (even her children) exactly what she thinks or tell them her opinion, or that their decisions or choices might be wrong, or what might be a good idea for them to try instead. She knows people will figure things out for themselves anyway.
My Mom is 74 and my Dad will be 74 in May if he makes it. They are young. I know people in their 80s and 90s who are living full lives. My Dad (Pop), is in an Alzheimers home in Spokane. My brother who lives there has been taking care of every detail for him since his wife died unexpectedly over a year ago. Right now, he is dying. A story for another day. My message here I guess, is that life will go on, and to appreciate everything in the moment, because you never know if you'll have a moment like that again. I bet you already knew that.
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!” -Jack Kerouac