emotions.
I miss my mom. She lies in a transitional state, her body still here but her soul barely. Barely. She speaks in one-word increments, mostly saying "Ow" when she is in pain or calling someone's name, someone who is still here often, but just as often someone who is no longer on this Earth. Her eyes... staring, glassy, teary, but mostly just half-closed. Her breathing is shallow, her extremities changing color... It is death before my eyes. A poem of pain, and loss, and depression, and sadness, and frustration... A poem of these, just waiting to happen but not happening.
I miss my mom. The last time I saw her, HER, was .... I don't know. Since the cancer began, she has been in and out, more a visitor to the earthly vessel housing her soul than a regular inhabitant. I am in pain, the pain of trying to remember the last time I spent real, quality time with her. Now, my sister and I keep our vigil at her bedside, comforting her, stroking her hair, talking to her about what a good mother she has been and how we are going to be just fine. Telling her we love her, over and over... Inside, not wanting her to go, desperately not wanting her to go, not ready to be without a mom, not ready to accept that we will never see her as the classy, spunky old lady I always thought she would be as she held my own children in her arms, or taught my own children how to dance, or played with my own children in the dirt of the gardens she loved.
My heart breaks over and over and over and over.... She is in so much pain and distress, managed by breathing treatments and morphine. We want her here, we don't want her to suffer, we want her here, we don't want her to suffer, ping pong ping pong Catch 22 that no one will ever unravel.
She asked for her own mom today, calling out, "Mom...Mom.... Mommmm... MOM....MOM!" ever more urgently as my sister and I barely hold ourselves together. Her own mom came and stroked her hair, too, and fixed her gown, and held her hand. Her heart breaks, my mom's mom's heart.
I miss my mom.
I miss my mom. The last time I saw her, HER, was .... I don't know. Since the cancer began, she has been in and out, more a visitor to the earthly vessel housing her soul than a regular inhabitant. I am in pain, the pain of trying to remember the last time I spent real, quality time with her. Now, my sister and I keep our vigil at her bedside, comforting her, stroking her hair, talking to her about what a good mother she has been and how we are going to be just fine. Telling her we love her, over and over... Inside, not wanting her to go, desperately not wanting her to go, not ready to be without a mom, not ready to accept that we will never see her as the classy, spunky old lady I always thought she would be as she held my own children in her arms, or taught my own children how to dance, or played with my own children in the dirt of the gardens she loved.
My heart breaks over and over and over and over.... She is in so much pain and distress, managed by breathing treatments and morphine. We want her here, we don't want her to suffer, we want her here, we don't want her to suffer, ping pong ping pong Catch 22 that no one will ever unravel.
She asked for her own mom today, calling out, "Mom...Mom.... Mommmm... MOM....MOM!" ever more urgently as my sister and I barely hold ourselves together. Her own mom came and stroked her hair, too, and fixed her gown, and held her hand. Her heart breaks, my mom's mom's heart.
I miss my mom.