(no subject)
I have been thinking about mom a lot lately. not in a good 'warm memories' way, but in a bad triggered sort of way. I feel like... even tho I've had time, I haven't healed. I haven't let the wound air, haven't applied enough ointments, just wrapped it up out of sight out of mind. Am I infected? heart poisoning?
I haven't decided who I will let read this, or if I will allow comments. Probably not. if I let anyone see it, I think I will let it fall upon them to contact me privately. That or screen comments or some shit. I don't even know.
coworker made a "your mom" joke. I nearly snapped. It hurt. "Your mom is fabulous" or something like that. I pictured that crooked cedar tree, surrounded by snow, and the pile of ashes beneath it. it was all I could do to keep ... stable.
heard Jem's 24. That used to be popular, when mom was sick but not too sick, before the edema.
her edema began building up in her lungs -- or rather, surrounding her lungs. two layers of tissue, they'd become disconnected and began filling with fluid. she couldn't breathe. She had surgery while I was on vacation for spring break in pennsylvania -- they drained the fluid and glued the layers of tissue back together; the fluid accumulated in her stomach cavity instead. She had to have it regularly drained after that. her muscles were atrophied from the hospital stay and she just kept losing weight. the edema was from her liver shutting down -- autoimmune hepatitis. it was a death sentence and she knew it. she gave up. Her belly would swell, hard, full of fluid until they drained it. liters of fluid... I saw it, once. I wanted to gag.
She was suffering at that point. she was on so many meds for post-cancer care at that point that she couldn't eat much of anything without getting sick, but she was gaining and gaining weight. I remember we went to a restaurant and without thinking she ordered a cheeseburger. her system couldn't handle meat or cheese -- I remember her holding the burger and watching it drip. She ate it. She told me later that she was thinking "I was wondering if I should tell them I made a mistake. I really wanted a cheeseburger and wasn't thinking." I asked if it would be worth it, and she said no. She would be too sick. she went through food phases with things that wouldn't make her sick. I think she spent four months eating a diet of 95% apples. tomatoes for a while. I tried to expand her diet but she wouldn't do these things for herself -- she was too depressed. she wouldn't let me change dinner plans to include her, either.
this is really really hard.
she would listen to 24 all the time and make comments about how this or that was her "inheritance", how she would be leaving things behind from now on. I think that was when she mostly stopped doing things for herself and started only doing them for other people. I remember that we bought a tree, a weeping dogwood (it didn't survive........), and we were going to plant it in the yard. she said it was her inheritance. it sticks so strongly, like a thorn in my mind. my sister and I would tell her to stop talking like that. stop talking like she was going to die.
she knew. of course she did. we were still hoping.
the song says "I need your blessing and your promise to live free, please do it for me." And I know, I know so much, that that is what she really wanted us to know. at that point... she wanted us to be able to let go. but I can't.
the other song. I cannot even think of it. Coldplay, yellow. that fucking song. the thought of it is hard enough. hearing it is instant... mess.
Many many years ago, probably ten, she 'gave' that song to my sister and I. She told us, in those few words, that she would do anything for us, no matter how hard we had it (both struggling with mental illnesses, especially depression), that she would give herself for us. she wasn't sick then. not really.
ever since the last few days, seeing her in that hospital bed, stick thin, skin papery, and so very fragile, on a ventilator and unaware, completely sedated... oh yeah, you're skin and bones. turn it into something beautiful. you know for you I'd bleed myself dry. I would have given anything, the entirety of me, for her to heal. and it hurts so bad to remember her like that. she was ....
I read her part of a poem I'd written. I couldn't have possibly read the whole thing to her. it would have not been fair.
"stitches and machines and pills to pop, how selfish of me to want it to stop."
yeah. bad rhyme scheme.
"you are my evidence that god is dead."
I couldn't stay to watch her go.
I left pennsylvania in a rush to make it home.
I was drunk every night.
I drove.
I was stupid.
I was self destructing.
when I heard, I kept calling the hospital. the fucking nurse wouldn't give me any fucking details. by the time Terence finally heard the real story and told me, I couldn't process it. pneumonia had weakened her lungs. working so hard they had caused a heart attack. she had gone septic because her liver was failing.
I just had a terrible thought
why didn't I give her some of my liver.
it never occurred to me.
I don't know if it would have helped
but god damnit.... what the fuck was I thinking. why didn't I do that? why didn't I look into that? what is WRONG WITH ME!? am I forgetting some key fact that would have made that useless? I don't know. but the sentiment is still there. why couldn't I stop this.
I had nightmares. I dreamt once that mom didn't know she was dead and I had to tell her.
I'd had a somewhat similar dream after my grandpa died. I was upset. I dreamt that he was confused and lost and he couldn't remember my name and kept calling me by my sister's. When he got it right I cried, because that was his goodbye, and then it was all okay. I felt better in the morning.
I dreamt once that mom was insisting that if we hadn't taken her off the ventilator, she would have recovered and been fine and lived. that hurt so bad. it was so
So
SO
HARD.
I hurt so bad and it doesn't stop.
I am so, so sorry, mommy, that I am not a better person. that I am not as successful and happy as you would wish me. I am so sorry that I still hurt so bad because you wouldn't want me to.
when I got to the hospital, the first time, she asked if she was going to die. she didn't want to. she'd been so ready and when it came down to the wire, she didn't want to.
I still don't know what she told andi to get me for christmas. I've been afraid to ask.
the last words from me that I know she heard were "I love you." and the same from her. but she was afraid. she was not ready to go, when she went back under. I don't know if she was when she went... and I'll never know.
comment via email, text, or messenger.
I haven't decided who I will let read this, or if I will allow comments. Probably not. if I let anyone see it, I think I will let it fall upon them to contact me privately. That or screen comments or some shit. I don't even know.
coworker made a "your mom" joke. I nearly snapped. It hurt. "Your mom is fabulous" or something like that. I pictured that crooked cedar tree, surrounded by snow, and the pile of ashes beneath it. it was all I could do to keep ... stable.
heard Jem's 24. That used to be popular, when mom was sick but not too sick, before the edema.
her edema began building up in her lungs -- or rather, surrounding her lungs. two layers of tissue, they'd become disconnected and began filling with fluid. she couldn't breathe. She had surgery while I was on vacation for spring break in pennsylvania -- they drained the fluid and glued the layers of tissue back together; the fluid accumulated in her stomach cavity instead. She had to have it regularly drained after that. her muscles were atrophied from the hospital stay and she just kept losing weight. the edema was from her liver shutting down -- autoimmune hepatitis. it was a death sentence and she knew it. she gave up. Her belly would swell, hard, full of fluid until they drained it. liters of fluid... I saw it, once. I wanted to gag.
She was suffering at that point. she was on so many meds for post-cancer care at that point that she couldn't eat much of anything without getting sick, but she was gaining and gaining weight. I remember we went to a restaurant and without thinking she ordered a cheeseburger. her system couldn't handle meat or cheese -- I remember her holding the burger and watching it drip. She ate it. She told me later that she was thinking "I was wondering if I should tell them I made a mistake. I really wanted a cheeseburger and wasn't thinking." I asked if it would be worth it, and she said no. She would be too sick. she went through food phases with things that wouldn't make her sick. I think she spent four months eating a diet of 95% apples. tomatoes for a while. I tried to expand her diet but she wouldn't do these things for herself -- she was too depressed. she wouldn't let me change dinner plans to include her, either.
this is really really hard.
she would listen to 24 all the time and make comments about how this or that was her "inheritance", how she would be leaving things behind from now on. I think that was when she mostly stopped doing things for herself and started only doing them for other people. I remember that we bought a tree, a weeping dogwood (it didn't survive........), and we were going to plant it in the yard. she said it was her inheritance. it sticks so strongly, like a thorn in my mind. my sister and I would tell her to stop talking like that. stop talking like she was going to die.
she knew. of course she did. we were still hoping.
the song says "I need your blessing and your promise to live free, please do it for me." And I know, I know so much, that that is what she really wanted us to know. at that point... she wanted us to be able to let go. but I can't.
the other song. I cannot even think of it. Coldplay, yellow. that fucking song. the thought of it is hard enough. hearing it is instant... mess.
Many many years ago, probably ten, she 'gave' that song to my sister and I. She told us, in those few words, that she would do anything for us, no matter how hard we had it (both struggling with mental illnesses, especially depression), that she would give herself for us. she wasn't sick then. not really.
ever since the last few days, seeing her in that hospital bed, stick thin, skin papery, and so very fragile, on a ventilator and unaware, completely sedated... oh yeah, you're skin and bones. turn it into something beautiful. you know for you I'd bleed myself dry. I would have given anything, the entirety of me, for her to heal. and it hurts so bad to remember her like that. she was ....
I read her part of a poem I'd written. I couldn't have possibly read the whole thing to her. it would have not been fair.
"stitches and machines and pills to pop, how selfish of me to want it to stop."
yeah. bad rhyme scheme.
"you are my evidence that god is dead."
I couldn't stay to watch her go.
I left pennsylvania in a rush to make it home.
I was drunk every night.
I drove.
I was stupid.
I was self destructing.
when I heard, I kept calling the hospital. the fucking nurse wouldn't give me any fucking details. by the time Terence finally heard the real story and told me, I couldn't process it. pneumonia had weakened her lungs. working so hard they had caused a heart attack. she had gone septic because her liver was failing.
I just had a terrible thought
why didn't I give her some of my liver.
it never occurred to me.
I don't know if it would have helped
but god damnit.... what the fuck was I thinking. why didn't I do that? why didn't I look into that? what is WRONG WITH ME!? am I forgetting some key fact that would have made that useless? I don't know. but the sentiment is still there. why couldn't I stop this.
I had nightmares. I dreamt once that mom didn't know she was dead and I had to tell her.
I'd had a somewhat similar dream after my grandpa died. I was upset. I dreamt that he was confused and lost and he couldn't remember my name and kept calling me by my sister's. When he got it right I cried, because that was his goodbye, and then it was all okay. I felt better in the morning.
I dreamt once that mom was insisting that if we hadn't taken her off the ventilator, she would have recovered and been fine and lived. that hurt so bad. it was so
So
SO
HARD.
I hurt so bad and it doesn't stop.
I am so, so sorry, mommy, that I am not a better person. that I am not as successful and happy as you would wish me. I am so sorry that I still hurt so bad because you wouldn't want me to.
when I got to the hospital, the first time, she asked if she was going to die. she didn't want to. she'd been so ready and when it came down to the wire, she didn't want to.
I still don't know what she told andi to get me for christmas. I've been afraid to ask.
the last words from me that I know she heard were "I love you." and the same from her. but she was afraid. she was not ready to go, when she went back under. I don't know if she was when she went... and I'll never know.
comment via email, text, or messenger.