mothers and grandmothers
I just read about PoshTosh's dying grandmother, and realized how much I avoid talking about the real losses in life.
My own mother has been terminally ill for six years.
It sounds strange, right? Anybody could die over the course of six years. Really: how many busses do we walk in front of in that amount of time?
But my mom should have died six years ago, and has spent these years in a fight that she will not win. Being hit by a bus is hard on your family, but way easier on you than slowly losing your ability to breathe. Way, way easier than being told repeatedly that you have to be put on Oxygen, knowing each time that if you don't wean yourself from it -- which most people can't do -- the next step is death. And walking around in a crowd of people who don't have to think about whether they're going to have enough air to climb a staircase or to say what they need to say is unfair.
Worst of all, not being able to breathe is scary.
My mother doesn't get scared, or if she does she doesn't admit it. She's tough -- you do not cross her -- and very loving at the same time, in that incongruous way that Irish women have.
But when she stopped being able to breathe, it was like her armor fell. She never said she was afraid -- she never even admitted she was sick, come to that. We had to get the truth from dad -- but she suddenly couldn't bear to be alone in the house. The woman who loved quiet above all things now had a radio on in every room. In my lay psychologist's mind, every radio was a distraction from her fears.
I hate that my mother was afraid. If there were justice in the world, she would have real lions with razor-like claws and teeth to defend her from her fears.
Stupid me. Lions couldn't kill tuberculosis. Or pseudomonas, or bronchiolectisis, or any of the menu of infections that live in her lungs now. But! Maybe she has metaphysical protective lions, because lately she is actually, miraculously IMPROVING when improvement should be impossible. Most of her bronchioli are dead. Just dead. They can't expel fluid, and that's why the infections should never go away. But she has stopped coughing and continues to be able to exercise and talk and do all the things that she had to stop for a while. She can't climb or hike up mountains anymore, but my brother says she's off her antibiotics and feeling fine.
I can't wait to see her.
My own mother has been terminally ill for six years.
It sounds strange, right? Anybody could die over the course of six years. Really: how many busses do we walk in front of in that amount of time?
But my mom should have died six years ago, and has spent these years in a fight that she will not win. Being hit by a bus is hard on your family, but way easier on you than slowly losing your ability to breathe. Way, way easier than being told repeatedly that you have to be put on Oxygen, knowing each time that if you don't wean yourself from it -- which most people can't do -- the next step is death. And walking around in a crowd of people who don't have to think about whether they're going to have enough air to climb a staircase or to say what they need to say is unfair.
Worst of all, not being able to breathe is scary.
My mother doesn't get scared, or if she does she doesn't admit it. She's tough -- you do not cross her -- and very loving at the same time, in that incongruous way that Irish women have.
But when she stopped being able to breathe, it was like her armor fell. She never said she was afraid -- she never even admitted she was sick, come to that. We had to get the truth from dad -- but she suddenly couldn't bear to be alone in the house. The woman who loved quiet above all things now had a radio on in every room. In my lay psychologist's mind, every radio was a distraction from her fears.
I hate that my mother was afraid. If there were justice in the world, she would have real lions with razor-like claws and teeth to defend her from her fears.
Stupid me. Lions couldn't kill tuberculosis. Or pseudomonas, or bronchiolectisis, or any of the menu of infections that live in her lungs now. But! Maybe she has metaphysical protective lions, because lately she is actually, miraculously IMPROVING when improvement should be impossible. Most of her bronchioli are dead. Just dead. They can't expel fluid, and that's why the infections should never go away. But she has stopped coughing and continues to be able to exercise and talk and do all the things that she had to stop for a while. She can't climb or hike up mountains anymore, but my brother says she's off her antibiotics and feeling fine.
I can't wait to see her.