it's been awhile.
Well, for once, I've got some time to kill. & I've got some guts to spill.
I'm a rhyming machine.
I don't even know when I last updated. The LJ toolbar says "17 weeks ago", but I can't count more than 6-8 weeks. Now, 4-6 weeks. -1. That's all I can think.
4 to 6 weeks. 28 to 42 days. 672 to 1008 hours. 40320 to 60480 minutes.
2,419,200 to 3,628,800 seconds.
& going down ever so fast.
My life has changed a lot since I last blogged on here. I think that would have been January? Well, I finished my second semester of my sophomore year, with a 3.709 GPA [pretty impressive, eh?]. I'm accepted into my major & am very passionate about what I am learning & how I apply it to my life. My sister is pregnant & due in August. I'm working my butt off at the library to repay debt.
...& my mother is dying soon.
2 weeks & 1 day ago my father sat down with me on the grass outside Roswell Park. Since then I've had many conversations with my family, spent numerous hours in hospital rooms, & cried a good deal. The depression I am experiencing now is worse than any I have ever felt, but I keep waking up every day because I know that I have to be strong for my mom.
There are medical terms for what is happening to her, but I can't remember them. They are so callous. They make my mother merely a subject, not a human. This is how I see it: a very vicious presence is locking my mother out from the outside world. From reality. A [tumor] has [encased] my mother's brain. [Cancer cells] are running rampid through her [spinal fluid]. Her [liver] hasn't been spared this disgusting treatment, either.
It's pretty tough nowadays. We are all so very lost. I feel lost. My friends try to be there for me but there isn't much they can say. There's nothing they can do. They can't save her.
We were expecting a bed to open up at the Hospice facility on Como Park, but 2 weeks later & none has. They moved my mother from Roswell to a crappy nursing home Friday, but it was so filthy we moved her to my house. My father is taking advantage of the FMLA, which basically only guarantees that he'll have his shithole job when my mom dies. No money. He won't tell me how he plans to pay bills and buy food. At this point I'm sure all he is thinking is that the love of his life is leaving. Forever.
"I WAS SUPPOSED TO DIE FIRST!"
Those words are burned into my ear drums. They keep revirberating over & over. My father was the one who spoke them, but I realized them. I remember when my mother was first diagnosed I swore I would go with her. I'm torn apart. I honestly don't want to live myself, but I don't want to leave my dad behind. What do I do?