Mum
For those of you who read this and are not on the Facebooks, my mother died last night. She had a heart attack last Tuesday and then was on a ventilator for a day. When the tube was removed, she refused all further medical intervention. My sister S and I were there, along with my nephew and two of my mother's friends, when she died.
Her breathing had been labored and got slower and slower. Even after her last breath, I waited for the next one. And kept waiting.
I watched her skin go from golden to pasty yellow. I couldn't let go of her hand. She looked so tiny and fragile, a total difference from the tall, robust woman who raised me.
Since my dad died nearly 6 months ago, she had fallen into a deep depression. She wasn't taking all of her meds and she was smoking a lot. She was in a lot of pain too due to her stage 4 lung cancer. Her carbon dioxide level was dangerously high and she was completely dehydrated.
There is a lot of other things going on too, but I don't want to elaborate--it's painful and a whole lot to deal with.
My brother K, a (former?) heroin addict, phoned this morning to convey his condolences (his mom died years ago), asked for a ride, then showed up at the house. He had a beer in his hand and another bottle in his pocket. He had gone to a 60 day rehab, but I guess it's too hard. He made no qualms about asking for my father's tools (again. He had done this back in September right after my dad's memorial service. My mother told him to take a hike.) and I blew up.
I told him I was sick of his shit, that he can't even wait until her body is cold and that I am not putting up with this money-grubbing vulture shit anymore. I'm tired of being polite to people, including those I love, and their fucking stupid expectations and pathetic excuses.
I still haven't talked to my oldest sister since she did nearly the same thing (asking about the will and the reverse mortgage on the house right after Dad died). She also insisted that Dad had a hidden fortune.
She told my mother that Mum ruined K's life. Are you fucking kidding me? Who put the needle in his arm? That, in my book, is a very good reason not to talk to my sister. She made my mother's life hell when my mother just lost the man she loved. My sister's done other underhanded things and now i'm dying to talk to her and call her out on her shit.
I am just devastated because I love my mother and she was stubborn--she loved her cigarettes and her coffee. Over the years, I tried to get her to modify, especially after her cancer, but she was too stuck in her ways.
She was great woman though, you know? She raised some really strong women and made a great effect on other women that she befriended over the years. She was also very depressed, which I didn't recognize until recently.
It feels like more weight has been added to my grief--my brother, Sterling, Dad, now Mum--and we were getting to the point where we could talk about anything. Now she's gone.
I went to church with my sister R tonight to get a little bit of uplifting. The sermon was about fear and how you should always look to God for help and not try to do it yourself. I've always pulled myself up and I'm very independent, but I'm also not ashamed to ask my friends for help if I really need it. The pastor and the congregation were nice, but when asked if I wanted to accept Jesus as my savior, I'm like, "Nah." I like my way.
I am really missing Wayne. He has become my best friend and we talk about everything. I really wish he was here. Even though we live in the same house, we're not in each others faces and he gives me space when I need it and time when I need it.
Her breathing had been labored and got slower and slower. Even after her last breath, I waited for the next one. And kept waiting.
I watched her skin go from golden to pasty yellow. I couldn't let go of her hand. She looked so tiny and fragile, a total difference from the tall, robust woman who raised me.
Since my dad died nearly 6 months ago, she had fallen into a deep depression. She wasn't taking all of her meds and she was smoking a lot. She was in a lot of pain too due to her stage 4 lung cancer. Her carbon dioxide level was dangerously high and she was completely dehydrated.
There is a lot of other things going on too, but I don't want to elaborate--it's painful and a whole lot to deal with.
My brother K, a (former?) heroin addict, phoned this morning to convey his condolences (his mom died years ago), asked for a ride, then showed up at the house. He had a beer in his hand and another bottle in his pocket. He had gone to a 60 day rehab, but I guess it's too hard. He made no qualms about asking for my father's tools (again. He had done this back in September right after my dad's memorial service. My mother told him to take a hike.) and I blew up.
I told him I was sick of his shit, that he can't even wait until her body is cold and that I am not putting up with this money-grubbing vulture shit anymore. I'm tired of being polite to people, including those I love, and their fucking stupid expectations and pathetic excuses.
I still haven't talked to my oldest sister since she did nearly the same thing (asking about the will and the reverse mortgage on the house right after Dad died). She also insisted that Dad had a hidden fortune.
She told my mother that Mum ruined K's life. Are you fucking kidding me? Who put the needle in his arm? That, in my book, is a very good reason not to talk to my sister. She made my mother's life hell when my mother just lost the man she loved. My sister's done other underhanded things and now i'm dying to talk to her and call her out on her shit.
I am just devastated because I love my mother and she was stubborn--she loved her cigarettes and her coffee. Over the years, I tried to get her to modify, especially after her cancer, but she was too stuck in her ways.
She was great woman though, you know? She raised some really strong women and made a great effect on other women that she befriended over the years. She was also very depressed, which I didn't recognize until recently.
It feels like more weight has been added to my grief--my brother, Sterling, Dad, now Mum--and we were getting to the point where we could talk about anything. Now she's gone.
I went to church with my sister R tonight to get a little bit of uplifting. The sermon was about fear and how you should always look to God for help and not try to do it yourself. I've always pulled myself up and I'm very independent, but I'm also not ashamed to ask my friends for help if I really need it. The pastor and the congregation were nice, but when asked if I wanted to accept Jesus as my savior, I'm like, "Nah." I like my way.
I am really missing Wayne. He has become my best friend and we talk about everything. I really wish he was here. Even though we live in the same house, we're not in each others faces and he gives me space when I need it and time when I need it.