A Mommy Blog About Raising Men, Not Boys.

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Rooms of Forgiveness

Last night for the first night in days I slept hard. I felt drugged but was not. My husband tried to wake me up about a weird smell, but if I HAD to converse about this smell or had there been a fire I could not have done so.
I was wiped out. Mentally, emotionally, and physically empty from the past few days. I haven't been a good wife, good friend, good employee or good mother in days. I've phoned it in, I've paid attention to the things that were must do and the rest were simply done on autopilot.
At around 6 am yesterday I looked at my phone, glowing beside me with a message. It was my brother. Mom had fallen, 911 had been called and he was five hours away.

That meant my sister in law had three kids to get to school and one mother in law to see to at the hospital. That meant my mother was possibly hurt, or in worse shape than she had been before.

It turned out to be the latter.

I have known for a year that my mother was terminally ill but I had been holding out hope for the miracle of transplant. Even when she didn't want it, I held it as a candle in the darkness of the prospect of a world without my mother. When that hope died, part of me went with it. I didn't know how strongly I was leaning on it until it was gone and then I was lost.

Yesterday she went to the hospital for the visit that wasn't going to end. Hospice was discussed at length until my brother (having hauled ass to get there) was brain weary and mentally beaten. End of Life rules in terms of insurance are tricky and scary things. There are rules for the ending of life, and apparently you don't have to like them.

Mom said no to dialysis when they said she should have some of that. She's done. She doesn't want anything, she wants to go now. Maybe she doesn't want to go so much as she just doesn't want THIS anymore and there isn't anything on Earth left for her EXCEPT this.

After much stress it was arranged that she would actually go to the same facility where Dad is, which is a blessing and a curse. Dad's dementia being what it is, we just weren't sure he could handle it. But it was our only option and part of me was glad they could be together. As crazy as he drove her for 46 years, I hoped that despite that they would find some comfort being together.

Matt did the much dreaded duty of talking to Dad, and telling him what was going on. And then Mom was moved in to be with him - different room but Dad can be there with her.

Somehow in the course of my day yesterday I stopped being mad. Maybe that's not it. Because I AM STILL MAD AS HELL. And I'm soul crushingly sad. But I am not so mad at all the medication that probably caused this. I'm not so mad that none of us realized "fatty liver disease" was going to cause her hell on Earth and that we could've done so much more early if only we had known. We didn't know. I'm not so mad at my Dad for feeding her only fast food when she got too weak to cook for him, the worst possible thing for her to eat with her condition. I'm not so mad at myself for not being there enough. I don't know if I forgive, or if my mad just faded because it's pointless.

Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. The universe doesn't play favorites.

I got to talk to both of my parents today. Mom was a little incoherent because of all the stuff building up - end of life with liver failure isn't a coherent place. Yesterday she was seeing cowboys with white hats. I figure that was Gene Autry or Roy Rogers - her favorites. She was also seeing cats. Dad was very nonverbal, a few words. I know that stoic version of my dad, he can't handle what's happening so he has nothing to say.

Today my family got to celebrate my niece's birthday, a bright happy spot in a week that has been anything but. I was glad to see so many smiles on Facebook, so much joy taking place in a house that hasn't been that joyful lately.

I slept in, and woke feeling calm. I didn't wake up and grab my phone in a panic. I guess maybe this is acceptance. I don't accept it, I want to throat punch someone. But maybe, just maybe, moving past the point where you feel like you can't breathe and every single part of your life is burning to the ground, is where acceptance is.

Maybe that's what they mean, it's just the place where you can deal with it in your way.

I don't know what my is yet. I guess I'll find out.

This is about 5 or 6 years ago my Aunt Suzie with my Mom.
Yes, it was Christmas.