lace curtains

My mum saved everything. She saved every curtain we ever owned. Today, I decided to change up the living room, and needed new curtains. The dark brown curtains she had made for me, last year seemed too dark for summer. I really am trying to brighten things up. Only a month ago, I washed, folded and put away at least twenty pairs of curtains. As I pulled out the curtain bin, and began to choose, I found the curtains she made me for the house in Springvale nearly 8 years ago. They had a tan background with large bundles of red, pink and white roses on them. I picked them up and held them for what seemed like hours, as a million memories flooded my brain. I could see the happiness on her face at my complete joy over my new drapes. She worked hard on them, and it showed. They were absolutely perfect. These curtains reminded me of a time of contentment, a time free of disease and pain, grief and strife. Although the memory was fleeting, I do remember at one time I did smile. I could not use the Victorian rose curtains, not yet. Instead, I chose the cream lace curtains. They did make the room lighter. It is amazing how something as simple as window coverings can provoke such strong emotions.

Topic of Cancer Culture: vanityfair.com

Topic of Cancer Culture: vanityfair.com

The garden

Every year mum and I would plant Zinnias in the front garden area. This year there will be no Zinnias. There is no life anywhere in this house. No matter how hard I try to find some joy, there seems to be none. The weeds have taken over the small garden we used to love so much.

Hospice

I feel that the organization of Hospice is no more than a group of paid assassins. When people hear the word Hospice, their thoughts turn to compassion. There is nothing compassionate about Hospice! The way in which they kill is cruel. Yes, they give Morphine and Ativan to suppress the victim's pain. However, they still feel the pain of dehydration. Dehydration part of their preferred method of murder; they with-hold all fluids Dehydration is painful. The whole time my mum was dying, and dehydrating, she kept smacking her lips. She could not cry out for help because of the drug cocktail they gave her, but I could tell she was uncomfortable.

Mum was on many different life-saving medications. Had they taken away any one of her heart medicines, this alone would have killed her, so why they felt the need to dehydrate her is still a mystery to me. When she died, her tongue and lips were all shriveled, and split. Hospice is not an easy death, nor is it compassionate.

Let me just say for arguments sake a baby was born with horrific deformities, unable to see, hear, feel, or ever eat on its own, and retarded. In other words, completely dependent on life saving methods/support for the rest of its life. Had Hospice stepped in and dehydrated this child to death in the same manner they did my mother, can you imagine the public outrage? Hospice would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law: how dare they murder an innocent child. However, as we all know Hospice would not be allowed near this child; tax payers would be made to pay for this child's health care forever. My point being: because my mother was old and cancer stricken, and considered by society to be of no further use, she was allowed, even coerced to chose Hospice and to be be exterminated. So, even though this made up infant would be a drag on society, take up millions possibly billions of dollars in health care, and never contribute to society where as my mother had enriched society her entire life, but because it is a child it is deemed immoral and unethical to end its life. Am I the only one who sees this as discrimination?

Tonight, I wait.

Tonight, I wait for something. What am I waiting for? Nothing and anything that will make everything all right. However, there is nothing with the power to do this. There is nothing that will take away the silence left by mum's death and absence. Only she can fill that space, and she is gone forever. I wait for something to make me smile again. However, there is nothing that can ignite my mood that would cause my lack of affect to become a grin. Only she had that ability, and she is gone forever. So I wait for nothing, and nothing is what I get and I expect nothing else.

Day 33

As the days go slowly by, I don't find myself missing my mother less; I find I am missing her more. The shock of her death has now worn off and I am left with only the bitter reality that she is gone, and never coming back. Not only am I left with her memory, but also the cruelness of having to see her name on the mail that still comes for her, that she will never get to open. She loved the junk mailings, the catalogs, and the free return address stickers various organizations would send. As I pull her mail out of the post box, I smile sometimes; thinking how much she would have loved the stickers sent by Disabled American Veterans.
In a couple of the bins I cleaned out, I found unfinished knitting projects she had started and became too sick to finish. She never taught me how to knit, and I never wanted to learn, but I think I will, just to finish the hat and blanket she started.
The dogs, all six of them, are also feeling the effects of her loss. All of them were obese due to the three peanut butter sandwiches and massive amounts of dog food she gave them. They are all slimming down a bit. Now, they get a peanut butter bone in the morning and at night, no more table scraps or sandwiches.

Sleeping issues

Today I went to work looking like a zombie, no makeup, wet hair; I looked like hell. I am not sleeping well. In fact, I get to sleep just as my alarm to wake up goes off. There just doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day to fit in sleep.
Everyone today, since I live smack dab in the buckle of the bible belt, told me if I would just believe in god, all my troubles would go away. If there was a god, he would have healed my mother.
I just got done cleaning and dusting the living room; as soon as I went into the bathroom to give it a fast wipe down, my grandson informed me that he decorated the coffee table with all the stickers from his sticker book-great. He stays with me at night because he is still grieving and his parents can't deal with his sadness; he is 4 years old. My mother and I raised him because my daughter had him when she was too young and she had a lousy ob gyn who severed both her uterine arteries and nicked her bowel during her c section; she then contracted MRSA, and had to have most of her abdomen removed. She never was able or well enough to hold him until he was around 5 months old. The bond between mother and child never formed. Technically, when he lost his great grandmother, it was as if he lost a mother because she did raise him.
Time to try to sleep.

The long nights

Bedtime, the most trying time of the night. I still say goodnight to her hoping that I will hear her reply. I still don't sleep, well, maybe an hour or two at a time, but never good sleep. As I wash my face, I can see the stress in every inch of my appearance. My eyes look blank, deep dark circles have taken up permanent residence. I always wonder if there will ever be a glimmer of hope left in me waiting to emerge. I doubt it.
I will once again wake up tomorrow hoping that this was all a bad dream; she will be in her room waiting for me to dress her. I still keep both phones by my bed in case the hospital calls telling me they made a horrible mistake, and she is alive and well. Even though I was there with her when she died, I felt the last beat of her heart, I heard her last breath; I still keep the phones near me.
Have I thought about suicide, everyday. However, I cannot justify leaving pets behind with no one to take care of them.
I was even hoping that I would see her ghost. The only ghost in this house is me.

Holding on

As I clean out the house after my mother's death, I am left deciding what to keep and what to remove. This process is easier said than done. Everything I touch hold a memory; her hands once touched every item. She kept things in bins; these things were important to her in some way, important enough for her to save them. How do I discard them? I have decided to wait a year, and get my mind in a better perspective before I remove anything else.
Items I thought I had lost long ago were found in rolled up doilies, things from my childhood, things she saved so I wouldn't lose them.
She was such a strong woman. Even when she was at her sickest she still managed to do a load of laundry, feed the animals, do the dishes. My mother was amazing. I can't even begin to describe how much I loved her.
I thought she could do anything. Whenever I couldn't do something, she could. During her cancer treatment, she never complained. It was almost as if the sicker she got, the stronger she became. When she was unable to walk more than a few yards, she would say that maybe tomorrow would be better. I guess I never really knew how horrible she felt because she never showed her pain. I should have seen it, but chose I think, not to. It was easier on my mind to believe there was still hope, to believe she would recover, to believe she was going to live. If I could turn back time, there is so very much I would change, but I cannot, and have to live with my actions. Did I take good care of her, yes I did, but I could have done better.
June 1, 2010 was the first time she ever needed a wheel chair to get into the doctor's office. When the exam was over the doctor decided that a few days in the hospital was a good idea, her wbc was critically low. She never came out of the hospital. She died June 21, 2010.

Nothing but time

I am off work today; I have so much to do and can't seem to get motivated to do anything. It is a chore just to breathe. My grief has crippled me. When my mother was alive, and I was taking care of her, my days off were filled with doctor visits, my mother's laughter, her voice, her smell, her touch. All of that is gone now, there is only me. I don't need a doctor, I do not laugh, I rarely speak, I cry.
For some, friends are enough to take the edge off loneliness. I care not for their company, it just irritates me.
My whole life comes down to this: It was always us and we, mum is gone, and I have to learn to be me and I. This is the hardest thing I will ever do. She was my best friend.
I was a half-way decent person when it was us. I no longer feel the need to try to please anyone; this is me.
Everyone tells me time will heal. Obviously, they didn't have the same relationship with their mothers as I had. We used to tell each other that united we stand, divided we fall. I fell when she died, and I can't seem to get off my knees and lift myself up.

one month

One month ago, my mum died from liver/colon cancer. She had been fighting this disease for 3 yrs.
Not only did her death rip my heart out, but it completely changed my views on life, and death. One minute you are here, talking to those you love, the next minute you are dead, gone forever.
The only thing good about her death is she is no longer in pain. I think about what a fool I was truly believing she would or could beat this cancer. Instead of allowing her to enjoy what little time she had left of the life, I made her endure chemotherapy, and other harsh medical treatments. She loved me enough to pretend she was okay with the probing, the surgeries, and the side effects of the toxins that were pumped into her continuously. No matter how sick it made her. She would tell me she wanted to stop treatment, but when she saw the sadness in my eyes, it made her change her mind; she would agree to more torturous treatment.
Without her I have no life. She was my world. When her life ended, so did any form of life in this house, in my world. I never realized how loud silence could be.
I would have done anything to keep her alive. In the end she chose Hospice.