I have never felt so confused on how to feel in my entire life. As the days go on, I find that my feelings are changing rapidly about what's happened.
By what's happened I mean Mum dying.
And--side note--I really need to stop avoiding actually saying those words.
Anytime I talk about it, I find that I'll say "since it happened", or "since she...ya know...."....like I'm avoiding the topic. Like somehow that's going to make it better or easier to handle.
Well, it's not.
And it's not like me to dance around a topic. It's almost like I don't want to believe that it's true. In fact that's exactly it--I don't want to believe that it's true. It's too uncomfortable.
If I could think of words that describe how I feel about death, mum dying, and everything that comes along with it, they would be this:
Barf. Squirm. Run away. Leave me the hell alone.
Those are my "death words."
I hate every little thing that comes along with death. It's a humongous experience that you're put through, and there's no hand out to fix all the damage that comes along with it. There are SO MANY EMOTIONS. I can't keep up with them all.
Honestly, I feel like every morning instead of drinking the coffee I'm used to, I'm drinking a venti depresso instead. I feel so upset about this.
Yesterday I went through all of Mum's clothes. It was a big task, because that woman had so much clothes it was ridiculous. I went through them all and sorted them into piles; goodwill, consignment, and trash. It was so strange seeing how many of her outfits that I had memories of. There was one that she wore to my son's first birthday. One that she wore to my husband and I's wedding. One's that I remember her greeting us at the door wearing when we went over for summer bar-b-ques.
I'll say it again---it's so surreal that she's gone.
Even going into their house-Mum and Dad's house--again, (which, by the way is weird to talk about too, because I don't know if I should call it "Mum and Dad's house" or "Roy's House" anymore. Just another awkward moment when you just don't know), was so very weird.
Whenever we would go to their house before we'd first get greeted by their two annoying-as-hell little puppies (one of which passed away right before Mum did), then we'd get shuffled inside and encouraged to sit and get comfortable, asked if we wanted anything to eat or drink, and then with this family you could count on the conversation to wander in any direction.
Now the house is quiet. Too quiet. Only one puppy. And there I was cleaning out the closet and sorting through Mum's clothes. Waiting for the Pastor to meet us there so we could talk about Mum's funeral.
Barf. Squirm. Run away. Leave me the hell alone.
There are those death words again.
I did NOT want to talk about Mum's funeral. I didn't want to plan it. I didn't want to organize it. I didn't want to help because I didn't want it to happen.
But I helped. And as it turns out, I'm actually going to be singing "The Lords Prayer" at the end of the service. I'm looking forward to doing that part, because in the past it has brought me a lot of comfort in other times of loss, and hopefully it will do the same now.
So.
I'm exhausted guys. I feel sad, angry, depressed, stressed, overwhelmed, tired, and a whole bunch of other feelings I don't think I can put my finger on. And I know it's a process. I know we all go through different steps of grieving and there's no particular order. I know grieving is different for everyone.
I'm just waiting for my "process" to let me move on.
Barf. Squirm. Run away. Leave me the hell alone.
Please.
10.21.2012
Attention: Not for the faint of heart.
Sometimes you just feel the need to step back, take a deep breath, and say, "damn."
Whatever that "damn" might mean for you I'm not sure. It really is up to you. Maybe it's too much work, maybe it's a strained relationship, maybe it's a bad habit, maybe it's an obsession, or lack of obsession. Maybe it's a traumatic event that you've been through that's exhausted you to the point where you just feel like you need to sit and stare at the floor.
For me, it's the latter. Because a few days ago, I experienced something that I will likely never be able to forget.
I held some one's hand, and saw their face, and heard their breathing, as they died. I saw their face change, and their breathing stop, as the last breath was taken and released. This, more specifically, was my mother-in-law.
This, also, was one of the scariest things I've ever been through.
Now we (meaning all of the family and some close friends) knew that she was going to pass because she was diagnosed with lung cancer about 3 1/2-4 months ago. She was fairly ill when she was diagnosed, so we honestly didn't think she'd have that long right off the get go. But she'd always been very stubborn, and she'd always been a spitfire of a woman. It honestly wouldn't have surprised me if she had lasted longer--but unfortunately she didn't.
She went into a hospice care facility about one week ago, after being cared for at home by hospice care-takers for about a month. Before that she managed to do okay on her own with the help of my dad-in-law. When she went into the hospice home, though, she was so ill, that she wasn't able to walk, talk very much, or eat or drink very much each day. It had been a long journey for her, and we all new that the end was going to come very quickly.
Her and I didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things. In fact, when she first got diagnosed with cancer I had a hard time being sympathetic (I know, it's terrible) because I was harboring so much anger and resentment towards her for harsh words that were said, actions that were done, and situations that had happened that bothered me. I have always had a hard time letting go of what bothers me. But if there is one thing that will make you realize what is really important, it's when you see your last chance at peace and reconciliation laying in a bed, close to death, and knowing it's now or never.
There was one night in particular that I found peace with Mum (as we call her). I was sitting next to her, and I took her hand, and I said "you know I love you right?" and that was all that needed to be said. I knew she heard me because she gave a small frown and her closed eyes tried to form tears and her shaky hand tried to cover her face. I felt peace in my heart and soul. All the way down to my toes. I knew that nothing else mattered except for the hand that I was holding--her hand that I was holding, and the very small amount of time that I had left with her. And from that point on, all I wanted to do was be in that room until the end. Maybe that's why it was me who was there with her? Maybe it was a gift? I don't know.
She hung on to her life for so long. Each day when we all visited her, it seemed that she was only this breathing body. She couldn't make any sound, couldn't talk with us anymore. So many times I wondered why she was still hanging on. So many times I prayed for peace for her, and prayed to God that she wouldn't be in pain anymore. I didn't know if she could think any thoughts at the stage she was in, but I wanted her to know---I willed her to know--with all my heart that it was okay for her to let go of everything now. I often told her this out loud, too.
So then, on Thursday, October 18th, a little before 1:00PM, when I was, for some reason, alone in her room with her, she was laying there--a tired soul, a tired body. I was sitting there next to her and her breathing slowed. The hospice volunteer happened to wander in at that first moment and asked how things were, and I told her something was wrong with Mum's breathing. When the hospice volunteer left and rushed to get the nurse, it was just Mum and I......and I knew it was happening. A thought flew through my mind, and I remember wondering why I was alone with her, and why her husband, her son, had just left one minute earlier after hardly leaving at all for days and they could have been there for this.
But it was me. I held her hand through her last three breaths. Those breaths were like slow motion for me. I felt like I was watching everything happen from outside my body. But I remember holding Mum's hand for dear life and just telling her it was okay, over and over. Maybe the comfort was more for me, than her, I don't know.
Whatever that "damn" might mean for you I'm not sure. It really is up to you. Maybe it's too much work, maybe it's a strained relationship, maybe it's a bad habit, maybe it's an obsession, or lack of obsession. Maybe it's a traumatic event that you've been through that's exhausted you to the point where you just feel like you need to sit and stare at the floor.
For me, it's the latter. Because a few days ago, I experienced something that I will likely never be able to forget.
It's going to remain in my memory forever.
I held some one's hand, and saw their face, and heard their breathing, as they died. I saw their face change, and their breathing stop, as the last breath was taken and released. This, more specifically, was my mother-in-law.
This, also, was one of the scariest things I've ever been through.
Now we (meaning all of the family and some close friends) knew that she was going to pass because she was diagnosed with lung cancer about 3 1/2-4 months ago. She was fairly ill when she was diagnosed, so we honestly didn't think she'd have that long right off the get go. But she'd always been very stubborn, and she'd always been a spitfire of a woman. It honestly wouldn't have surprised me if she had lasted longer--but unfortunately she didn't.
She went into a hospice care facility about one week ago, after being cared for at home by hospice care-takers for about a month. Before that she managed to do okay on her own with the help of my dad-in-law. When she went into the hospice home, though, she was so ill, that she wasn't able to walk, talk very much, or eat or drink very much each day. It had been a long journey for her, and we all new that the end was going to come very quickly.
No matter how much you prepare yourself for some one's death...it doesn't matter if it's a year, 4 months, 2 weeks, 2 days, or two hours.........nothing can prepare you for that feeling you get when they are actually gone.I don't know why it was me who was chosen to be there when she took her last breath. I don't know why it was me who stayed in her room while every one else had some odd reason to leave, like to go for a short walk to stretch their legs, or go to the kitchen for a spoon. Was it written in the stars that I be with her, alone, just her and I--so that she could pass on to the next life? Was I chosen, and should I look at this as an honor?
Her and I didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things. In fact, when she first got diagnosed with cancer I had a hard time being sympathetic (I know, it's terrible) because I was harboring so much anger and resentment towards her for harsh words that were said, actions that were done, and situations that had happened that bothered me. I have always had a hard time letting go of what bothers me. But if there is one thing that will make you realize what is really important, it's when you see your last chance at peace and reconciliation laying in a bed, close to death, and knowing it's now or never.
There was one night in particular that I found peace with Mum (as we call her). I was sitting next to her, and I took her hand, and I said "you know I love you right?" and that was all that needed to be said. I knew she heard me because she gave a small frown and her closed eyes tried to form tears and her shaky hand tried to cover her face. I felt peace in my heart and soul. All the way down to my toes. I knew that nothing else mattered except for the hand that I was holding--her hand that I was holding, and the very small amount of time that I had left with her. And from that point on, all I wanted to do was be in that room until the end. Maybe that's why it was me who was there with her? Maybe it was a gift? I don't know.
She hung on to her life for so long. Each day when we all visited her, it seemed that she was only this breathing body. She couldn't make any sound, couldn't talk with us anymore. So many times I wondered why she was still hanging on. So many times I prayed for peace for her, and prayed to God that she wouldn't be in pain anymore. I didn't know if she could think any thoughts at the stage she was in, but I wanted her to know---I willed her to know--with all my heart that it was okay for her to let go of everything now. I often told her this out loud, too.
So then, on Thursday, October 18th, a little before 1:00PM, when I was, for some reason, alone in her room with her, she was laying there--a tired soul, a tired body. I was sitting there next to her and her breathing slowed. The hospice volunteer happened to wander in at that first moment and asked how things were, and I told her something was wrong with Mum's breathing. When the hospice volunteer left and rushed to get the nurse, it was just Mum and I......and I knew it was happening. A thought flew through my mind, and I remember wondering why I was alone with her, and why her husband, her son, had just left one minute earlier after hardly leaving at all for days and they could have been there for this.
But it was me. I held her hand through her last three breaths. Those breaths were like slow motion for me. I felt like I was watching everything happen from outside my body. But I remember holding Mum's hand for dear life and just telling her it was okay, over and over. Maybe the comfort was more for me, than her, I don't know.
Then, she was gone. Her battle was over. She had been spared from any more war in her world.
I felt shaken to my core.
It's been days now (well, only 3), and I still feel like every time I close my eyes I see her chest heave her air that one last time, and I see her face give that one last exhale, and I swear I can still hear the small sound she made when she released her last breath into the world.
This will get better, right? I know it will. The first night I was afraid to go to sleep. I was afraid of what I was going to see in my dreams. Now I am exhausted from trying to not think about it. And emotionally, I am trying to be strong for my husband, who's loss is much greater than mine. I know I am dealing with this loss from a different point of view than others are, because everyone is different. Also, it is incredible to me that I have something that no one else has.....the memory of seeing her die.
So I'm torn apart with sadness and grief, but slowly trying to see this experience as an incredible gift.
Thank you, Mum.
Rest in Peace
Diane O. Johnson
3.23.1950--10.18.2012
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