PYHO: Letting Go

Once again, I'm linking up with Shell for PYHO.

And I apologize for the somber feeling of my posts today and yesterday.

It's been brought to my attention that my mom is starting to give up.

She doesn't think the doctors, aides, equipment will help her.  She doesn't want to use them.

She doesn't want to extend the inevitable.  What's the point of living longer when you are trapped inside a body that doesn't move?  All the stuff that can be done will only prolong her life -- for how long?  A month?  Two?  Six?  We don't know.  And what kind of life is it?  It isn't one.

I don't blame her.  And if she is done, if she no longer wants to live this way, I support her 100%. 

And I am going to tell her this.

I am going to tell her that I cannot imagine sitting in one place for an entire day.  That if a piece of hair falls in my eye, I can't lift my hand to move it, I can't open my mouth to ask someone to move it for me.  I have to sit and wait for someone to hear my grunt or noise and somehow gesture with my eyes or maybe one or two face muscles what I need done, because that's all I can move.

I am going to tell her that I cannot stand to see her suffer this way, and I understand if she no longer wants to. 

I am going to tell her that I will be okay.  That I love her more than anything, and I will miss her like crazy -- and that I already do, but I am totally 100% in support of whatever she wants and respect her decision.

I am going to tell her it's okay for her to let go.

It's okay to leave.

Because she's not living.  Her body has failed her.  Her mind is starting to fail her because she is depressed.  Who wouldn't be?  If she gets on anti-depressants, will she want to live?  Why would she?  Nothing will change.  She still won't be able to wave hello.  Or kiss her grandchildren.  Or have a glass of wine.  Or move.

My stepdad wakes up every two hours at night to move her.  So she doesn't stay in the same place for two long.  She can't even move her foot if she wanted to.  I wonder what happens if she wakes up say, half an hour after that.  She can't tell him to wake up.  She can't shake him awake.  She has to sit there and hope he hears her grunting or just wait for him to wake up.

I am hoping she can get some hospice care -- not for her, but for my stepdad.  He needs help.   But will he take it?  I doubt it. 

So I need to ler her know that I love her, that she'll always be with me.  That I am not selfish enough to expect her to live this way when she has the most horrific disease I can think of.  I am not sure how I am going to have this conversation.  She can't say anything back to me.  But I need her to know she doesn't have to stay here for me.

I already miss her.  A good blogger friend put it best.  I hate that it would be easier if she weren't around so I could finish mourning her.

It's okay Mom.  Grief is a part of life.  I love you and I always will.  I respect your decision.  Go.