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.
The O'Gs. No, not the Original Gangstas. But close.
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Who would have thought a phone number could make you cry.
I was sitting here at work, ecstatic about the beautiful weather, when my phone rang.
I looked over at the phone and saw the number on the Caller ID.
It was my mom's cell phone.
My mom can't make phone calls. I picked up the phone in a panic.
"Hello?" I couldn't say Hi, Mom, because I knew it wouldn't be her.
It was Linda, her best friend, who I've known since I was in the womb.
She visits my mom every Tuesday.
I wrote a message to my mom in her Mother's Day card. I told her not to read it while I was there, to read it when she was ready, because it would probably make her cry (ALS makes you cry and/or laugh uncontrollably, my mom is more of the crier).
She waited till today, till Linda came over to read it.
She had Linda call to tell me it was totally totally awesome. And she loved me very much.
I told her what a great mom she was. I told her how hard it was for me to see her in pain and suffering, and how I am sorry I don't come by as much as I should but it's so difficult for me to see her that way. I told her I couldn't imagine what she's going through but I could never find enough words to tell her how much I loved her.
I told her that she showed me what it means to be a terrific mom. And that I'll spend my life trying to be half as good as she was.
I could hear her crying in the background.
Me? I'm in tears because the last time she actually called me I didn't realize it would be the last time.
This time, I know.
I looked over at the phone and saw the number on the Caller ID.
It was my mom's cell phone.
My mom can't make phone calls. I picked up the phone in a panic.
"Hello?" I couldn't say Hi, Mom, because I knew it wouldn't be her.
It was Linda, her best friend, who I've known since I was in the womb.
She visits my mom every Tuesday.
I wrote a message to my mom in her Mother's Day card. I told her not to read it while I was there, to read it when she was ready, because it would probably make her cry (ALS makes you cry and/or laugh uncontrollably, my mom is more of the crier).
She waited till today, till Linda came over to read it.
She had Linda call to tell me it was totally totally awesome. And she loved me very much.
I told her what a great mom she was. I told her how hard it was for me to see her in pain and suffering, and how I am sorry I don't come by as much as I should but it's so difficult for me to see her that way. I told her I couldn't imagine what she's going through but I could never find enough words to tell her how much I loved her.
I told her that she showed me what it means to be a terrific mom. And that I'll spend my life trying to be half as good as she was.
I could hear her crying in the background.
Me? I'm in tears because the last time she actually called me I didn't realize it would be the last time.
This time, I know.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
PYHO: Losing Mom
Linking up to Shell once again this week.
I posted a couple weeks ago about my mom, and was told by a friend I should continue to blog about her, even though I try to keep my blog upbeat and happy. But today I feel the need again, as she's been on my mind more than usual lately (if that's possible).
I miss bullshitting with her. I miss telling her stories about my friends -- who all know and love her -- and watching her crack up. I miss her head tilt and smile when I talked about certain friends she loved so very much. I miss asking her what she thought about the dress I got for so-and-so's wedding.
I miss the email I'd have everyday when I got to work. I still have the very last email from work she ever sent me. I sometimes still pick up the phone to call her at work, when she hasn't worked in nearly two years.
I hate that when I need advice about something with my children, I can't call her, because she can't tell me. I hate that I've raised my children pretty much without any guidance from her -- not that I always needed it, but before, I would have told her when PJ coughed, or Maggie was fussy, on a daily basis, because we spoke on a daily basis. Now I just tell her the milestones, usually over email that her caregiver types or when we go visit her.
I hate that we can't go out shopping, or out to lunch. I hate that she can't watch my kids when John and I want to go out or have something to do. I hate that she told me she would take them for a week when John and I went on our 5 year anniversary vacation, that she'd take the week off work and they'd do all kinds of fun stuff.
I hate that I hate going to her house, because seeing her this way makes me sick to my stomach. I hate that I'd rather NOT see her because it's just so terrible to see the woman who was always on the go, so vibrant, so full of life, so loud, boisterous, such a loving woman be confined to whatever spot she was put it, without so much as being able to lift her hand to brush a piece of hair out of her face.
I hate that I want her to die, because her quality of life is nothing, and her life sucks beyond all stretches of the imagination. I hate that she knows EXACTLY what she is missing out on, because her brain is perfectly fine.
I hate that she will never ever be able to wear the 65 plus pairs of high heels that she loved to wear again.
I hate that she will never be able to wear the dress she wore to our wedding again.
I hate that she will never attend one of my children's birthday parties, school functions, sporting events or anything else they do.
I hate that I will never receive another birthday card that she signed.
I hate that I cannot find the last birthday card she did sign.
I hate that I constantly think about all the plans that will be made when she does die. I hate that I think about if my stepdad is going to want to move out of the house and give it to us.
I hate that although I know these feelings are normal and expected, I feel like a selfish asshole.
I hate that my mom is physically here, but my MOM is gone.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Paralyzed.
I don't usually write about my mom's illness. It angers me, saddens me, and robs me of emotion all at the same time. But today I feel the need.
In case you haven't read the tabs on my blog, my mom has ALS, or Lou Gehrig's disease. She's was diagnosed nearly two years ago now.
She is paralyzed from the neck down. For weeks I have been saying she has "no muscle function" and the other day someone said something about being paralyzed, and it dawned on me, that's what she is. Paralyzed.
She's losing control of her head. She can't pucker up to kiss me. Her ability to chew and swallow foods gets worse and worse. Her ability to talk is 90% gone, and when she speaks, she is extremely difficult to understand.
When I got married in November of 2007, I imagined how excited she would be when I had babies. I'm an only child, you see, so my babies were her only grandbabies. I knew she would spoil them so, love them so much, be our go-to babysitter. We even discussed she and my stepdad keeping the kids when John and I went on an adults only vacation.
None of this would ever happen.
She held PJ a handful of times when he was a tiny baby, when she could still move her arms and still walk with assistance.
She's never held Maggie. She never will.
She's never hugged either of them.
She's never, ever changed a diaper. Fed a bottle. Picked them up in the air and watched them smile and giggle down at her.
She's never been able to go shopping and pick stuff out by rifling through the racks.
She's missed so much of their lives because she can't come to our house.
She didn't come to PJ's birthday party. She'll never be able to come to one of Maggie's or any of PJ's future parties.
She's never written them a birthday card.
She's never wrapped a present for them.
My own mother didn't meet my baby girl until she was over a week old, because she couldn't come to the hospital when she was born.
My mother in law is our go-to babysitter.
My children will not remember their grandma. If PJ does, it will be in a sense that is not her.
ALS traps you inside a body that does not work. It leaves your brain in tact so you know everything that is happening to you, and you know everything you cannot do.
Because of all these things, she is suffering. She is in more pain than any physical ailment.
Because of all these things, and many, many more I haven't listed, I don't want her to live this way anymore. She's not living.
In case you haven't read the tabs on my blog, my mom has ALS, or Lou Gehrig's disease. She's was diagnosed nearly two years ago now.
She is paralyzed from the neck down. For weeks I have been saying she has "no muscle function" and the other day someone said something about being paralyzed, and it dawned on me, that's what she is. Paralyzed.
She's losing control of her head. She can't pucker up to kiss me. Her ability to chew and swallow foods gets worse and worse. Her ability to talk is 90% gone, and when she speaks, she is extremely difficult to understand.
When I got married in November of 2007, I imagined how excited she would be when I had babies. I'm an only child, you see, so my babies were her only grandbabies. I knew she would spoil them so, love them so much, be our go-to babysitter. We even discussed she and my stepdad keeping the kids when John and I went on an adults only vacation.
None of this would ever happen.
She held PJ a handful of times when he was a tiny baby, when she could still move her arms and still walk with assistance.
She's never held Maggie. She never will.
She's never hugged either of them.
She's never, ever changed a diaper. Fed a bottle. Picked them up in the air and watched them smile and giggle down at her.
She's never been able to go shopping and pick stuff out by rifling through the racks.
She's missed so much of their lives because she can't come to our house.
She didn't come to PJ's birthday party. She'll never be able to come to one of Maggie's or any of PJ's future parties.
She's never written them a birthday card.
She's never wrapped a present for them.
My own mother didn't meet my baby girl until she was over a week old, because she couldn't come to the hospital when she was born.
My mother in law is our go-to babysitter.
My children will not remember their grandma. If PJ does, it will be in a sense that is not her.
ALS traps you inside a body that does not work. It leaves your brain in tact so you know everything that is happening to you, and you know everything you cannot do.
Because of all these things, she is suffering. She is in more pain than any physical ailment.
Because of all these things, and many, many more I haven't listed, I don't want her to live this way anymore. She's not living.
Friday, April 8, 2011
The "Hair Down There" Discovery
I am not sure why this just popped into my head today, but I felt the urge to share it with you fine ladies who follow me, and maybe, just maybe, get a few more followers in the process (I know some of you read and don't follow, come on dammit!!)
Anyway, I suddenly remembered the day -- hell the fucking MOMENT I realized I had pubic hair.
We were at GREAT AMERICA. Yes, Six Flags in all it's wonderment. I was 9. It was me, my mom, my stepdad and my uncle. My mom hates roller coasters. She went on the carousel, and maybe a water ride. So she was basically there so I didn't have to go into the ladies room by myself. I digress.
So I had to go pee, and we go to the bathroom. I go in the stall, close the door, pull down my pants. I'm doing the squat and hover (which, at 9, when you're about 4.5 feet tall, isn't really all that easy). I decide to look down. Sidenote: Had I never looked down before that day? It's not like all the hair just grew that morning or something.
Whoa. I have hair. Between my legs. This is weird.
Continue to take an unusually long time staring at the hair between my legs, meanwhile almost falling onto the toliet (gasp, germs) because my nine year old self cannot hold myself up this long.
I am amazed at this discovery. Must tell mom. I quickly wipe and run out of the stall, to see my mom waiting for me at the sink. I wash my hands.
"MOM! MOM!!"
"What?"
"Come here." I gesture for her to bend down so I can whisper in her ear. She obliges me.
"I have hair between my legs! I saw it just now!"
My mom, to her credit, did not laugh hysterically. She simply patted my head and said, "Honey, everybody does."
I spent the rest of the day wondering what "everybody" meant. Did boys? Did all my girlfriends? Did my mom??? Why did we have hair down there?
A couple days later, I got the nerve to ask my best friend (the best friend who got boobs before anyone else in school, who due to her boobularity forced me to wear a bra long before I needed it, just so when boys would clap me on the back, they'd feel a bra strap) if she knew about this revelation.
"Duh, everybody does."
Anyway, I suddenly remembered the day -- hell the fucking MOMENT I realized I had pubic hair.
We were at GREAT AMERICA. Yes, Six Flags in all it's wonderment. I was 9. It was me, my mom, my stepdad and my uncle. My mom hates roller coasters. She went on the carousel, and maybe a water ride. So she was basically there so I didn't have to go into the ladies room by myself. I digress.
So I had to go pee, and we go to the bathroom. I go in the stall, close the door, pull down my pants. I'm doing the squat and hover (which, at 9, when you're about 4.5 feet tall, isn't really all that easy). I decide to look down. Sidenote: Had I never looked down before that day? It's not like all the hair just grew that morning or something.
Whoa. I have hair. Between my legs. This is weird.
Continue to take an unusually long time staring at the hair between my legs, meanwhile almost falling onto the toliet (gasp, germs) because my nine year old self cannot hold myself up this long.
I am amazed at this discovery. Must tell mom. I quickly wipe and run out of the stall, to see my mom waiting for me at the sink. I wash my hands.
"MOM! MOM!!"
"What?"
"Come here." I gesture for her to bend down so I can whisper in her ear. She obliges me.
"I have hair between my legs! I saw it just now!"
My mom, to her credit, did not laugh hysterically. She simply patted my head and said, "Honey, everybody does."
I spent the rest of the day wondering what "everybody" meant. Did boys? Did all my girlfriends? Did my mom??? Why did we have hair down there?
A couple days later, I got the nerve to ask my best friend (the best friend who got boobs before anyone else in school, who due to her boobularity forced me to wear a bra long before I needed it, just so when boys would clap me on the back, they'd feel a bra strap) if she knew about this revelation.
"Duh, everybody does."
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Babes, and other stuff, but not happy stuff
Good night of sleeping for miss Maggie last night. Good thing too.
My FIL is back in the hospital. There's a laundry list of things that are wrong with him, and things that could be wrong with him, so I'll save it till we have an answer.
I never thought, at 31 years old, when I have two small children, that the imminent death of not only my own mom, but my husband's dad wou.ld be something to be concerned about. My grandmother was 82 when she died. John's grandma was 77, and he still has his other three grandparents, all nearing 80. Their children are in their 50s. Why do we have to worry about this in our 30s??
I'm amazed my FIL is still around, to be honest. It defies logic. It also infuriates me that the things that are wrong with him he did to HIMSELF, whereas my mom is suffering from what I am convinced is the worst disease you can possibly have. Through no fault of her own. Through no ability to prevent, treat or cure ALS. I've seen her go from the never stopping, always doing something, spunky mom that I had to someone who cannot move at all on her own, barely can speak, and has wittled down to 93 pounds in less than two years. And I have to know that she KNOWS what is going on. It's the worst fucking disease out there. I get the cancer is bad. I get that other diseases are bad. But not only is ALS so fucking terrible, there's no funding for it. There's no research, because the government doesn't think enough people have it. Nice.
If my mom is here one year from today, I'd be beyond surprised. The Universe has shit on us for awhile -- we've gotten some amazing things too -- our wonderful, amazing, phenomenal kids. PJ and Maggie are the world to both of us. I honestly don't think we'd have gotten through any of the bullshit without them. But we've lost a baby, we've lost Neo, our dear dog, my mom got diagnosed with ALS, John's dad has so many things wrong with him. I just hope, Universe, that you don't decide to take my mom and John's dad around the same time. Because that would just be the cruelest punishment for two people who really, really don't deserve it.
My FIL is back in the hospital. There's a laundry list of things that are wrong with him, and things that could be wrong with him, so I'll save it till we have an answer.
I never thought, at 31 years old, when I have two small children, that the imminent death of not only my own mom, but my husband's dad wou.ld be something to be concerned about. My grandmother was 82 when she died. John's grandma was 77, and he still has his other three grandparents, all nearing 80. Their children are in their 50s. Why do we have to worry about this in our 30s??
I'm amazed my FIL is still around, to be honest. It defies logic. It also infuriates me that the things that are wrong with him he did to HIMSELF, whereas my mom is suffering from what I am convinced is the worst disease you can possibly have. Through no fault of her own. Through no ability to prevent, treat or cure ALS. I've seen her go from the never stopping, always doing something, spunky mom that I had to someone who cannot move at all on her own, barely can speak, and has wittled down to 93 pounds in less than two years. And I have to know that she KNOWS what is going on. It's the worst fucking disease out there. I get the cancer is bad. I get that other diseases are bad. But not only is ALS so fucking terrible, there's no funding for it. There's no research, because the government doesn't think enough people have it. Nice.
If my mom is here one year from today, I'd be beyond surprised. The Universe has shit on us for awhile -- we've gotten some amazing things too -- our wonderful, amazing, phenomenal kids. PJ and Maggie are the world to both of us. I honestly don't think we'd have gotten through any of the bullshit without them. But we've lost a baby, we've lost Neo, our dear dog, my mom got diagnosed with ALS, John's dad has so many things wrong with him. I just hope, Universe, that you don't decide to take my mom and John's dad around the same time. Because that would just be the cruelest punishment for two people who really, really don't deserve it.
Monday, March 15, 2010
I really need to put up some pics.
The problem is I usually update my blog at work, and my pics are at home. Oh well. I'll get to it some day! If you're reading this though, you're probably my FB friend, so you can see them there, dammit!
I think I have a little bit of a belly, it's definitely protruding more than before and definitely sooner than with PJ. I'll have John take a pic tonight and I will POST IT. Hahaha. Still nauseous, and dry heaving, which is just really, such a great time. I think I'll be switching to full on maternity close in a few weeks. Which is fine with me, because really, maternity clothes are like pajamas. And they are pretty cute nowadays, so I really have no issues with it whatesoever. I am also peeing like crazy which is just so much fun. Really. You should try it.
My happiness turns ONE year old a week from today. I can't even begin to wrap my head around that. It's just amazing how much joy, happiness and fun he has brought into our lives. I honestly think that with everything that has happened in the past year or so I would not be able to have gotten through without that smiling face and that adorable laugh to cheer me up. No matter what happens, a smile from PJ makes me feel better, no matter what went on.
It's amazing how different things were a year ago. A year ago, my mom could walk on her own. She was working. She could utilize her left hand at least. She was able to get dressed, go to the bathroom, do things for herself. Now she can't even stand up from a sitting position. She'll never be able to pick up PJ or anything, and that still is hard for me.
Enough about that. This is a happy post.
I think I have a little bit of a belly, it's definitely protruding more than before and definitely sooner than with PJ. I'll have John take a pic tonight and I will POST IT. Hahaha. Still nauseous, and dry heaving, which is just really, such a great time. I think I'll be switching to full on maternity close in a few weeks. Which is fine with me, because really, maternity clothes are like pajamas. And they are pretty cute nowadays, so I really have no issues with it whatesoever. I am also peeing like crazy which is just so much fun. Really. You should try it.
My happiness turns ONE year old a week from today. I can't even begin to wrap my head around that. It's just amazing how much joy, happiness and fun he has brought into our lives. I honestly think that with everything that has happened in the past year or so I would not be able to have gotten through without that smiling face and that adorable laugh to cheer me up. No matter what happens, a smile from PJ makes me feel better, no matter what went on.
It's amazing how different things were a year ago. A year ago, my mom could walk on her own. She was working. She could utilize her left hand at least. She was able to get dressed, go to the bathroom, do things for herself. Now she can't even stand up from a sitting position. She'll never be able to pick up PJ or anything, and that still is hard for me.
Enough about that. This is a happy post.
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