Death is a bunch of bullshit. I don’t know where people get the idea that it’s all peaceful and lovely. It’s NOT. Mom SUFFERED for FIVE FUCKING DAYS. During the last 24-48 hours that she was alive, I had to stick a TUBE up my own mother’s nose to suck out the pus that was pouring out of it about every 5-10 minutes. I had to suction out her mouth because fluid was bubbling up through her TEETH. Fluid started coming out of her EYES. Her skin turned waxy and pale yellow. She would scream in pain if anyone even touched her. When they tried to give her a bath (I mean, really? Does she REALLY need a damn BATH before she dies???) she screamed out, “I want my mama!” She had staples in her head in the shape of a circle. They shaved HALF her head. The staples got infected. The “circle” on her head swelled like a baseball. It was red, swollen and painful. Oh, but they REMOVED them about 10 hours before she died. The “death rattle” lasted for almost 2 whole days. I actually got USED to the horrible, rattling, gurgling, drowning sound that came from my mother’s throat. You could hear her struggling to clear her throat, but she lost the ability and the energy to do so. So, I sat and listened to my mother drowning in fluid. Before she was completely unresponsive, she’d have these massive hallucinations. One time, she tried to throw herself out of bed to “save” someone. I had to lie on top of her to calm her down. Yeah…I had to throw ALL of my weight on top of my dying mother to keep her in her fucking bed. She was SCREAMING at the top of her lungs, and hitting me and saying that no one would help her. Another time, when I was trying to calm her down, she hit me in the face so hard that my mouth bled. No, death is NOT pretty. It’s ugly. It’s disgusting. It’s painful. It’s suffering. After five straight days of watching death happen, I was WANTING MY MOTHER TO DIE. How horrible is that?!? I WANTED the nurses to give her so much pain medicine that she would just die. And then she did die. And now I’d give anything to have her back.
I fell asleep right before my mother died. I had literally been awake and constantly hovering over her for almost 48 hours. My uncle finally made me go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat. I got a red velvet parfait. I will never eat another one as long as I live. I don’t remember much after I got back up to the room. I sat down to eat my parfait, and the next thing I know, my uncle was saying, “Mary Beth! GET UP!” I jumped to my feet just in time to grab Mom’s hand. I told her how much I loved her, and that it was okay to go. Her breaths were almost a minute apart. I stared at her face, absorbing every aspect of it. Then, she took another breath…and no more came after that. I didn’t cry. I kissed her. Then I took a pair of scissors and cut her hair. I kept cutting and cutting. I knew she’d have a hat on in the open casket because of where it was shaved, so I cut as much from the back as I could and stuffed it in an envelope before someone could tell me not to. Then, everything was moving so fast. The nurse came in and said that I should go outside for a little while, so I did. When I came back, I looked at the person lying motionless on the bed, with the sheets pulled up to her chin. That was NOT my mother lying there. I had no problem packing my stuff and her stuff and walking out of that hospital because I KNEW that was NOT my mother anymore. I didn’t feel her spirit with me anymore. I went numb.
I was told later that I had fallen asleep face first into my parfait. Maybe Mom was waiting until I stopped hovering. I remember when I was little, and she would take me shopping with her. I would walk so close to her that if she stopped suddenly to look at something, I’d bump right into her. This went on for a while, when Mom finally turned around and said, “Please stop walking so close to me!” Even over 20 years later, whenever we’d go shopping together, I made sure that I walked at least five feet away from her. I told her once, about the time she said that to me, and how I’d remembered it all these years. I remember how she teared up because she didn’t mean to hurt my feelings. But she did hate it when I hovered.
During her hallucinations, there was one so bad that I was almost hurting MYSELF holding her down, so I knew I was hurting her. I was BEGGING her to stop. I was pleading with her to please come back. She did. It was one of the only times I remember her “coming back” out of the hallucination. All of a sudden, she grabbed me around the shoulders, pulled me down to her chest and said, “It’s ok, Baby…don’t cry. I’m ok. I’m so sorry. I’m so proud of you.” It wasn’t until she said “don’t cry” that I realized I was sobbing into her shoulder.
I was the one who told her she was going to die. I had to tell her by myself. The fucking doctor wouldn’t even do it. I had to sit there and calmly tell my mom that she had only days to live. I remember she just said, “Okay.” Then she smiled at me. She told me how proud she was of me. I asked her if she was scared. She thought for a moment and said, “Not of death itself…but, yes, I’m scared of the process it will take to get there.” She was right to be scared. And as she slowly became unresponsive, she would briefly wake up and whisper to me that she was scared. So, I would lie with her and sing her the lullaby that she sang to me when I was a baby.
Go to sleepy little baby
Go to sleepy little baby
When you wake you’ll find sweet cakes
Ride the pretty little ponies
One is red, and one is blue
One is the color of candy, too.
Death is not pretty. It’s not pretty for the one going through it, nor is it for the ones watching them go through it. I miss my mother with every cell in my body. I am somewhat comforted by the fact that she is no longer suffering.
It’s not fucking fair that she’s gone. It’s not fair that she left me alone. It’s not fair that she won’t be here to see me get married or see my first child. It’s not fair that I don’t “feel” her. It’s not fair that I had to pick out her casket all by myself. It’s not fair that I had to write her obituary all by myself. It’s not fair that I only have pictures of her now. It’s not fair that soon…I won’t have anything left that smells like her. It’s not fair that all these people who were supposed to “be there” for me have up and disappeared off the face of the fucking planet. It’s not fair that the brunt of my emotional craziness is left to my husband-to-be who works 70 hours a week, and to my best friend who never even got to meet Mom. It’s not fair that THEY have to deal with me when there should be other people to listen to me, but don’t even have the fucking balls to pick up the phone and check on me for five minutes. It’s not fair that they don’t want anything to do with me now that Mom’s not a part of the “package” deal. It’s not fair that they’ll all come running when I say that I have something of Mom’s that they can have. It’s not fucking FAIR that Mom’s not here and they are and she can’t talk to me about any of it and they WON’T talk to me about any of it. It’s not fair that so many GOOD things are going on in my life right now, but I feel guilty for being happy about any of it because SHE’S NOT FUCKING HERE!!!!!!!!!!
Death is NOT pretty. It’s ugly. It’s scary. It’s one of the worst things you could ever witness.
Mom, however, is, was, and will always be the most beautiful thing that could have ever existed. She didn’t deserve to die the way that she did. The unselfish part of me is thankful beyond belief that she is perfectly whole again. But the selfish part of me wishes that she was here with me now…perfect in every way in my eyes.
I love you, Mom. I wish you could tell me that you love me too. I miss you. I wish you could tell me you miss me too. I’m proud of how strong you were. You left this world a little less beautiful when you left it.
2 comments:
I have no words. Your writing is phenomenal. This post hit me in the gut because my mom went through this exact same thing but she has never told any of us what she saw my sweet grandma go through. Why do the good ones have to suffer? I will never understand that.
My sweet girl, if you ever need someone who has been in your shoes, I know my mom would be more than willing to be a listening ear and give you advice from someone who watched her mama die of cancer. That disease is an ugly bitch. I hate it.
Love you - Brooke
MB, I almost didn't read this, because I was afraid to. Then, I thought, "YOU are afraid? What did MB and Bethie go through?"; and so I read. I am glad I did. Again, your writing is simply amazing. You put the reader right there with you. My mind's eye was able to "see" the room, and you and your mother. You are right. It was not pretty, even to just read. It was raw, and it was from the deepest part of you. I hope it was also healing for you. I know in some strange way, it was, for me.
With love and total admiration,
Lynn
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