It’s so difficult to put emotions into words. Trying–and often failing–to articulate feelings just makes it hurt more.
The entirety of 2020 was an exercise in trying to maintain status quo while the world pitched sideways. So many people, myself included, went into 2021 with renewed hope and a new energy, giving ourselves a false sense of some ‘miracle’ occurring as the date changed on the calendar. Clearly, that didn’t happen, and it’s wholly unrealistic.
In addition to living under the umbrella of a pandemic, dealing with issues unrelated to COVID never once decided that they should step aside and let the world deal solely with the rapid-spreading of a disease that has taken over the world. In my house, my son’s mental heath, although somewhat improved, has bounced all over the place. He’s been up and down, waffling between loving his job and hating the concept of going to work. On the cusp of losing his job, then somehow managing to get them to take him back.
He’s the least of my concerns. I have two other children and a husband. I need to reduce his reliance on me. Now I just have to get him to meet me half-way.
In the latter part of 2020, my husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I’ll have to write an entire post just on that, but not yet.
It’s only April, but so far this year, things have not gone well. January and February were okay at best. Then everything went downhill. Fast.
It’s started with my niece’s COVID with complications diagnosis that ultimately took her life. She left behind four kids (19 and under). To date, this was the closest this disease had come to my family. I mean really come to my family; we’ve had close calls and negative tests, but this one touched my family.
Just a couple weeks later, I got a phone call from my sister-in-law telling me that my mom was in the hospital, and it didn’t look good. This was followed by me being admitted to the hospital for my stroke and my brother for COVID.
I knew that she had fallen a few months ago and hadn’t bounced back as well as could be expected. She was having trouble getting around and taking care of her needs. Unfortunately, with COVID, getting treated for something unrelated has been difficult, and she’s never been one to let grass grow under her feet. Very independent, she was one of those people that would say, “I’m bored. I’m going to drive to Laughlin for the weekend.” Then get in the car and drive to Nevada. My daughter is similar.
There are so many things running through my head right now. Feelings that I don’t want to experience, but need to. I’m trying to keep it together, but saying goodbye to my mom is so difficult. It hurts. It’s painful. It’s frightening. I knew it would happen eventually, but I’m not ready yet.
Sunday, she wanted to go home. Now, she’s on a ventilator as each of the five major systems begins to shut down. She’s no longer producing platelets or red blood cells, her kidneys have failed, along with her liver, and her lungs are severely damaged. Apparently, she found out last year that she had some sort of lung disease, in addition to COPD. Brain bleeds have pretty much denied her of the part of her that was actually her.
We all want things tied up nice and easy with a clear-cut diagnosis. Unfortunately, there isn’t ONE diagnosis, there are several. And they’re all working against her.
Together, we have made the most difficult decision to remove the vent and discontinue treatment, allowing nature to take its course. Soon, she’ll be at rest, but the pain of losing her will be sure to come back and kick me when I’m least expecting it, and it will be a pain I feel for years to come. But the woman I have always knows as ‘mom’ is no longer. Instead, she’ll live inside me as memories–good and bad.