Suckful

Mom is finishing up her second full day at the hospital, where she was sent Monday evening with pneumonia. I spent the better part of Monday night and Tuesday morning/afternoon there with her, and ended up coursing at the speed of light through every emotion known to man.

I honestly had expected that when the time came where I had to think about her passing away, I would be relatively okay with it. It isn't like I haven't seen it coming for the past few years. And I always tell myself that our relationship had been so adversarial and everything, but that's not meaningful, as it turns out. Your mother is still your mother, no matter what your relationship might have been like, and so to find myself crying about it was really quite a shock to me.

And THEN, on top of that, try having dual emotions --"I hope she's okay," and "I hope this is the end." They're like oil and water in your brain, and no matter how much you shake it, they don't mix very well. What would "okay" mean for her, anyway? It would mean going back to the nursing home where she will lay in bed or sit in a wheelchair all day, staring into space and occasionally mumbling. In what universe is that "okay?" But do I want her to die? No, I don't. Then again, what would dying mean for her? It would mean the exact opposite of the scenario I just painted, and depending on one's beliefs about death, it could quite possibly mean some serious happiness, fun and games galore! Old friends! Family! And end to whatever this life has turned into for her. Do I want THAT for her? Yes, I do. So what do you do?

In this case, you call on the local Catholic priest to come give her the Anointing of the Sick, and then sit with the hospital's chaplain for awhile, discussing the whole thing. And you whine and complain about why why why, and eventually come back to faith and what it means and you go home and eat two Coke floats.