mom died. so hard, the process. from confronting the truth, having a conversation about it, moving it forward and backward. moving it. and then the zone where nothing makes sense and everything is so hard to accomplish. not to mention that thing called reality. reality, no matter how real it is, becomes so unreal, surreal, even scientific. this + that - this = maintenance. that - this = that + this = decline. the monitor. the readings. the oxygen, her respiration, her heart rate, her blood pressure, her pulse, her temperature. the morphine, dose after dose, never enough. with a total saturation of ativan, we couldn't make it happen, mom. your heart was beating like a marathon runner when the angel walked in, a hospice nurse turned CIUC nurse, who asked, "do you want me to remove the oxygen?" the very thought of this with your struggle to breathe, the choking, the 30% lung capacity, scary. but she reassured us the sedation made you comfortable enough. your respiration zero. the oxygen in your blood, zero. your heart, beat, beat, beat more slowly. three hours later, we said goodbye. we hope it was soon enough, painless enough, transcendent. we hope it was all you wanted it to be, for as much as you could acknowledge or want. but then how can you be a part of it? how can you not?
to the end. we love you.
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