Don't have much else to write about, but I wanted to get the depressing post off the top of the page....
Recent thoughts I've pondered:
Why is it that no matter how many ways I try to steer company AWAY from the laundry room (which currently houses no fewer than five mountains of laundry), they always manage to see the mess anyway?
Why is it that I feel responsible for so many people's happiness? What is this urge within me that wants to please everyone, many times at my own expense? How the heck can I plug it up?
Why is it bad to be a little selfish sometimes? Or is it?
Why do I not want to go to school anymore? Not that I'm quitting, mind you; I just don't want to put forth the effort. At all.
Why am I excited about Christmas? I love love love that time of year. But why, exactly? This one has baffled me for years.
Why am I so happy to be helping my sister with her house? I mean, it's work. Hard work. But I love it. Maybe it's the sense of accomplishment that comes with manual labor. Maybe it's that I love socializing with my siblings. Maybe I feel closer to Mom in that house...? Maybe it's all those things. Maybe I should stop analyzing it and just go with the flow.
Why did Mitch Hedburg have to die so young? His comedy routines make me laugh hard, even though I've heard them over and over and over. Drugs suck.
The kids just got home from school, so I'll stop now. Well, maybe just one more thought: Tomorrow, GO ASTROS!
Monday, October 24, 2005
Seven Years
Today is the 7th anniversary of the day my mother passed away.
Mom had started complaining of a headache on Wednesday evening, October 21st. On Thursday, she stayed in bed all day long, only getting up twice to use the restroom. Both times, she had to inch her way down the hall to the bathroom because of the pain in her head. By Thursday evening, she was incoherent - and my dad was getting scared. He made her get up and come sit on the sofa, and he peppered her with questions like "how old are the grandchildren? what is your name?" She answered him, but slowly and with her head bobbing because she kept drifting off to sleep.
My parents finally went to bed around midnight, but around 2:00 dad felt something was wrong. He jumped out of bed, told mom they were going to the ER, and somehow got her to get up and get into the car.
At the ER, the nurses started questioning Mom again - "what's your name, address, etc." Same type of response. They put her into a room, and my dad stood by her and held her hand and told her he loved her. She replied "I love you, too."
Around 4:00 a.m., Mom gasped, threw her head back...and stopped breathing. Dad ran into the hallway screaming, and the nurses came in and put Mom on a respirator.
The doctor ordered CAT scans on Mom the next morning, and found that there was no activity in her frontal lobe. We were all there (all five of us kids, plus our spouses) when the nurses came in and unhooked the machines to see if she could breathe on her own. It was heartbreaking to watch and see that she could not. Despite the fact that her heart was still beating, Mom was gone. She was 51.
It was very hard to watch her go. As the years go by, I expect the ache in my heart to get better. And in some ways, it has. But as I relive that day, I find that the pain is still very raw. Writing it all out is therapeutic in a way. Many of my friends hesitate to talk to me about Mom because they're afraid they'll upset me (and I understand that), but sometimes I need to talk about her.
"Don't cry because its over. Smile because it happened."
Thanks for the memories, mom. And thanks for giving me life. I miss you so much.
Mom had started complaining of a headache on Wednesday evening, October 21st. On Thursday, she stayed in bed all day long, only getting up twice to use the restroom. Both times, she had to inch her way down the hall to the bathroom because of the pain in her head. By Thursday evening, she was incoherent - and my dad was getting scared. He made her get up and come sit on the sofa, and he peppered her with questions like "how old are the grandchildren? what is your name?" She answered him, but slowly and with her head bobbing because she kept drifting off to sleep.
My parents finally went to bed around midnight, but around 2:00 dad felt something was wrong. He jumped out of bed, told mom they were going to the ER, and somehow got her to get up and get into the car.
At the ER, the nurses started questioning Mom again - "what's your name, address, etc." Same type of response. They put her into a room, and my dad stood by her and held her hand and told her he loved her. She replied "I love you, too."
Around 4:00 a.m., Mom gasped, threw her head back...and stopped breathing. Dad ran into the hallway screaming, and the nurses came in and put Mom on a respirator.
The doctor ordered CAT scans on Mom the next morning, and found that there was no activity in her frontal lobe. We were all there (all five of us kids, plus our spouses) when the nurses came in and unhooked the machines to see if she could breathe on her own. It was heartbreaking to watch and see that she could not. Despite the fact that her heart was still beating, Mom was gone. She was 51.
It was very hard to watch her go. As the years go by, I expect the ache in my heart to get better. And in some ways, it has. But as I relive that day, I find that the pain is still very raw. Writing it all out is therapeutic in a way. Many of my friends hesitate to talk to me about Mom because they're afraid they'll upset me (and I understand that), but sometimes I need to talk about her.
"Don't cry because its over. Smile because it happened."
Thanks for the memories, mom. And thanks for giving me life. I miss you so much.
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