I don’t know how to do this

I don’t know how to do this

I wanted to update you on what is going on and why I have not been blogging.  Yet, I really don’t want to update you.  Something about putting things in wrting makes it seem real.  I like things not seeming real.  I know there are several of you that are expecting to hear from me or should have heard from me by now due to deadlines, essays etc.  I apoligize if you have not personally heard from me yet.  I have little Internet access and even less time or abilty to string together many coherant thoughts. 

Mom is dying.

I have tried to put into words before before of how frightened I am about losing her.  I have no idea who I will be when she is gone.  I thought maybe things were getting better when I got that amazing phone call from her on Thanksgiving, but perhaps that was just a final gift to remember there are still and always will be things to be thankful for in the midst of grief.  No matter what my head says, my heart is not ready.

We thought we were losing her before.  We were even called to her bedside to say goodbye.  However, that doctor was wrong.  She did not speak to all of the other doctors about Mom’s condition.  I wish that were true here, but they are all in agreement that this is the end.  The end.  Do you know how hard it is to type that?

I completely, without question believe in an afterlife and heaven.  After so many years of having MS destroy her body, her mind and her personality, I know that she will soon be free of all of that.  She will laugh, walk and be at peace.  Finally.  For that I am thankful.  For me, the hell will go on.

Not everyone is blessed enough to get a chance to say goodbye.  I am glad I have been able to do so.  But this lingering?  This suffering before the end?  This time of waiting?  It is sheer hell.  You begin to questions things.  Have I told her what I need to tell her?  Have I given all of the love I know how to give?  I know I have taken all the love that she has to give and will do so until she is gone.  And I have learned that I can never outlove her, but I can come close.

Today Mom moves to hospice care.  Today we start the “death watch.” Two days ago we had to go and pick out her casket and her cemetary plot and all of those things that make you want to go crawl under your bed in the fetal postion and pretend they are not happening.  I have had to tell the children.  I have had to try to stay strong and frankly, I would much rather just tell Mom to scoot over in her bed so I can curl up beside her and cry.  I have never in my life wanted a hug from her more in my life.  But it is too late.  She is too far gone for that.  And I don’t know how to handle the feelings that are overwhelming me.  It is so hard for me as a writer to not be able to put into words the heartwrenching agony that is tearing me apart.  I should be able to.  I can’t.  I just convey the fear, the pain, the anxiety, the heavy, heavy heart that weighs down every fiber of my being. 

How do I do this?  How do I say goodbye?  How do I tell her that it is okay to go when I don’t want to say it?  Have I told her goodbye in a way that she knows it is goodbye without saying the words?  Have I said let her know that I will carry her with me and think of her every day for the rest of my life?  Have I let her know that I will be okay when I have no real belief that I will be?  How do you say goodbye when you are afraid to say the words?  What if she is not ready and doesn’t want me to say goodbye yet? 

I know there are no right answers.  I know that whatever I do and however I do it, it will be the best way at the time.

All of that to say, I won’t be around for a while.  Or I will be.  I don’t know.  I don’t know how to do this.  If I don’t update you, I will make sure someone does.  And if you get a spare moment to send some peace our way, we sure could use it.  Because I really, really don’t know how to do this.


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