Did I kill my mother? I know what you're thinking--that cancer killed my mother. But I've had this terrible thought that she might have made it a little longer if I hadn't been there for that drainage procedure (see blogpost "I Would For You -- Jane's Addiction"). When the Doctor called us back in she told us that the cancer was winning the battle, and later we learned that she had some sort of infection in addition to the cancer, possibly from the drainage procedure.
Thinking back I wonder if the unsuccessful drainage procedure that I was present for was the one that gave her the infection, thus speeding up her imminent death. What if it was? And then, thinking this, I believe it could go one of two directions: yes, the infection killed her more quickly, thus ending her suffering OR if she hadn't had the infection how much more time would we have been able to spend with her? The latter, of course, brings with it another bevy of questions. Would a little more time with her been a good thing or a bad thing? Had Mom lived a few days or weeks longer would she have been miserable? Would she have been coherent enough to tell us the things we needed to know? Would we have been focused enough to ask for her wisdom on the important things we would face in life without her?
I know I didn't have any questions when she did ask me if there was anything I wanted to talk about. At that point I was still inside this icy shell of denial, which was only made truly apparent through the constant stress I held internally which I believe caused me to have premature labor contractions months long before Arabella would arrive.
When I discussed my feelings about my mother's death with my doctor she told me she wished she could write me a prescription to have my mother back. I wish she could too, because I really need a Mom.
This loss has crushed my very heart and soul. It has torn my faith asunder, though her words echo through my head, "Don't be mad at God for this." She made me promise, which I did, but it was a broken promise before it even left my lips. I both love and hate God at the same time. I turn to prayers--to Jesus, to God, to the Goddess Mother Earth, to the cosmos, when I feel the need. Krishna would say that love and hate are two different reverberations of the same note within the heart.
I hate that my mother is dead. I hate God, Goddess, cosmos and all for it. I hate the evil people in the world who live while my own mother was torn so shockingly from our family. It might be different if I had someone to blame. I suppose I could blame people who treated her, blame her for neglecting her health, blame myself for the whole
"Oh, you're going to stay for the procedure?"
"Yeah."
thing. I could blame God, I could blame cancer. I could blame God for allowing cancer to exist. But there is no closure there. This is a never-ending thing that haunts me. I'm angry that people, good people, die of cancer every day while rapists, child molesters, and murderers roam our streets.
I want God to smite those evil fuckers in the world. And not just a little smite, a big fat smite for all the evil assholes in the world. In fact, God, I think cancer should be the plague of the evil, not the bane of the good. You should have smote those fuckers, not my Mom, dammit.
"...no one said it was easy..."
Thinking back I wonder if the unsuccessful drainage procedure that I was present for was the one that gave her the infection, thus speeding up her imminent death. What if it was? And then, thinking this, I believe it could go one of two directions: yes, the infection killed her more quickly, thus ending her suffering OR if she hadn't had the infection how much more time would we have been able to spend with her? The latter, of course, brings with it another bevy of questions. Would a little more time with her been a good thing or a bad thing? Had Mom lived a few days or weeks longer would she have been miserable? Would she have been coherent enough to tell us the things we needed to know? Would we have been focused enough to ask for her wisdom on the important things we would face in life without her?
I know I didn't have any questions when she did ask me if there was anything I wanted to talk about. At that point I was still inside this icy shell of denial, which was only made truly apparent through the constant stress I held internally which I believe caused me to have premature labor contractions months long before Arabella would arrive.
When I discussed my feelings about my mother's death with my doctor she told me she wished she could write me a prescription to have my mother back. I wish she could too, because I really need a Mom.
This loss has crushed my very heart and soul. It has torn my faith asunder, though her words echo through my head, "Don't be mad at God for this." She made me promise, which I did, but it was a broken promise before it even left my lips. I both love and hate God at the same time. I turn to prayers--to Jesus, to God, to the Goddess Mother Earth, to the cosmos, when I feel the need. Krishna would say that love and hate are two different reverberations of the same note within the heart.
I hate that my mother is dead. I hate God, Goddess, cosmos and all for it. I hate the evil people in the world who live while my own mother was torn so shockingly from our family. It might be different if I had someone to blame. I suppose I could blame people who treated her, blame her for neglecting her health, blame myself for the whole
"Oh, you're going to stay for the procedure?"
"Yeah."
thing. I could blame God, I could blame cancer. I could blame God for allowing cancer to exist. But there is no closure there. This is a never-ending thing that haunts me. I'm angry that people, good people, die of cancer every day while rapists, child molesters, and murderers roam our streets.
I want God to smite those evil fuckers in the world. And not just a little smite, a big fat smite for all the evil assholes in the world. In fact, God, I think cancer should be the plague of the evil, not the bane of the good. You should have smote those fuckers, not my Mom, dammit.
"...no one said it was easy..."
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