Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Losing Mom - April 1, 2014

I can still feel her skin on my fingertips. I can feel the texture of her hair as I swept it across her forehead. I can smell her, her natural scent not too different from my own. I used my coconut Chapstick on her lips as they were chapped from the tape they used to attach the tubes. I remember her eyes being so swollen and gelatinous, just barely opened. Could she see me? Could she hear me? I held her hand, warmed it in my own, I massaged her puffy fingers, trying to make the swelling subside. Her nails were just painted last week, gold crackle on top of black. She always wanted her nails to look nice. Her skin had few wrinkles, it was smoother than it had ever been. She had bought and tried so many beauty products, desperate to turn back time. Seems like a tragedy now, so much time and money spent on trivial creams. I watched her, never taking my eyes off of her as she struggled for air. Precious air, oh how we take that for granted. I studied her, memorizing her, tattooing her into my mind. I whispered I love you, I love you! I love you so much. And I softly sang to her... slowly... 'Don't worry about a thing, cuz every little thing is gonna be alright.' I begged her to relax and let go, I promised her I would be fine, Dad will be fine, it's ok Momma, don't be afraid. She would groan and strain, struggling. I hated it, please don't fight, please don't suffer. Why can't they help her? How can they just let her go like this? More morphine! More Ativan! I'm here Mom, I'm not going anywhere. Singing to her 'You are my Sunshine' while wrapped in the arms of the man I love. Look Mom, see how he loves me! You can go now, be at peace. Shed one more tear and rest easy. (I am not ok. Not by a long shot. I am angry. I am sad. I am relieved. I feel guilt. I have remorse. I am terrified. I want to keep my Mother.)

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