It's been two years and two weeks since mom died, and I'm still unpacking everything (will the unpacking ever end?).
And in keeping with where we are in the pandemic (yes yes! the pandemic continues!)--we're not at the beginning, and we're not at the end, we're at the beginning of the end. I can only hope I'm at the beginning of the end of that horrible initial phase of grieving.
What does a ruminator do? Ruminate! That's all I can do--it's not as if I can have any conversations with mom anymore. So all I can do is rehash everything and have conversations with myself.
Every detail. Everything happened so quick. From the moment mom was officially notified that the virus was in the nursing home, then she was sedated before I could say my final goodbye, and then roughly 10 days of radio silence, her borked out of her mind, shallow breathing and sitting in her own filth, neglected by the people who were tasked with caring for her, until the dreaded, inevitable call came through that she was gone. (She died on May 4th; and the nursing home that neglected her got their full monthly payment from Medicaid, basically rewarding them for doing nothing.)
I have been stuck in an existential feedback loop, truly sad that I wasn't able to talk to her. I wasted too much time trying to advocate for her, when I should have just talked more to her. I thought there was more time. Then she was gone. I thought I was prepared for it. I thought I was emotionally detached enough. Trust me, nothing prepared me for what I've been experiencing.
Last night, I watched the second-to-the-last episode of This Is Us. This was a show she'd probably have thoroughly enjoyed. The final episodes are devoted to the ultimate passing of the mother, Rebecca. The scenes of her transitioning from being alive to being dead involves her character on a train, encountering people who were significant in her life. Rebecca is young and vibrant, and though she cannot see the people saying their goodbyes to her, she can hear their voices as if they were in another room.
As I had hoped while watching this episode, I had hoped I'd gain something cathartic and useful regarding the death of my own mom, since I wasn't able to be there with her. And fortunately, I had that catharsis.
In early 2014, mom almost died of a ruptured gallbladder. As was the case with most of mom's health crises, they always held off on surgery until she was at death's door, because the surgery itself could have killed her. This time they waited until she was in sepsis.
I remember showing up at the hospital and she was in post-op recovery, totally out of it, and we weren't convinced she would pull through. I crouched down and whispered in her ear, "Mom. It's me. I love you. I still need you. I still need my mom. But if you need to go--go. Don't stay for me. I love you."
Coincidentally, she rallied, and managed to live another 6 years after. This was beginning of 2014, and by winter holidays 2014, she had caused a rift between me and my sister, which caused me to stop going to family gatherings as I was avoiding my sister.
People are complicated; life is messy.
Life is complicated; people are messy.
The universe saw fit to give her nearly 6 more years, and yet, because of her own words and deeds, it threw a monkey wrench into how that precious remaining time was spent. No matter how much time we think we have, it's never enough. I wish I were more prescient & present. But as much as I beat myself up, I am not a mind reader. I am a human just trying to make the best out of a less than ideal situation.
From Xmas 2014 until July 2017, I avoided all family gatherings. I'd visit mom on Columbus Day, or a week before/after her birthday or Mother's Day. And sadly, Mother's Day 2017, the universe fucked me. I had an issue with the lock on the front door to my home, and despite the car loaded up with gear and food for a weekend at mom's, I had to stay home and deal with a locksmith, as Maharajah was in the UK on business.
Life is what happens when you're busy making plans.
Man makes plans, and God says "HAHA!"
Before I knew it, July 2017 she took a series of tumbles at home, which resulted in her deciding to stay in the nursing home. Columbus Day 2017 was spent helping my sister empty out the house and prepare it for sale. I didn't visit mom that time because I was filthy and exhausted and angry--angry at her, and angry at my useless brother.
Winter holidays 2017 was spent heading to Singapore for a cruise, and dispatching the last of dad's cremated remains at the Equator January 3, 2018--the start of the 10th calendar year since his death. November 2018 we headed to India for the wedding of a cousin. I think I might have seen my mom one other time, perhaps Columbus Day 2018 which again was a thankless visit.
My final visit with her was December 2019, when I visited and dropped off a bag of treats for the holiday. It was a good visit. I stayed with her for two hours, of nonstop chatter. It was a good visit.
Not much happened from Christmas until mom’s birthday in March. Shady Pines was quarantined a couple times, allegedly due to the flu. We hoped for the best & hope this mess would pass soon.
Then in mid-April 2020, my last chat with her, she was exhausted, and was "presumptive positive" with COVID. Despite the fact she claimed she was feeling better--I think that might have been the ativan talking.
My last good bye was what I'd call an "every day" type of goodbye. Unlike all other times, I concluded the call with an "I love you," which was out of character for me.
I spent too much time being angry with her, and too much time waiting for an apology or a true reconciliation that never happened. The best I could muster was a silent resignation and granting her or the situation amnesty.
I always wished things were different, and I have always suffered because of this attachment or reasonable expectation or hope for things to be different. Hope, to me, has always been a dangerous thing.
For two years I've grappled with the finality of all this. I've grappled with the fact she was depressed for possibly her entire life (and my entire life, too) and intensified immensely after the passing of my dad in 2008, and not even the passing of her abuser, her father in 2012 elicited any change in her mood or mindset.
I knew for a long time she didn't want to be here. I remember in 2008 when dad actually survived the surgery (which there was only a 10% of survival), her response wasn't a THANK GOD!, rather, her first words were, "I guess he forgot what a fucked up world this is."
For two years, I've tried to find some solace or greater meaning in her death, that she got what she wanted--to cease to exist. Her physical suffering was over.
Sometimes I feel that way myself, but that's just the surface shit--the reality is, I want to cease suffering. And isn't that exactly what death is? The discontinuance of suffering?
So while watching This Is Us last night, I was reminded that I did say my final goodbye (albeit in 2014). I want to think there was some greater meaning to me thinking upon that last night watching This Is Us, and I shouldn't quibble over whether I said it in 2014 when her death seemed to be imminent but wasn't.
Perhaps this is my subconscious self telling me to be kind to myself. That it doesn't matter when I said it, but the fact remains I said it at all.
