It certainly looks that way. Maybe that's a crass observation, but it feels wretched to have to watch someone beyond all help, well beyond any real help you can give -- simply worn out by time -- with good painkillers (but not so much of them as to induce unconsciousness), with supplied oxygen, with nurses and lovely surroundings, with familiar pictures on the wall, familiar belongings on dresser and nightstand, live flowers on the windowsill and she's having to -- only able to -- just lie there, eyes shut, mostly asleep, sometimes dreaming, sometimes awake enough for a word or two. For all the peace, prettiness and soft music in the hallways, it still looks like desperately hard work.
To watch you own mother go through this is pain almost beyond enduring.
Mom had a bad few minutes while I was visiting tonight. We were waiting for the nurse with her medicine and Mom moved and cried out, quietly. My sister, my brother and I gathered around, talking to her, patting her, telling her we were all there and we loved her. She never opened her eyes, but she calmed and said, a bit indistinctly, "I love you," as she relaxed.
She was sleeping fairly peacefully when I left. I hope she dreams; I hope her dreams are pleasant.
It's not like the movies. It's hard work. Terribly hard.
He Worked On A Starship
2 months ago