My sweet momma died last week. On a Friday, between 6 and 6:25 am. The reason I know this is because I was in the room with her. The nurse came in at 6 am and my Mom was breathing regularly. The she tapped me on the shoulder at 6:25 and said "I'm so sorry". I jumped up and yelled "no, no, no, no" over and over again, because No. This woman can't be gone. I didn't hear anything. Maybe I was asleep. Maybe I wasn't, I don't know. What I know is that I didn't treat her well enough to be gone. And before you say "oh come on, blah blah blah," hear me out.
I hated going to the hospital. More than often I thought of it as a chore. I loved seeing my momma, but after I worked all day the thought of going there was an eye roll. And more the once my mom knew that. So, she thought she was a chore. And that, the knowledge that my momma thought that, it kills me. I'm not sure I'll be able to forget it easily. I'll never be able to reconcile the fact that my mom thought that something was more important than she was. I can give a lot of excuses: I didn't think she was going to die, I thought she would leave and go to a nursing home. Eventually I'm sure these thoughts will diminish a bit. But they will never fully leave, and I will live with the knowledge that after everything my mom went through, all of the shit, in the end a piece of her thought I didn't care enough. Or maybe she didn't think that. I'll never know, and that's the hard part.
Oh Redkap! Same same same! I know it doesn't lessen the hurt & guilt, but it was the very same for me. Going to the hospital All. The. Time. Sucks. It just does and it feels like shit. And when I let myself think about it, remember it, the guilt & shame come hurling back. I'm so sorry.
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