Writer's Note: Read Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, and Day 4. I promise, I'm almost done with this.
Thursday:
Mom is noticeably worse today so the Nurse has counseled my Sister and I to limit all visitors and only allow those who are the closest to her in the house. That's still a lot of people. Mom's best friends, very graciously, told us they would stay away to allow her to rest. But its still amazing to me the number of random people who call who want to come to the house and say goodbye. People Mom hasn't seen or talked to in years. Where were they weeks, months, years before? Where were they during the Chemo, the Relapses, the countless Doctor's visits?
We all talk in hushed tones - not that Mom can really hear us anyway - and we're all living on Dunkin' Donuts coffee. The Box 'O Joe is a fixture on the kitchen counter. Mom had stopped eating and drinking entirely the day before. She won't touch any of the chocolate milkshakes that have piled up in the refrigerator and they're her favorite. We have to keep her mouth and lips moist with wet swabs and she fusses like a toddler when I put one in her mouth.
The Nurse left a pamphlet on "The Stages of Grief" and I can't bring myself to read it. Screw your Stages of Grief. The sight of the small, blue pamphlet makes me want to throw something. Something a lot harder than a paper pamphlet. It taunts me from the dining room hutch all day. That night I take it to bed with me and read it.
Denial (this isn't happening to me!)
Anger (why is this happening to me?)
Bargaining (I promise I'll be a better person if...)
Depression (I don't care anymore)
Acceptance (I'm ready for whatever comes)
I have deep feelings of resentment towards this stupid pamphlet. Why isn't that on the list?
I'm so tired. I didn't want to go to bed but there was no room for me to snooze in the living room where Mom is. My Sister had claimed the couch and Bill - who wasn't going anywhere - really needed the comfortable chair. There isn't even much floor room to lie down. I told them to come get me so I could give them a break when they needed one.
I slept without dreaming.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Day 5 - Stage of Grief
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