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Apr. 11th, 2008
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Apr. 11th, 2008 07:32 amWaking up to so many messages of support has touched me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I fell asleep early this morning remembering Aunt Mo's cheerful voice whenever I visited her. I hadn't visited her in a few months, and while I feel a tiny bit bad about that, I don't beat myself up about it. She and I enjoyed the visits we had, and I am grateful for that. Even when I wasn't with her, she was in my thoughts.
I'm going to miss her. I already know there will be times I will think, "I need to get over to the nursing home to visit Aunt Mo," before I will remember she is gone.
Today I am going with my maternal grandmother (Aunt Mo's last surviving sibling) to take care of some of the business associated with the death of a family member. When Grandma told us Aunt Mo was in a coma on a respirator and would be taken off it, I had hoped Aunt Mo would survive the night so I could be there when they did it. I have had a lot of curiosity and questions about death...not of the depressive sort, mind you...just curiosity about what it is like for the person who is dying, are they aware of what is happening to them in those last minutes, and is there something after this or is it just falling asleep forever. I wondered if being there would answer some of my questions and also comfort Aunt Mo, if she was feeling any unease about the transition. But Aunt Mo has never been one to wait on people. :-)
That is another one of the things that comforts me: she was quite frustrated for the past few years that she couldn't get up and go, anymore. She would usually mention wishing she could go, just go anywhere, to get away from sitting in that day room day after day after day. This is a lady who, even after losing her right leg to gangrene, traveled to Israel and was always out and about doing something. Being released from the frustration of a bland, nursing home existence (even if it is just slipping into a permanent, dreamless sleep), must be a great relief to her.
I'm glad I'm not working, right now. I have the freedom to process my grief by helping my grandmother organize Aunt Mo's affairs.
Thanks again for being there for me.
I fell asleep early this morning remembering Aunt Mo's cheerful voice whenever I visited her. I hadn't visited her in a few months, and while I feel a tiny bit bad about that, I don't beat myself up about it. She and I enjoyed the visits we had, and I am grateful for that. Even when I wasn't with her, she was in my thoughts.
I'm going to miss her. I already know there will be times I will think, "I need to get over to the nursing home to visit Aunt Mo," before I will remember she is gone.
Today I am going with my maternal grandmother (Aunt Mo's last surviving sibling) to take care of some of the business associated with the death of a family member. When Grandma told us Aunt Mo was in a coma on a respirator and would be taken off it, I had hoped Aunt Mo would survive the night so I could be there when they did it. I have had a lot of curiosity and questions about death...not of the depressive sort, mind you...just curiosity about what it is like for the person who is dying, are they aware of what is happening to them in those last minutes, and is there something after this or is it just falling asleep forever. I wondered if being there would answer some of my questions and also comfort Aunt Mo, if she was feeling any unease about the transition. But Aunt Mo has never been one to wait on people. :-)
That is another one of the things that comforts me: she was quite frustrated for the past few years that she couldn't get up and go, anymore. She would usually mention wishing she could go, just go anywhere, to get away from sitting in that day room day after day after day. This is a lady who, even after losing her right leg to gangrene, traveled to Israel and was always out and about doing something. Being released from the frustration of a bland, nursing home existence (even if it is just slipping into a permanent, dreamless sleep), must be a great relief to her.
I'm glad I'm not working, right now. I have the freedom to process my grief by helping my grandmother organize Aunt Mo's affairs.
Thanks again for being there for me.
