Loss

Would you believe I'm glad my mother is dead? Sounds hard-hearted, doens't it? But there's a bit of logic, warped and twisted, maybe, but logic.

My mother died in September, 2007; just over a year ago. She had Alzheimers, had been diagnosed in 2001, but for several years before that, she was acting strangely. I'm sure she was slipping even in 1996 or so. But for six years, we (not she, of course) knew that her brain was being stolen, by something that we couldn't stop. The doctor wanted her on medication, and she refused to take it because "there's nothing wrong with me!" Yeah, right, mom...

Dad looked after Mom for six years, and went mostly deaf because when Mom wanted to watch TV, you could hear it half a block away; but when she didn't want it on, even the quiestest volume was too loud for her. So Dad had to endure a noise level that left him wearing hearing aids, or not watch the thng at all. But he didn't abandon her to a care facility.

In August 2007, they started talking about moving to a senior's home; Dad was getting ready to admit that he simply couldn't deal with finding the milk in the oven, the toast rack in the garbage, and the tea - well, he never did find that...

Then, on the Labour Day weekend, Mom had a stroke. She had another in the ambulance, we're thinking, and at the emergency ward, the doctor had the joy of explaining that while they could mop up the pool of blood, they couldn't prevent what he called a second stroke; and the likelihood of a further stroke was high within twenty-four hours, and nearly a certainty within a week. She could still squeeze one hand in the emergency ward.

So Mom was moved, with consciousness slipping, into a ward for a day or two until she could be moved to the other Regina hospital, to the palliative care unit. She probably had a third stroke that night as she was being hooked up to the monitors in the ward. Her blood pressure was up again to over 235 over some insane number that I've forgotten. And she slipped into complete unresponsiveness.

Mom died 5 days later without regaining consciousness. Dad was with her almost the entire time, and my brother and I spent as much time as we could there, too.

We all cried, but I found myself sorta grateful that she died of a stroke, because she was spared the long, slow descent in the particular hell that is Alzheimers. Even my father admitted a few hours after we left her in the hospital for the last time that he felt strangely relieved. The method of Mom's passing was kind, compared to what she had to look forward to.

I miss Mom, but I have shed very few tears; I knew 7 years ago that I was going to lose her even before she died, so I did my grieving some time back.

And why am I saying this? I say it because some people have a little more trouble than I do when relatives die. And for those people, there are grievance counsellors.

If you've lost a loved one, and it's affecting your life and/or your work, please talk to a counsellor. You can find them through a palliative care unit of the nearest hospital, or through your employer's Employee Assistance Program. If you're grieving and can't handle it, seek help. Please.

Thank you.

And I apologize if this is a bit disjointed. I should know better than to stay late at work and try to type coherently.

Love and hugs!

Remembrance Day

I love books. I’m also a wannabe calligrapher. Recently, I ordered the book “Foundations of Calligraphy” by Sheila Waters (from John Neal Bookseller). That book arrived on November 10, and I opened it at random, only to be instantly reminded of my dear online friend, Beth. Beth is a bibliophile, and is selling off her collection to pay for medical expenses. To lose one’s beloved books hurts; I know it does.

So what reminded me of her? - nay, brought me to tears, is more like it. It was a quote from John Conrad, beautifully lettered by the author, Ms. Waters: “Of all the inanimate objects, of all men’s creations, books are the nearest to us, for they contain our very thoughts, our ambitions, our indignations, our illusions, our fidelity to truth, and our persistent leaning towards error. But most of all they resemble us in their precarious hold on life.”

I just don’t know what to say after that.

Maybe I do. It’s the end of Remembrance Day as I type; a day to remember all the people, usually young, who have died for our freedom. Or because of the stupidity of military leaders. So I’ll close for today, and I’ll think for a few minutes now about how the last army to conquer Afghanistan was commanded by Alexander the Great. For over two thousand years since, nobody has been able to defeat the Afghans. I don't see anyone succeeding in the foreseeable future, either.