Lovely Tom. Hard to read, just a little too close to home.
When my mom stopped talking, the only way she communicated was by crying. And she cried all the time. I could see the terror in her eyes, the pleading, and I knew that she knew - she was never coming home, never getting better, never going to even sit up in bed again. I whispered lies in her ear, that she was going to see Dad again, that he was waiting for her, because lies were the only things left to comfort her. Then when she stopped even crying and just stared at the ceiling all day, I hoped the meds were melting what was left of her mind and that she didn’t feel anything at all.
I hope this ordeal ends quickly and peacefully my friend. You both deserve it.
Oh man. This, too, is super heavy. I am sorry I wasn't an active friend in your life during that time, Kent. Fortunately or unfortunately, I am now much more capable of better understanding what you must have been enduring back then. I wish I could have been as consoling of a friend as you are to me now. You represent the best of people. I am so grateful for you.
Beautiful piece. I just got back from my annual physical exam. I provided my birthdate four times. I knew it well and am marvelling now at what it means when you lose that bit of information. My mom had dementia when she died just two Septembers ago. My dad had Alzimers; so I wonder what's in store for me. // I knew I needed a procedure, but it's name eluded me, which I admitted to my doctor. I said, "you know... the ole camera up the butt." He chortled and helpfully provided,"Colonoscopy." So now I'm mulling, is it starting now? Ambulance men is to EMTs as camera up the butt is to colonoscopy.
It's sad to see our parents loose their sharpness and seemingly become children again; thanks for recording it so well.
Lovely Tom. Hard to read, just a little too close to home.
When my mom stopped talking, the only way she communicated was by crying. And she cried all the time. I could see the terror in her eyes, the pleading, and I knew that she knew - she was never coming home, never getting better, never going to even sit up in bed again. I whispered lies in her ear, that she was going to see Dad again, that he was waiting for her, because lies were the only things left to comfort her. Then when she stopped even crying and just stared at the ceiling all day, I hoped the meds were melting what was left of her mind and that she didn’t feel anything at all.
I hope this ordeal ends quickly and peacefully my friend. You both deserve it.
Oh man. This, too, is super heavy. I am sorry I wasn't an active friend in your life during that time, Kent. Fortunately or unfortunately, I am now much more capable of better understanding what you must have been enduring back then. I wish I could have been as consoling of a friend as you are to me now. You represent the best of people. I am so grateful for you.
Beautiful piece. I just got back from my annual physical exam. I provided my birthdate four times. I knew it well and am marvelling now at what it means when you lose that bit of information. My mom had dementia when she died just two Septembers ago. My dad had Alzimers; so I wonder what's in store for me. // I knew I needed a procedure, but it's name eluded me, which I admitted to my doctor. I said, "you know... the ole camera up the butt." He chortled and helpfully provided,"Colonoscopy." So now I'm mulling, is it starting now? Ambulance men is to EMTs as camera up the butt is to colonoscopy.
It's sad to see our parents loose their sharpness and seemingly become children again; thanks for recording it so well.
Thank you, David. And thanks, too, for sharing some of your own story. Wishing you well with everything, medical and otherwise!
Well this one brought tears to my eyes.
Thank you so much for reading it.