I Miss Her

My mother passed away on Friday.

No, it wasn’t expected.  No, we were definitely NOT prepared.

Exactly 8 months, to the day, after her sister.

I’m beyond sad.  I’m not angry (just at everyone who continues to be up my ass about when the funeral will be, “have you cried yet”, what paper the fucking obit is in, etc.).  Let me just put it out there, publicly…

Funeral:  We/She donated her body to the IIAM (International Institute for the Advancement of Medicine).  At present, there is NO BODY, not even ASHES for which to have services.  WHEN we receive her remains, THEN we will consider her memorial service (we did my aunt’s without her remains, because HER donation was for 2 years, we will get NOTHING until then).  My mother’s remains should be returned to us in about 4 weeks.  Mark your calendar, you can climb up my ass then.  I won’t guarantee I won’t shoot you tho.

“Have you cried?”  You’re fuckin’ right I have.  And I will continue to do so.  And I don’t fucking care who sees it or how it make YOU feel to see ME cry.

Obit:  NOT YET.  But if you must peruse papers, it will most likely be in the Philadelphia Inquirer and the Chester County Press.

“What happened?”:  She had a fainting episode that was traumatic for both her and my brother back in September.  They discovered she had Aortic Stenosis (her aortic valve wasn’t working properly).  After that diagnosis, they concluded that she needed a valve replacement.  Before they could do that, a heart catheterization was needed to see if she had any arterial blockages.  She did, I don’t remember which one, but it was 95% blocked.  So, she needed a valve replacement and a single bypass. 

She had the surgery for both (after concluding that it was more of a concern than her TWO carotid blockages, 59% & 71%) on October 4th.  Doc came in and told us everything went beautifully.  Go see her and go home.  Let her rest.

She coded later that night and needed to be shocked.

She survived that.  Was even sitting in a chair on Wednesday.  Still having vtach and she started retaning fluids.

By Thursday she was re-intubated and sedated and they were considering dialysis to get her kidneys to work, but her BP was so low that they weren’t sure she could handle it, so they held off.  A dialysis catheter was placed instead and her kidneys started to produce some output.  No vtach since the night before, but still acidotic.  Things were looking up.

By Friday morning, they decided she HAD to have the dialysis and hooked her up.  She could NOT handle the dialysis and they immediately took her off.  I received a call that we should come and say goodbye.

By the time I got there, there was some speculation that the right side of her heart wasn’t pumping like it should be and that they wanted to try to fly her to HUP for another surgery.  They told us to step out so they could remove her drain tubes.

“Code Blue, ICU”

They shocked her, doc even re-opened her to do manual heart massage.

My mother passed away a little after 1 pm on Friday, October 7, 2011.

My younger brother immediately charged out of the hospital and proceeded to ignore phone calls, texts, knocks at the door.  My older brother left shortly after him, to go to HIS doctor to get some anxiety medication.

My sister and I made all the arrangements (donation) and sat with my mother for a few hours.  We made phone calls (and some texts, and for that I’m sorry) to inform the masses.  The hardest phone call for me was calling my son.  I *LIED* to him and told him that she hadn’t passed yet, but that she would soon and that he needed to say his goodbyes.  My sister and I listened to his sobbing goodbye while sitting in the chapel outside ICU.

I then got a text from my son that there was no God.  That he hated him.  And that this was the worst “fucking” year.  Yes, my son used profanity, and I let him get away with it.

It’s no secret that I do not believe in god.  But I’ve never discouraged my son from persuing his own beliefs and even joining a church.  He was one of those people who just “got it”.  It made sense to him, he believed.  Even after we lost Inny.  He still believed.

It may sound strange to most of you, but it hurts ME that he’s lost his faith.  And I am in NO position to help him reclaim it.  And that makes me feel like a failure.  I don’t even WANT to try to help him reclaim it.  “God” has let him down time and again.  Hurt him in unacceptable ways.  Who tests the faith of a child?

Do NOT try to debate with me about “God”.  Again, I haven’t believed in a long time.  Nothing changed my mind other than my own study into different religions.  I found a religion that makes sense to me, but I’ve never felt the need to shove it down anyone’s throat or convince them that my way was correct, so extend me the same courtesy.

Hug your parents.  Hug your children.  Talk to your families about what you believe.  Talk to them about what your final wishes are.

Do it now, before you find “there isn’t time”.

I miss her.


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