Friday I made the decision to take her off life support. Days before this it seemed like she might win the battle. Her body responded to the first round of chemo, perfectly. The cancer grew back overnight. The doctor said this is the most aggressive type of cancer he'd ever seen, and it was a really rare type usually only found in children. I consented for a 2nd round of chemo. My mistake. It made her mentally unresponsive. Eyes wide open, would sometimes focus on anything, but no recognition at all. They told me then, it was hopeless. It would be kinder to let her go. She would not come through this. Especially after the chemo (that I consented for a 2nd time). So I had them remove everything, and I sat and held her hand and watched her struggle for oxygen for 3 hours until she died.
No matter which way I look at this, I killed her.
The cancer started it, and I finished it.
How the eff am I supposed to get my head around that?
I bury her tomorrow.
It's done wonders for my weight.
If you're struggling with those pesky numbers, try killing your mom sometime.
I've already lost 5 pounds.
I'm heavily medicated.
But nothing takes away the sound of her struggling for air.
Nothing takes away the feeling of feeling her body turn cold.
Nothing takes away waiting, waiting, knowing I was doing what she wanted,
but knowing any second was her last and she did not, could not, know me.
Nothing takes away the fact that I never got to tell her everything in my heart, when she could understand it. I never got to say goodbye,
and I had to pull the ventilator.