Poor Mama

Today my father had a facial cancer removed for the third time (this time by some high-tech method where the growth pattern of the cancer was mapped -- I clearly don't know what I'm talking about but how many layers can you remove on your cheek skin before you get into the mouth?) There is talk of skin grafts. How much can an old man take?

Saintly Brother handled all the logistics and we got together for a quick lunch with my father after it was over, since he wasn't able to have breakfast beforehand. It even worked out that Lily could be there since she had just left her doctor's appointment and needed lunch before going back to school.

Then, before Saintly Brother even delivered our father back to assisted living, he got the phone call. Poor, poor Mama has shingles.

I'm sure there are ninety-eleven Psalms that cover this. One of the refrains is "How long, Oh Lord?" and another is "Why, Oh God?"

There must be a better way to die. Some disease where you see wondrous sights and hear beautiful music. Where you have no pain but feel like somebody is giving you a relaxing massage 24/7. Where your breath smells like roses and food tastes gourmet.

Before my great aunt died at age 103 she was perfectly lucid. Two weeks before she died, however, she began to see people no one else saw. Beautiful people who visited her and sat on her bed. No one else saw them, but she would describe them. I believe it was some kind of heavenly welcoming committee.

I can only hope that my mother sees beautiful people sitting on her bed, that they fill her room and possibly even sing. There's no reason to think so. She doesn't mention them, and she's not THAT out of it. How can you forget the things that are important to you, and be left in pain and misery? Alzheimer's is worse than forgetting. It's a fresh hell every day.

Comments

[Sassy]

I read stories like this and I feel so bad about my complaints. I have hardships and such in my life that seem so small now. Have a great night!!

[I Gallop On]

Hi Anne,

I'm so sorry. This sounds very very hard. On all of you.

"I can only hope that my mother sees beautiful people sitting on her bed, that they fill her room and possibly even sing."

That's a very comforting thought. I hope she does too.

Pax. Kimberly