It’s Been Two Years Gone Now.

Today is the 17^th of January. On this date, two years ago, Alene Long, my mother, passed away.

 

About 4 days before her death, I had a nasty fall that was precipitated by a stroke. The fall shattered my left elbow. A couple of surgeries and a year of physical therapy, I’m doing fine. Sometimes my arm feel a bit stiff and on some days more than others, I’m keenly aware that my left arms lacks the full flexibility of my right.  As for the stroke, we never find out what caused it. It didn’t kill me the first time. Better luck next time, eh?

 

The thing about the fall and the stroke, the pain and the recovery occupied so much of my time and energy at the time.  It was so overwhelming of my time and my awareness, the death of my mother became just one more thing to work through. At a time when I had every right to grieve, my grief was taken from me.

 

Two years gone now, it’s hard to full process what happened, to me and to her.

 

The weeks leading up to her death were a time of stress and frustration, the Alzheimer’s ravaging her mind and body as predicted, as promised. There was nothing to do but watch her die and try to make her as comfortable as possible.

 

I still feel guilty about that.  I know, objectively, there was nothing else to be done. Subjectively, from the heart, it felt like we were hastening her to her end. 

 

It is human nature to want to save someone you love, you care about. It runs anathema to that loving, to that caring, to just wait for death.

 

Even when there was no alternative. 

 

Of course, I didn’t have to watch her die. I was lying in a hospital bed with a shattered arm and the dull incessant beep of an EKG to keep me company. 

 

I feel guilty I couldn’t do more to save her life. I feel guilty I couldn’t be there as her light faded into dark.

 

It’s been two years gone now.