Lately I've had a morbid infatuation with death. I'm watching zombie movies, asking people about their experiences with death, my ears perk up when I hear anyone approach the subject. I can't stop thinking about it I can't stop talking about it. I seem to be weaving death into every conversation. I even brought death up with one of my bubbly sales reps...
And then I knew it. I've turned into a grieved, death obsessed weirdo and I've got to control myself. At least I have to control myself while at work. At home I'm free to watch all the zombie movies, Walking Dead episodes (yes I'm a fan does that offend you???), talk about death, talk about my mom all I want. I talk then become tired and fall asleep... and my family still loves me. I'm glad they love me because my death talk doesn't always make sense. Who knows, this post probably doesn't make sense. But it doesn't matter because the way my Mom's death went down still doesn't make sense to me.
She suffered. She suffered and I held her hand through it. Have you ever been glued to a situation and part of you didn't want to leave, but the other part wanted to run away screaming madly to somewhere?
That's what it was like for me. I couldn't stand to watch her suffer and I couldn't stand to have her alone in her suffering and so I stayed. I stayed and held her hand, and cleaned up her vomit, and prayed...
and then God didn't answer my prayers the way I wanted Him too.
I never wanted something so desperately and I didn't get it from God. It's not like my prayer was selfish, I just wanted the suffering, the vomiting, the nausea, the pain... I wanted it to stop and it didn't. So now I just feel so angry. I'm mad that my loving, kind, fun, people lovin' Mama had to suffer. God could have helped the suffering and He didn't. I don't understand why He didn't. It was ugly, it was hard and I hate that it happened.
The Process of dying sucks even more.
I hate that all of us will have to face it.
Like I said you probably don't want to read this blog.