This week coulda been a rung in Dante's inferno

Big Guns' mother died Sunday night after four days in the hospital. She didn't want any unnecessary interventions to keep her alive but if one is in the hospital, and even if the hospital agrees, they are simply unable to stand by and do nothing. I was there for the last 48 hours. It was a lot like parenting -- long, slow hours watching and waiting punctuated by moments of extreme stress.

Dying can be painful and there were times when her condition would change and she'd clearly be suffering and the doctors and sons and father and caregivers would go into the hallway to discuss what to do and leave me alone with her. Sitting there holding her hand, I was afraid that's when she'd choose to go but I also took this opportunity to tell her to go. It could have been the oxygen mask or the pain, but she looked tense and afraid. I told her her room was full of angels and probably fairies since she was that side of goofy and loved flowers and the outdoors -- she was a PE teacher.

Hospital protocol is to pharmaceutically or physically get the patient to an acceptable place of peace and serenity to make the passing easier for her and the rest of us. None of us wants to be reminded that it hurts to die. Sunday afternoon, the doctors removed the mask that was forcing oxygen into her, disconnected her monitors which we were all glued to like reality TV, and finally administered a morphine drip. I don't know why they waited so long. I think there was some desire to have her present for her family. They kept asking her to open her eyes and look at them.

Without the machines the room was quiet and peaceful. It was a beautiful day out and her room looked out onto maple trees, asparagus ferns and the fountain at the entrance where ducks have been bathing since my sister was born 43 years ago. We spent four hours with her at like that. I left at 8 to go home and feed my cats and she died at 9:05 as I was looking for unpaid parking in front of the hospital. It was a fine and proper passing. We left the hospital two hours later after wrapping up details and Big Gun's was texting his 900 friends, not the original texts to notify, but thanking people for their responses. For some reason, this blew something in me and I actually fought with him hours after he lost his mother. Sometimes I am unsuited to be around other humans, like one of those dogs they have to quarantine at the pound.

Anyway, the next morning we both woke up feeling crummy in the tummy, thinking it was the stress and lack of sleep. In reality, it was the post-midnight dinner at Denny's. We both spent the next two days in our respective beds and bathrooms. I felt I deserved it for being so mean and for eating at Denny's; I don't know why Big Guns got it though.

My baby is 12 today -- happy birthday and happy cinco de mayo! I did manage to drag myself out to pick up supplies yesterday evening although he's with his dad tonight and I wasn't invited to the birthday dinner. They are celebrating with the new gf and her son. (Ouch. F. Tear break.)

The funeral is tomorrow. I can't wait for this week to be done and to get my health and energy back. Except it's not over. I realize that as I get over the hump of the grief process, Big Guns is now starting a new one. He's in the denial phase. Several times driving home from the hospital and getting ready for bed he said, "Did you know my mother died?" It can't be compared to divorce but I remember when ex first told me he wanted to leave I was walking down University Ave. in Palo Alto and felt the urge to tell every person I passed, "I'm getting divorced," as if it needed to be said aloud to become real.