RIP Terminator

 I'm not sure how to start this one...I'm going to go with the caption that I put on a snap to my BFF a little over a week ago:

"My mom fell and is dying. I didn't have that on my bingo card. FML"

Or...I can start it like I did in the email to my job partner: 

"Okay, this is going to sound weird and you need to remember who I am as a person.  My mom is dying.  She is actually supposed to be dead by now but she’s the effing Terminator."

Apologies if you're sensitive about these kinds of things, you might want to skip this post.  It's just been A LOT and based on a solid foundation of childhood trauma.

Longtime dear readers know that I had gone low-to-no contact with my bio family since the pandemic. Well, that just changed in a big way, for a moment.

Quick non-gory summary: she was 89 years old, living alone and in failing health; both mental and physical.   She fell, unattended, and was found 2-3 days later.  Alive but barely. The cause of the fall is unclear, it could be the poor health or a simple fall or both.  It doesn't really matter, I suppose.  She had fallen about a month prior and hid it from the family and didn't seek medical attention.  So falling was a thing.

With her age and the state of her health and now diagnosed - in the emergency room - cancer throughout her body, there is no reason why she should have lived.  Or why she held on for SIX GDAMN DAYS after being discovered.

She had an advanced directive.  I knew this and I had a copy of it.  I knew she didn't want to be kept alive, and that is the extent of my knowledge.  I am, however, not the executor, power of attorney, or keeper of her so that didn't come into play for me.  I trusted that the siblings would have a handle on this.

They did not.

Turns out that her advanced directive was a long list of big, fat NO's.  She wanted zero interventions. None. Not even antibiotics.  We had, in fact, gone against her wishes by simply calling the ambulance.  Yeah, this is no ordinary mother.  We are probably all grounded for eternity and will be thusly haunted for the remainder of our days.

Yes, I can joke during this. It's a fun little trauma response, I've learned.

She had actually flatlined in the ER but because the advanced directive was not on hand, they did bring her back.  Somewhere she is sooooo pissed about that.

When she made it through four nights in a room and one night in the ER, the hospital discharged her to hospice, as was her previously stated adamant wish: that she died looking out over the lake.  I was not in agreement with this plan because  I am painfully aware of the hospice process. (I'm pro-Hospice, it just has to be done for the right reasons and family)  I didn't think it was fair to place the burden on the family but again: not the decision maker.  She lasted one day at the house then went peacefully as she wanted.

I was not there.  I sat vigil at the hospital for a few days then had to extricate myself from the entire situation.  Years of self reflection and therapy were tossed out the unopenable window of the hospital in no time at all.  Sure, at first, everyone was on their best behavior but that isn't sustainable; especially in emotional situations.

Also, my belief is that she wasn't there.  That was just the body she inhabited.  I had already mourned her loss, if you will, in the past year or so.  And it has to be acknowledged: this situation was nothing like my mother-in-laws. 

Now we're closing the house and that has not gone without drama on multiple fronts.  To a Shakespearean level, there has been resistance, passive aggressiveness, gaslighting, pettiness, anger, sadness, denial, and thievery.  All of the seven sins have been fully represented under that roof.

Not to say there hasn't been moments of levity or kindness. Those happen even in the worse situations and for those, I am grateful.  But I am ready to be done now.  I'm ready to say a final goodbye to that house and that parent and breathe.

So, rest in peace Terminator.  We speak your name, Mom, and you're probably hating it.