Where we left off at Leafing:-
Wednesday, December 12, 2007 - ReflectionsIt turns out, grieving hits in waves.
A couple of times I've read back on this blog. There are things I understand now which I didn't while everything was happening. Assuming someone might find this blog and be looking for help dealing with similar situations, I want to do some updating.
1. Mom's inability to walk/balance. Some of that was the drugs. But in retrospect, it was really due to her body shutting down, and the cancer. Cancer releases toxins which travel through the bloodstream and affect brain function. I now believe it was the cancer mostly which caused the walking and balancing problems.
2. Edema. Edema makes the body or parts of the body very swollen. It's a buildup of fluid in the tissues. When edema shows up, there isn't much time left. I could be wrong but I've seen it in 3 different people now and all died shortly after edema started to appear. Edema is a sign that the heart is not pumping as effectively. That's why the fluid builds up. The body is starting to cease functioning. We found that massaging the limbs helped work the fluid out of the tissue. Mom's feet and lower legs were swollen for a couple of days when she last came home from hospital. Massaging helped get rid of the edema entirely, which was lucky.
3. Suffering. For the type of cancer Mom had, and having read several other people's experiences who went through the same thing, Mom was unique. She did not suffer as much as most people. She actually had a fairly peaceful ending.
4. Heart murmurs. We all worried about the strength of Mom's heart due to her very strong heart murmur. It turns out, the heart murmur didn't cause any problems whatsoever. In fact, her heart was the last thing to stop finally. It just would not let go.
5. Signs of the end. The typical physical signs were largely absent. No discoloration of the hands or feet. Looking back, the greatest signs were the brain effects, the increasing inability to eat and drink, and the reminiscing. When Mom started talking about her Mom, who had died 30 years earlier, it was a sign the end was near. I heard stories I have never heard in my life. Mom would then end each story with "I haven't thought of that in years" or "I don't know what made me think of that". I read somewhere that when they start talking about deceased loved ones a lot, that means the end is near. I believe that wholeheartedly now.
6. If you reach your birthday, you live another year! So many times that has not been true. It wasn't true in Mom's case, Dad's or my sister's case.
7. Signs of the afterlife. Flickering lights that never used to flicker, buzzing lights which have no connection problem, doorbells going off on their own even with the batteries taken out, the sound of footsteps, their scent suddenly appearing in one spot, songs at the right time, songs at the wrong time, snow on your birthday when you haven't had snow on your birthday for years, pets staring at a spot of nothing for stretches of time, imagined or real voices when nobody is there except you, catching something out of the corner of your eye, mysterious help in situations where no help was available, people saying things to you which only your deceased loved one would say (particularly strangers saying things), dreams where you would swear they are alive even when you wake up.
If not for Hospice, I would have had a stint in hospital myself sometime in the past 6 months. Because I was Mom's caregiver, I am allowed to use their services for free for 13 months following Mom's death. That means I have about 6 months left. If not for them and their alternative health practitioners, my health would probably have me at the brink of death today. Massage, reflexology, reiki, integrated energy therapy - these are treatments which have helped my body try to recover. I'm still recovering but my health situation is bearable. That said, the symptoms of my disorder are still out of control. I'm not on the verge of an emergency visit though, which I have been on the verge of many times since Mom died. So that's improvement.
Since Mom died, I went into a firestorm of activity trying to get things done which she wanted me to do before she died. Things she'd been on me about or wanted done for her own reasons. This house has been serviced and some things upgraded. I've seen the dentist 3 or 4 times and my doctor several times. My doctor even made me have a physical exam, which I wasn't happy about, but didn't want to have a heart attack so I agreed. Everything Mom wanted done has been done nearly except for one last thing, which is just late arriving. And after all this, I felt no relief. She wasn't here to care. I heard her in my head, telling me those last things and "not to leave it too late" and rushed to get it all done before winter. It makes no difference. She's not coming back. But I am glad to have things done.
I wish that I had hugged her more. Respecting Mom and Dad both and not wanting to insult them by treating them like children, I followed their lead. Their lead was never emotional really. I remember sitting beside Mom on her bed and putting my arm around her. She actually rested her head on my shoulder. We sat like that for a while. We did that a few times. But mostly, she didn't want me fussing over her like that. The most I got away with was petting her head, because it was shaved. She confessed it felt soothing so I did it a fair bit. I wish I had hugged her more.
They know when the end is near. They detach, in conversation, by staring off behind the person in front of them. They don't worry near the end. It's all calm for them mostly until one last jarring episode takes them into unconciousness until the final end. It happened that way with both Mom and Dad. My sister too.
Dad knew what the weather was going to be like when he died. He asked me if it was snowing the last time I saw him. He was looking out the window while we sat together. I looked, saw it wasn't snowing, and told him so. He said, "hmmmmm". Dad had a few episodes throughout his life, where he looked over the land somewhere and saw how it was a hundred years or so before. Freaky. He only admitted to it twice, which is how we knew about it. The night he died, it was a snowstorm. He was unconcious by then but he must have seen it. He was childlike in behaviour the last time I saw him, just two days before he passed. Childlike in the sense that he had not a care in the world and seemed at peace, and happy. Dad was a worrier so I should have known something was up. He wanted a hug and a kiss. He told me he loved me.
Dad's cousin, who is 1 year younger than Dad, calls to check on me from his home in Ottawa, Ontario. He sounds exactly like Dad. He offered to be here for me as a father figure if I ever need anything. It's both hard and comforting to talk with him. They were so much alike. It's like having Dad here, but not. I am glad he's in my life though, Dad's cousin.
Grieving cycles. I'll be fairly okay for a month, then days of crying. Not crying 24/7, just several times a day, or all evening off and on. Anything can trigger it. I forced myself to get a Christmas tree for the cats. I've been crying ever since. Hospice explained it this way:-
All the first holidays, anniversaries, any eventful date, in the first year following loss, can trigger the tears and upset. You are not going crazy. Let it out and don't hold it in. Because there was so much happening at the same time last year, I couldn't process it emotionally at the time. I had to deal in facts, keep up with coordinating care for both of them and communicating with doctors and handling meds and making life and death decisions. Since they've died, particularly since I'm in the same time period now that everything started last year, it's only now that my body can process the emotion of it all.
And that's exactly what's been happening. December 15, 2007, for me, will feel like December 15, 2006. Whatever I couldn't process on that date last year, I'm going to feel this year. Every date has been like that and some days of no major significance. Everything from October 7th has been a growing sadness and ever increasing puddles of tears. I'm riding it out. I hate it. It hurts. You feel like you're going crazy sometimes. Thankfully, I know I'm not. But this..... this is painful. It's a good thing I live alone, and that I'm sick and not working, because honestly, I'm an emotional mess right now.
This too shall pass.
_____________
UPDATE 2012: After my parents' deaths, The World Health Organization updated the variants and stages of my rare disorder. My Father died of an aggressive form of my illness, mostly untreated. Imagine the weight and significance of that if you were his child and had this disorder. There will be more to come on this topic - the WHO - because I'm done playing nice. People pay with their lives. I'm done with having faith in the WHO.
