I'm restarting this blog, unfortunately, on a somber note. My mother died on January 10, 2018 at age 63, which is also why it took me so long to write after the chat between Kayla and I was posted.
My mother and I had a complicated relationship throughout my younger years. I was a handful to say the least, and she had an occasional tendency to become verbally abusive at times, whether it was directed at me, my sister, or an inanimate object. Any number of things could set her off. Spilled drink, a little attitude, bad day, whatever. There are many ways to be verbally abusive, some subtle, some blatant. She has an issue with explosive anger, possibly partially resulting from her own unacknowledged mental health struggles. As wrong as it is to be screaming at children hysterically over the smallest offense, she was usually very caring and supportive. We managed to stay close regardless.
My anxiety began to show up at a young age. I remember being 9 or 10 years old, and pretending to be sick because I had intrusive thoughts (common enough with anxiety disorders) that something would happen to her if I left, as if I could somehow stop anything by being there at that age. Social anxiety also showed up pretty early on. I was never really afraid of family or people I knew well, but other people were, and still sometimes are, a source of anxiety. Whether any of this relates to that complex relationship with my mother (and father, but this isn't about him) is hard to say, but it's very much possible.
In my adult life, things improved drastically. She was always one of my biggest supporters. She didn't really mind how unconventional I was and am. She was fine with the whole visibly punk/goth thing I had going on for a while. When I told her I was trans, she accepted it with minimal struggle. My polyamorous relationship with Trisha and Michelle was just seen as another interesting thing about how I live life. My partners, daughters, and her got along very well. We'd all hang out, go to dinner, watch shows on Netflix. If I needed her support, she was there.
On December 31, 2017, I was with Bae 1, Bae 2 (what I sometimes call Trisha and Michelle, respectively) and my best friend Lindsey in Dallas celebrating my birthday week, when I received a text from my mom, who was in the hospital for seemingly mild issues at the time, saying she had liver cancer, having already survived breast cancer.
The first couple times I visited she seemed alright, but then she picked up pneumonia. After a few days of that, I got a call on January 6 from someone who was visiting and from her doctors saying she was moved to intensive care, to come as quickly as I could, and asking about her DNR (Do Not Resuscitate order). When I got there and met up with her boyfriend, she was conscious, but her vitals were all over the place, and she had a breathing mask on, helping her breathe, but not doing it for her. She was confused, had always been claustrophobic, and kept trying to take it off despite us telling her not to every few seconds. They finally put the mitten things on her hands so she couldn't grab the mask. That made it worse. This went on for several hours. She was panicking constantly, making her vitals even worse. I've never seen someone I care about suffer like that. Finally after about 7 hours in the hospital with her, she was on the right anxiety medication to be calm with fairly stable, though not ideal, vitals. That was the last time I saw her properly conscious. Knowing what was coming, I brought the tablet in to watch the one episode of Broadchurch we hadn't seen on January 9, even though I knew she couldn't perceive it, and I'm totally not usually that sentimental. That was her last night alive. The next day my sister made it into town. We decided to put her on comfort care, since she was obviously not going to wake up, and never wanted sustained life support (I don't want that either). All that means is they stopped the breathing machine and drips, and gave her morphine so she wouldn't be in pain. She died 15 minutes later, peacefully. Fortunately, it was nothing like January 6.
At the beginning of the time-frame above, there seemed to be some hope. Cancer appeared to be discovered early (turned out it was stage 4). She was lucid when I called and visited her. When they moved her to intensive care, they called, obviously thinking she was about to die. When, I went up there and met up with her boyfriend, she was so confused, and panicking non-stop for hours, I stayed until 2 or 3 hours after she became stable. It stuck with me. I had barely been eating anyway because I tend not to eat when stressed. I was also dehydrated, and began having panic attacks of my own anytime the phone rang, thinking it was her doctors. With no other history of hallucinations, I'd hear the phone ring even when it wasn't. All of those things resulted in me going to the hospital, thankfully only for about a day. My depression and anxiety are usually "high functioning," and I can usually remain super rational to the point of coming across as cold. When I can't, it's an event. Those icy layers break. My anxiety spikes. I get depressed and can't motivate myself enough to do anything. Those were the first panic attacks I've had in years.
It's still hard. Losing a close loved one is difficult, and losing a parent is even more difficult. Grief takes time, but it gradually gets better. Fortunately I have a great support system. My partners, daughters, friends, father, sister, and aunt (mother's older sister, who stayed at my house for a few days while she was here) helped a lot. My partners have been really affectionate, and everyone has been there for me when needed, and been willing to give me space when needed. My mom donated some of her body to science, which I sort of find comfort in. I'm all about science, also a donor, and maybe a little good can be done after death that way. I have an urn above the fireplace, along with another meant to go to my sister next time my dad goes to visit her in the southwest, and a box for my aunt to scatter up north. My mom's boyfriend, who has another dog of his own, also asked if I wanted her dog, Bo. I said yes. He's kind of goofy and entertaining. He joins 2 other dogs and 2 cats, but stands out because of his personality, and seems as happy being part of this family as the others. Maybe it's kind of a silver lining that I get to take over the love and care of this dog she loved so much.
Posts
