I began preparing for this eventuality years ago, when Mom first went into assissted living and I moved back to Florida. When she slipped deeper into senile dementia a part of me gave up and started grieving for a loss I hadn’t really suffered yet.

Shocked, not by the suddeness of it, but that it would happen at all, I raged. Then cried for all the things we would never do together again, all the things left unsaid. All the lunches and even doctor’s appointments I’d never again escort her to… The phone calls or a million other mundane things lost. I wept for them all, for isn’t grief a selfish thing?

And then finally I just accepted what was, and what would be soon enough.

Now I wonder why I all feel is relief tempered by sadness. Relief that she’s free again. Nobody should have to lie abed for years, mind wrapped in a fog. Add the insult of cancer and the frailty of the human body mocks our spirits mercilessly.
Sad at the finality.

And I feel disloyal, wondering how a birthchild would feel in my place. Would the connection be broader, sharper, as a branch of the family tree is snapped off? The pain more deeply felt, the sadness a seemingly endless well?

She was the only mother I’ve ever known, and that’s where all my daughter’s love has gone; to her, not the woman who gave me away.

Lots of love to Harvey and everyone commenting over there at his post who was kind enough to speak from their hearts. I appreciate it; I can’t tell you how much.

I’ll be back soon. Just zinging emails back and forth with my friends and feeling a little flat. [Now I know why they call it 'depressed']