One has to wonder about personal identity only at certain times in their life, and in times when the barriers of denial fall into the inevitable chasm of doubt it still hits me. It has now been a couple of weeks. I went through the pains of watching her slowly succumb, the funeral planning, the funeral itself, I have now lost both my parents. I do not need them at this point, been self-sufficient for quite some time, but never-the-less an emptiness pervades as I am somehow a person without an full realization of who I am. Well, besides the dumb schmuck you all know. To those of you who had parents that were always there, take note of the lifelong bond you share despite your differences. And if you can try and make an additional visit now and then. They will be grateful to see you.
The end was awful. The cancer wrapped her stomach (it was extremely rare for her type of cancer to enter the digestive track, she was just an unlucky one), leaving her unable to eat or drink. She had to have IV fluids just to avoid complete dehydration. Vomiting blood, and wracked with pain and thirst. In the end she lost consciousness for several days before passing. My step-father was amazing the entire time, getting two-three hours sleep while taking care of her. So were the hospice workers. They really deserve a lot of credit for what they do. I did the best I could to be there, but the daily needs of my children limited what I was capable of.
I am happy she is out of pain, but the worst comes when my boys still ask her about her. My youngest in particular, who was closest to her, and less aware, presses on with wonder at why their house has only one. My oldest said a prayer asking Memere to take a picture of heaven and email it to him. They are a constant reminder that she was taken too soon.
I thank you all again for your kind words a few weeks ago.
-Hank