Mom is tucked in bed, sleeping soundly with her mouth wide open. She's been wearing a big, white V-neck tee shirt along with her petite sized Depends. No socks and no pants. Her right leg is the color of an over-ripe Macintosh apple. Deep, dark, red. This is where she held the blood infection, and the leg has taken on a leathery appearance.
Mom met with two visiting nurses today and one attempted to talk to her about the grieving process. The pain of losing a child, the fear of managing a disease that cannot be treated. Mom sobbed throughout the interview, crying, "I don't want to die. I've fought this thing for so long to survive."
Mom's had the liver disease for 20 years. The doctor originally gave her 10 years to live, so she's been incredibly successful with her militant medication management and nutritional intake. But mom's success has brought no glory, no exuberance. Just a continued state of fear over the inevitable.
I've read about people coming to terms with their death and experiencing peace during their final days and hours. My prayer for my mother is that she can find that place of peace and quiet resolution. So she can finally rest and realize that she did it. She lived a full life, a long life, a complete life.