'I'm going to die on Monday at 6.15pm'

Reading...this is a truly great piece of writing.....

Indeed it is. But I've already decided I'm dying in 2062 in a Jacuzzi with three naked college girls. And my house will be a mess when I die.

what greater right does one have then to their own life.

Quite sad actually that they couldn't spend the time they had left together
in harmony and peace. I can emphasize with the son (writer) who was left behind without being able to have some quality moments with his mother
before her departure.

being a mom is serious business.

she showed no weakness until the end, i give her my respect.

death is nothing to be feared. why should things change because she is dying? she wouldn't let it happen. that's why.


what a woman.

You don't get it. The lament is not with death, but with what the relationship had become in life.

The lament is that things had gotten the way they were and that they lived so far apart by the end.

This isn't about weakness at all.

your right. i still dont get it.

suck it up, let the woman die with some dignity.

If you love someone, you have to let them go.

Og, did you notice how excluded the son felt from so much?

How so much time was taken up by obsessive behaviour?

All the anger and fighting?

How none of what was being felt seemed to be able to be shared, and no nurture could be given or received? This in the midst of what was outwardly such an enlightened process?

This is heart-breaking, really.

I found myself wondering how much this was "business as usual" for the mother's emotional style, how much was the anger and withdrawal from loved ones taht is often part of the death process, and how much was altered neurology from metastases or drugs or both?

There is some clue that there was some continuity of pre-illness behaviour...

I love this piece because it is so honest about what was happening and about how painful and horrible it was.

Painful and horrible, that's right!
I had similar sentiments when my father died, where business as usual was dictated and I was too young then to not play by the rules. I still regret it!

Oh my.

When my mother died I was 14...and they didn't tell peple they were dying....heck, my father kept lying to me.

Anyway, I can remember sitting with my mother with my whole body fizzing with tension because I wanted to stop the dumb game playing and really talk to her about what was happening. I thought the charade demeaning and not respectful of either her or the process.

Didn't quite dare either.

But, as you see, even when everything appears to be out there, it is still hard to break through barriers and say what needs to be said.

That hurts a lot to read, but, yes, well written.

The cleaning controlling thing.. so common a control move, but so nightmarishly obsessive here. Hard, so hard, for the mother, but also like a recurring bath of ice cubes for the husband and children, such a shutout. I do figure their communication levels weren't very good over some years, though.

I remember reading in some police procedurals about dutch housewives and determined cleanliness, but have taken that with a grain of salt. Not having been there, much less lived there, I couldn't say re their being any more obsessive on it than anyone else.

A very disturbing picture of a family and dying, but I have to admit there is a part of this I totally relate to. I have been accused of being an "anorexic clean freak" when I try to control the uncontrollable though what I can control - food and cleaning. When I'm stressed I will pull apart closets, drawers, the pantry and wax the wooden floors until they gleam. Intellectually, I know it is meaningless, but it does something to soothe me. My husband and I once talked about ending our lives if we were diagnosed with a terminal illness or could not afford a cure, the first thing I thought about was how I would want the house cleaned before I died and what I would leave in the fridge for my husband to feed mourners. I hope I don't make my family miserable if I find myself in such a position. I may not be as extreme as this woman, but I can't pretend I don't relate.

When my 5 year old Maddy 1 dog became so severely paralized and in pain this Spring, we realized that nothing could be done to save him. I held him in my arms and gave him kisses as the vet injected him. He died in my arms looking at me. I cried, but he was no longer suffering.

Why can't we treat humans with such compassion.

Sometimes I wish I was a dog so someone who loved me would end my suffering with love.

BBB

Amen, sister.

Looks like we've had similar experiences.
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Based on my experience, and should I be fortunate enough to prepare my
family for my departure, I will make sure that we have quality time together
and I make darn sure that we talk, talk, talk, talk.....

Huh.

I think of Noddy making sure everything was "just so" for Mr. Noddy and Iffy before calling an ambulance for herself.....

For some of us there is a lot of comfort in the routine when faced with the unknown. While I can't see myself cleaning I can totally see myself deciding to paint the bedroom in similar circumstances. When I'm stressed, I paint walls. There is something about the activity that requires just enough concentration to take my mind off problems while not requiring extreme concentration.

I guess I kind of "get" the mom.

But I kind of "get" the son too.

Great story, thanks for the link.

I think it was more than just the ritualistic organizing and cleaning. That doesn't explain the fighting and meanness they exhibited toward each other at times, right up to the very end.