Random Experiences - 2022

Looking at Death Again

I got this call from Queenie saying her mum's health has relapsed.

She lost neural coordination of her muscles, passed out feces uncontrollably, drifted in and out of consciousness, became almost stiff at some point, her feet were turning cold, and she has been hospitalized and placed on oxygen.

As she spoke of how they plan on running brain scans and suspecting stroke, I felt afraid.

Can we truly come to that point where we stare at death, or the near sign of death, in the eyes and not get fazed by its imminence? If to love deeply is to hurt deeply, can we ever accept the death of loved ones without the usual pain that accompanies such events?

I heard her talk and try to evade the possibility of death, and I let her be. This is no time to play up stoicism. This was her mother in the picture.

I felt the fear through her voice. It was very real to me, though she was in denial of it. I felt the tiredness at having to be up and about when all she wanted to do was break down and get some rest from life's pressures. I felt her frustration at not having control over the situation at hand. She had started to blame herself for what happened.

At moments like this, it would have been near-perfect to hold her hands and give her some form of comforting rub or touch. But I was far away. Hours away. And all I could do was be with her as best as I could on the phone.

But to hear her talk and hear her voice break up several times as she fought to hold back on the tears, to hear her laugh hysterically as she said things like "Mum cannot die. She's coming back home. Everything is fine. I am fine," to hear her finally crumble in tiredness and say "I want to sleep," this hit me.

Candidly, the thought crossed my mind. "What if this doesn't get better?"

I tried to push it away but it kept tugging at my consciousness and I am not one to ignore things of this sort.

A few days ago, during one of our night calls (we had talked for about 4 hours), she mentioned that she was afraid of what the future held for her. Now, I became really afraid of what it indeed held for her. This was not just malaria. What she had described was huge.

Something else came to my conscious awareness.

A few weeks ago, mum had fallen sick and was in her room for almost four days. During the period of her illness, I avoided her room and saw her only twice - when I got back from a trip and greeted them (dad was with her), and when she was able to move around and we met in the kitchen as she came to get her meal.

I isolated myself in my room and didn't have my bath for those sick days. I only came out to cook get meals (I barely even ate).

Dad had gotten angry after her recovery and said how heartless it was to be in the same house with one's sick mom and not even bother or care to check up on her.

I remember how I felt almost nothing during those days. I went almost numb. But in that numbness, there was a constant thought that plagued me. What's it going to be like when she gets to the bridge of death? If she has to pass through the phase of getting bodily weak and becoming dependent on people for daily care, how would I take it? What would I do?

Queenie mentioned how she had to stay back to clean up the body waste her mum had let off in the house, and I remembered my aunt who I recently lost to breast cancer. She spent her dying days with us in the house.

I recall how mum was like a nanny. Feeding her semi-solid foods, changing her clothes and coverings, cleaning her up severally daily (she lost control of her muscles and couldn't even talk).

I had vowed that if life ever gave me that pill, I'll choose the option of clinical euthanasia. As much as I love the idea of staying as long as possible with loved ones, I NEVER want to see them pass through such stress. I don't think it's worth it. But that's just my subjective opinion, and what pin can that move in the grand scheme of things?

The day my aunt collapsed and fought for her life, I went into my room and crouched in the corner of the bed. If there was a door, I'd have shut it (we have a no privacy house rule so the doors weren't installed in mist rooms).

While phone calls were made for help and people were coming in to assist in getting her into a waiting car to be rushed to the hospital, I stayed in my room and started pacing frantically as activities in the house increased.

A few days later, she died in the hospital. I was away from home and didn't return until the whole thing about her death, the gathering of her belongings, and her burial was all sorted.

The reality of it all comes crashing as I journal these thoughts. I am convenient with the thought of death as part of life but react with a strong aversion to death in reality, or when it's served up close.

I'm the kind of person who may not show up at funerals of loved ones, or the kind of son that will not hesitate to send aging parents to a home for the elderly.

The intellectual acceptance of death might be a done deal for me. But the emotional and psychological acceptance of this certain phenomenon? I'm nowhere close to looking at it candidly, talk less of accepting it.

I hope Queenie's mum gets well. I really hope. As I end this, I'm a little surprised how I feel emotionally invested in this situation. It's not like I'm close to her mum. I just feel if anything happens at this moment, it's gon' change a whole lot of things for me too. I don't know how this even makes sense. I just hope she gets well.

And Queenie. She's been through a lot this period and I just want some break for her from all of these hits. It's the silent sadness that comes with wanting to be of help but knowing you can do little to nothing in the situation.

Life and its happenings. There's no end to the drama in this plane. No end.