My mother died this morning. I was there with my sister. This watching old people die thing is way overrated.
It was awful. Her breathing was agony to listen to. If someone had given me an syringe full of morphine I would have without hesitation given it to her, damn the consequences.
I'm not big on hanging around dead people. I tried not to see but we had to get all of stuff out of the room, no really no way to avoid it. I can't quite decide what to make of the whole thing, i.e. my entire life as her daughter, so I can't figure out how I'm supposed to feel. It wasn't like with my dad where I kind of knew I should feel sad. "Ding, dong, the witch is dead" feels extreme, but so do tears.
Was that worse than losing my I wish grandchild into the toilet? Maybe. But what I've learned after 58 years is that painful things can happen at the same time and one is not necessarily worse than the other.
I despise cheerful people. Have I ever mentioned that? When bad things happen, people are relentless in telling you why you shouldn't be sad because you still have whatever. I want to punch them. Just leave me the hell alone and let me be sad.
I just hope no one tries to cheer me up for at least a week -- a week is nothing to ask. I may punch them.