Tomorrow I turn 35. It’s safe to say this is another birthday I’m not looking forward to celebrating.

Last year during this weekend, kiddo was in Iowa City being diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes and now this year I get to sit here and watch my mom slowly deteriorate and eventually die.

I’m not looking for a pity party of any sorts. I’m just sick of the fucking desert and everything else that comes along with it. And I’m tired. I’m tired of being on call 24/7. I’m tired of not sleeping or eating like I should be. I’m tired of not being able to see, hold, or hug my friends and family back home. And lastly, I’m tired of my mom struggling and have made peace with the fact that I’m ready for her to go.

At first, I felt awful thinking certain ideas. Not that I’m wishing her to die, but I kind of am. Every day there is a different version of her that wakes up. Every day there are different levels of lucidity. Every day I’m reexplaining or reiterating things we’ve gone over many times already, but seems like it’s the first time, every time. I know it’s not her fault. She’s on heavy pain killers and sedatives (morphine / ativan) and requesting them more and more each day. She’s slowing down and I think we’re starting or are in the “rally” stage of dying. She’s becoming more stubborn about certain things, determined to do them entirely on her own, like using her walker to go to the bathroom. Normally, I would be happy as can be that she can do that on her own. However, after already having picked her up off the floor once and her falling off the toilet and hitting her ribs on the tub, I’m not risking it any more.

I’ve had to get stern with her on a few things and whether that’s because the meds make her confused or she’s just trying to be difficult, I’ll never really know. My mother isn’t an easy woman to love by any stretch, but she’s still mom at the end of the day. Yesterday’s sternness was about getting out of bed without help. I finally had to say to her “You do realize you’re dying right? The natural progression of this is there are things you won’t be able to do alone anymore and it’s not because I want to take them away from you, but I want to keep you safe.” It was hard to say, but I felt it needed to be said. I know I don’t need to remind her that’s she’s dying. She has been for some time. But I felt that she wasn’t really understanding the situation entirely.

The day before, the argument was over her dogs, Murphy and Wheezy, as well as going back to her old apartment. Again, stern mom voice had to come out. I’ve been doing everything within my power to find a new home for these dogs – social media, friends, family, humane societies, etc. I’ve determined Wheezy is going to come home with me. He’s 7 lbs and I’d be more worried about my cats picking on him than the other way around. Murphy, however, is not cat friendly and D is extremely allergic to short haired dogs. Wheezy is a Yorkie, so very little shedding if any. My mom obviously wants her dogs with her and wants to see them, but has already told me that if I took her back to her place to visit, she wouldn’t leave and I’m not dealing with a grown ass woman child throwing a fit, so I’m still trying to find a way for her to see them and say good bye. Her apartment is a fire hazard because of electrical issues and it’s just plain dirty, dusty, and unlivable for someone on Hospice. I did tell her that’s she going to have to start respecting the decisions I made because fighting me every step of the way is only going to make it more difficult.

Here’s hoping she doesn’t pass on my birthday. Or if she does, that she goes quietly and not kicking and screaming like I’m envisioning because well… that’s just my mom’s style.

Until next time,



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