Every time I close my eyes, I can see her laying on the hospital bed. She has no makeup on and, without her wig, she is bald. This makes it easier to kiss her on the forehead. This will be the last time I will touch her warm body. I see my father, eyes red from crying, holding her hand. I kiss her on the forehead. I have read since that you are supposed to be calm around the dying. Dying is hard work and extremely stressful. I blow Dying 101. I sob.
I thank her. I tell her that I love her and that I am going to miss her. She gasps for air. A death rattle. A tear runs down her cheek. Someone hands me a phone. My husband. This is the first of many people I will share this horrible news with. Mom gasps again. Dr. Patel enters the room and I ask how long she has left. Little did I know, she had died. Death can be anticlimactic.
I need this blog. If it helps you to deal with your grief or to better understand mine, then I am grateful. But I am writing this for me. The one person who would always listen to me prattle on about everything is gone and I need her more than ever. In her absence, this is the next best thing.
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