Epiphany

I've been....I'm not sure what I've been. Not OK. Guilt stricken, I guess. I could of/should of been a better daughter. More gracious, more patient..... Not rolled my eyes so much. Spent more time downstairs. Then I had guilt over the medications. When I increased mom's fentanyl I talked to the pharmacist and asked him if he thought it was too much. I specifically asked "could this kill her?" He said "anything could kill her but I doubt this will. It's the natural progression for medications." Still after toying with the meds and never getting it right I kept thinking maybe I should be doing something different. Even when she was dying I had the thought, maybe we should stop this. Give her some Narcan and everything will be OK. I knew that wasn't really an option but the thought did enter my mind. I thought this must be what Hospice was talking about when they said people get scared at the end and call an ambulance instead of Hospice.

Last week Lynn made a comment to me that he was "amazed at how I orchestrated mom's death with nothing but meds and oxygen."  Wow, I didn't realize I had orchestrated it. That kind of increased my guilt load but then again Lynn is great for saying really bizarre things. Two days ago Steph texted me. She was annoyed. Her relief society president came and brought her cookies and flowers and told her how Marian had borne her testimony in sacrament meeting about the power of the priesthood and said that John gave Grandma a blessing that she would be able to endure until the family was gathered. She said that when she was dying her sons gave her a blessing to help her facilitate her passing. Steph said she couldn't help but laugh and think it was the oxygen and the medicine that helped her endure until the family gathered and facilitated the passing. Which, I guess is in essence what Lynn said.

I just started thinking about how much mom wanted to die and how she was tired of suffering and not being able to do anything she wanted. She couldn't read anymore because she couldn't hold a book and she complained because there was nothing worth watching on television. She didn't like food anymore. She lived longer than she wanted. She didn't die in a nursing home, she didn't die in a hospital, she didn't fall out of bed or off the toilet and die alone on the floor. She died in her bed with all her kids, a bunch of grandchildren with her. It's really alright, I'm alright.