The BitchSlap

Sometimes I think I’m being driven by anger.
Anger towards the world, anger towards life, anger towards anyone who wasn’t in that room the day she died.

I’ll warn you, this could get graphic. I think I’m finally ready to really write about it, so gtfo this page if you’re squeamish.

I love my mother with a supernatural force. Honestly, it’s stronger than myself even. And I must say, I’m a pretty strong person. Note also how I didn’t use the past tense. I love her still, with the same amount of force. Only now it doesn’t seem to have a recipient.

I was in Scotland when things went south, the details aren’t important, but the day after I heard she was in hospital again I flew back. During the hours I was on my way to her, she told my sister she kept having the feeling I was sitting next to her hospital bed. Makes sense, as I was thinking of her intensely.
Four days later she was dead.
She fought for her life for more than 18 hours, breathing heavily, almost choking in the blood coming from her gums. She could barely talk at all, her pallor was ash grey and darkness had set into her face.
She was making jokes up to a few hours before her death. She kept picking at her bleeding gums, pulling bits of congealed blood out saying “ew, it looks like a slug!” God, I love her sense of humour. It reminds me so much of myself 😦

I would sit and talk with her for a few hours, excuse myself for a cigarette when the grinding of my teeth could no longer suppress the tears. Then I’d run outside the hospital grounds and sit on the kerb of the ambulance drive-through and cry my eyes out like a small child.

The day she died, my head was buried in her bed next to her left arm, my arm wrapped over her. My sister opposite me in the same position.
She was very frail. I had helped clean her and take care of her, together with the nurses, for days. I was there with her in the most degrading moments, holding her close, reassuring her I was with her. She was the best mother in the world. I would have done anything for her. I still would.

At one point, they sent us outside for some reason and she had a brain haemorrhage. She was scared, disoriented. She was panicking and hyperventilating. I rushed to her side and held her in my arms, whispering softly in her ear. This happened another three times, her gaze sinking deeper every time. Her breathing was heavy and distressed, yet every time I spoke to her and held her she seemed to relax. In her last moment it happened again, she clenched her jaws, foamy red blood came out of her mouth.
Her eyes went dead.
And that was it.

She turned cold within minutes, my sister and I peering at each other from opposite sides of her dead body, bloodshot eyes, traumatised.

It was the worst fucking day of my life. I have never felt so much pain in all my life.

A lot of people who know me don’t even know this, this is the first time I’ve ever spoken out about it. I don’t want fucking pity from anyone.

Because I hardly ever speak of it, a lot of people ‘forget’ or simply don’t know what I went through. I dare say I’m handling myself quite well, but it doesn’t mean I’m over it. It doesn’t mean I’ll ever be over it. It doesn’t mean it hurts less.
I’ll be really obnoxious about this: Anybody else would have lost the plot. Anybody else would have crumbled into dust.

Well no, not I.

All I can think of is: Fuck you, you ass-holes, nothing can stop me now. There’s nothing you can do to me that will be worse than this. There is nothing that will ever be worse than the day I watched my mother die.

Therefore I can’t help but feel anger towards people complaining about futile things. I know you can’t compare pain, I know it’s all relative (har har)
But god-damn it, Get over yourself! You can handle so much more than you think.

I’m no stronger than you. I can just keep my shit together. Apparently.

All I can say is my mother raised me well.

but I’ll tell you, some days I want to crash and burn so badly I almost ram my car into a wall at 130km/h.
I’m not afraid of death any more.

I sat with it in a room for Four days. I slept in the same room, hearing it’s heavy ticking in my ear, I looked it right in the face and said “You bastard. I’ll get you for this.”


~ by pixiblack on May 26, 2010.

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