Dealing with my parents' terminal illnesses and deaths. From the agonizing waiting in hospitals, for test results, for medication to kick in, visits that are so bittersweet and poignant, crying, yelling, wailing, praying, losing faith, sitting up for days worrying, sitting up for days in hospitals, pacing, knowing every inch of the hospital as well as the staff, being encouraging to them, forgiving them, unable to forgive myself, not being able to eat, doing everything I could to make their time comfortable, to show them they were loved and honoured, watching seizures, hurrying to call nurses, put oxygen masks on, septic wounds, phoning family to come, waiting for family to come, being alone and awake in a chair all night, the sound of someone drowning in their own fluids, knowing more about cancer than anyone should, wanting my Mommy and Daddy back, and finally, going on without them. Knowing that any children I have will not meet them. Not knowing if I'll ever see them again anywhere, anyhow, at any time. Trying to live my life so I can be proud of myself, my choices and therefore, continue to make them proud of me, if they are seeing me from...wherever.
I have no answers anymore. And I have no comfort. That is what I struggle with..
