When my mom was dying, she was in hospice care at home. We were all taking care of her, which was beautiful (I know that sounds strange, but it was beautiful in a lot of ways, mainly because she was a very good parent, definitely NOT the monster of our childhoods, and we felt as though we were doing something almost . . . holy with her--I can't think of a better way to put it) and horrible at the same time. After three or four days, she stopped talking because of the pain meds, but she was still pretty alert and reacted to what we said to her. I think we all managed to say everything we needed to say before she reached the point where she couldn't take it in. But, like Rick Bragg, I have issues that I know I will never get rid of unless I let it go, and again like him, I'm reluctant to let go, but in my case, it's because what I'd be letting go is valuable to me but so complicated and messed up that it would kind of be like trying to cut it out of myself. If that makes any sense.
Maybe you can see why I've been avoiding these stories.
