what.Rosa.said

I write, I talk, and I probably don't moisturize as much as I should. Follow me on Twitter @what_rosa_said

Hey there.

  • I’m alive.
  • I’ve completely lost track of Tumblr. I barely had my computer out when I was home, and I let it slip.
  • Where I am now: back in Chicago. What Mom wanted and what I want. Moved into a fantastic new place with help from Shannon, and Jesse (@superfluously) Who comforted me when my previous landlord when uber ass at the end.
  • How I am: The feelings I wasn’t having at home, I’m having now. As more or less expected. I’m glad. It’s better than not feeling. But the fact is it hurts so incredibly much, and so entirely deep, that it makes it hard to function. It hits me whenever I think of anything. I’m back at work, but I wish I had a desert island I could go to and scream and cry at alone for a week.
  • I am not okay with the fact that my Mom is dead. I understand it. But I am not okay with living my life without her.
  • Everything hurts, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve avoided writing because it hurts, and I don’t wanna swamp a feed with down entries.
  • I want rewards for functioning as a normal human being. Because it’s not what I want to be right now. But I am broke and I have bills and I don’t have the one woman in the world that I can cry to about it.
  • I talked to her almost every day. A huge chunk of my life and myself is gone.

You know how if someone asked you to picture a billion of one thing , you wouldn’t be able to accurately? You could picture mass of items, but an actual billion one single items is incredibly difficult for our brains to wrap around and conceptualize. So we picture a mass, smile , and move on. Not caring that our brain is fallible.

That’s how I feel about my mom. Only I do care that my brain is broken and won’t let me hurt the way I want to. I can tell you she’s gone. That’s logic. But I had fuller, cathartic collapses before she passed. I get sad, but it comes from feeling wretched. Knowing that, even if I give into the tears, it won’t be complete, solid, honest. Some part of my being is blocking my ability, my right to fall to pieces. For protection, because the hurt will be too much. But I know that. And I want that.

I want it all out.

Mom passed away Tuesday morning, at home, not hooked up to any machines, not on any pain meds (she wasn’t in pain). It only sinks in when my brain slows down, which isn’t easy considering how many people are and will be here. My mom was so, so, sick the 2 weeks before her death, that the woman who passed was hardly recognizable. Anna and I got tattoos today in moms handwriting. Anna’s (top) is from a journal entry she wrote to her ending in “It makes you wonder…” Mine is my mom’s maiden name, the name belonging to her whole family, all 4 of us girls’ middle name. I found it on a letter she had sent to my grandma in 1973. It didn’t hurt

Mom passed away Tuesday morning, at home, not hooked up to any machines, not on any pain meds (she wasn’t in pain). It only sinks in when my brain slows down, which isn’t easy considering how many people are and will be here. My mom was so, so, sick the 2 weeks before her death, that the woman who passed was hardly recognizable. Anna and I got tattoos today in moms handwriting. Anna’s (top) is from a journal entry she wrote to her ending in “It makes you wonder…” Mine is my mom’s maiden name, the name belonging to her whole family, all 4 of us girls’ middle name. I found it on a letter she had sent to my grandma in 1973. It didn’t hurt

This is so, so hard.  I am so angry at so much.

This is so, so hard. 

I am so angry at so much.

What I’m learning.

The end stages of life can be funny, and it’s okay to laugh at them: 

My mom had her liver drained for the second time on Monday. They took out 4 liters that time around (5L the time before). By Thursday she was yellow, including the whites of her eyes, so we planned to take her in for a more-or-less “emergency” tapping. We probably could have put it off for another day or so, but we have family coming in all weekend, and if we had to take her in over the weekend, we’d have to go through the ER. Rather than getting MRSA for the entire family, we took her in Friday.

Friday was rough. But we made it through. 3.5 liters out, and put plans in to have a permanent drain installed on Monday.

When we got home, mom was much better. Lucid, talking, etc. I was telling her how out of it she had been that morning, and she says,

“Oh I know. On our way there, I thought, ‘What if I died right here in the car? It’d just be like, thud, thud.’”

And I realize, as I type this, it may not sound funny, but we cracked up.

Not only the fact that she had remembered thinking that, when she could barely talk or sign her name, but that she had played through in her head how and in which direction she would flop, were she to die at that instant.

This was supposed to be an uplifting post, but it may end up looking like I’m some asshole who’s laughing at her dying mother. Oh well.

My mom’s been hilarious the past 3 days or so. She’s always been funny, but the appropriate button is out of order, so she’s saying things she’s been holding in for the past 62 years out of politeness. I’m not quite sure what’s causing this, there are about 10000e302 factors that could cause this.

It could be the “loopiness” she said would come before she falls asleep for the last time, usually for a few days, then pass. And if it is, I thank God that this is the way she’s going out. Let her be funny as fuck, even if it means she’s losing her brain function, and the disease is enveloping her. It’s the way she’d want it. For us to laugh, to save the tears for when she’s sleeping. To leave us with happy memories. 

I am in absolute awe of the dignity, love and bravery that is my mom.

 

Mostly dogs, Mel Brooks movies, sisters, and beds in rooms that aren’t for beds.

Mostly dogs, Mel Brooks movies, sisters, and beds in rooms that aren’t for beds.

GPOY looking a mess in a hospital bathroom. No filter so you can truly appreciate the calming spoiled-cream color of the stalls.

GPOY looking a mess in a hospital bathroom. No filter so you can truly appreciate the calming spoiled-cream color of the stalls.

Nurse Carma & Mommy.

Nurse Carma & Mommy.

Seriously. I can provide references! More than 1!

Seriously. I can provide references! More than 1!

(Source: sandandglass)

Mouthful of Carma farts.

“Come sit on the couch with me, Carma!” I said

Smooth move, Rosa. It’s 2hours later, you’re ready to lie down and sleep, and  the bitch hasn’t moved. Oh well.

I’ve stayed up because I need to help mom get upstairs whenever she’s ready for bed, but I’m starting to think she’s out in the chair for the night. She got a new anti nauseant that’s a super sleeper I think. Saw all of her docs today. No news we didn’t already know. They took 4L of fluid off the liver today. So now she just looks chubby rather than taught and 9mos preggers.

I just realized this could be oversharing. Sorry if I get too graphic. The whole family has chemo brain right now, even though non of us are on it. Its 1/2 verbal diarrhea and 1/2 stopping mid sentence and having no idea what you’re talking about.

Tangent: Jeselnik’s new show is great. I’d like to write to there.