Friday, March 1, 2013

I Killed My Mother

Arnold Street, Lincoln, RI c. 1994
I killed my mother.

I let her die when others would have done more to let her live.

How could I?

She didn't know her name.  She didn't know my name.  She didn't know she should eat, or even what it meant to eat.  She screamed hysterically whenever anyone tried to put food in her mouth.

So I let her die.

My mother had advanced-stage Alzheimer's disease, though she was young - just 63 years old.  

"Her body is so strong," said the nun-like nursing coordinating at the home where she received care.

I said I didn't care.

No feeding tube, no electroshock therapy to "calm her nerves."

Let her die.

My mother was literally paralysed by fear, paranoid, delusional, incomprehensible: cowering in her bed, crying, whimpering, unable to sit still or escape convulsive pain.

"It's all in her mind," said one doctor.

What mind, I asked?

I demanded hospice and morphine.  LET HER DIE.

"But she has more than six months to live," I was told.  Not eligible for hospice care.


Could she ever find peace?
What, I asked?  

She barely has six days to live, she won't eat.

Finally I called state agencies, I threatened to sue the nun-like nurse and her home.  Finally, they relented, they released her to a new facility.

The new doctor understood.  No more anti-psychotic medication that didn't work, that actually made it worse.  No more "rehabilitative" therapies.  Just opiates and the occasional moments of peace that they brought.

She would get up in the middle of the night and scream.  

More morphine, I said.

I refuse to let her suffer.

More morphine.

As expected, her breathing became more shallow over the period of a few days.  

Fluid began to collect in her lungs: she began to aspirate.

Slowly, finally, with furtive, miserable, squirming resignation, my mother died.

I only wonder why I waited so long.


i killed my mother i let her die what 
else

could



I like to believe in heaven and that my mother is there now.

3 comments:

  1. This is very powerful, Chris. What an intense decision to have to make so young.

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  2. Provocative writing! You made a compassionate choice Chris. Outside of this powerfully, and what must be cathartic, internal monologue you've shared, it would, of course, be completely unreasonable to accuse someone of killing when they took the responsibility you did.

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  3. Beautifully written, Chris. I'm sorry you and your mother had to endure this.

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