That's my age. If I read the rest of that blog maybe it would tell me what brought her to this brink.
My mother was in her late 60s when we were called down to Niceville, Florida when her end was near. This was 1995. Her pancreatic cancer had been confirmed by biopsy only days before, but she was already deeply in liver failure. She didn't want to die in a hospital, but hurricane Opal was bearing down as we arrived, so we all had to bundle ourselves in the cars and crawl up to Crestview to weather the storm at the hospital there. The condo survived with only minor damage so this may have been a mistake. We did get her back to watch the dolphins on Boggy Bayou before the end; I hope she was able to see them.
Shes kind of an e-girl so I guess it makes sense in a way.
Well written article!
Still a worthwhile read.
“Each passing minute is a greater percentage of the final minutes we have,” and yet “these [final] seconds are so soft”.
Death needs to die, some future dying day, not yet.
from everyone who’s had a mom, we join you: “Momma, I love you”.
We are busy people but no matter how we try, we cannot bring people back. We cannot make some things different. I think about that a lot. Even coming from a family of abuse and trauma that needed a decade of counseling and healing, I still feel sad they may not be there much longer.
Thank you for a reminder. Thank you for sharing your personal story.
Wondering how you found a way to spend time with them and if you openly speaking about the limited time left and the past with them?
Thanks for sharing what must be difficult to share.
There's one element that is missing from the story, namely what the consequences of the mother's religious belief system means for how the story continues from the mother's own view (a new beginning) versus the daughter's atheist view (the end of the person, full stop).
Happy Third Advent to those that celebrate it!
decimalenough•7h ago
https://aella.substack.com/p/the-joy-is-not-optional
rutierut•6h ago
NeutralForest•5h ago
ArnoVW•5h ago
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For example: once, when I was eight years old, I’d done something wrong that warranted a spanking. My dad commanded me ‘come here.’ I hesitated, building up my willpower, before complying. He spanked me and let me go as I sobbed. He then said “You hesitated. That’s disobedience - come here to get another one.”
At this point I was in a lot of pain, and the effort it took to voluntarily subject myself to another one was now way more. It took me a few moments before I could force myself to approach again. He spanked me again, let me go, and as I sobbed, he told me again that I had hesitated, that this was disobedience, and that it warranted another.
By this point I was in even more pain, and it took even greater effort to overcome my body’s desire to flee or fight. And so again, there was a few second delay. And so he did it again.
He did again eleven times. And when he told me the twelfth time to approach, something in me completely broke. It didn’t matter that my body was now in overwhelming agony - possibly the greatest pain I’ve experienced in my life - the only way to make it stop was to abandon my will entirely, to become a mindless obedience creature that would walk straight into the fire instantly when commanded. So I did, he spanked me one last time, and then he stopped.
BeFlatXIII•1h ago
didgeoridoo•4h ago
selcuka•3h ago
> I ultimately came to terms with my childhood by viewing it as correct. Not in the sense that I would do it to my children, or that it’s ethical by my lights, but rather that it makes sense, it belongs here. My dad was abused when he was a child and probably has NPD; my mom loved us and tried very hard but was misguided in how to show it.
pfdietz•2h ago