On Dying/Grieving
May. 25th, 2010 10:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mrsbrownI went and saw Oma last night. She's an uncomfortable, uneasy, fragile echo of her old self. Maybe it was a mistake to go, but it was like picking a scab; I sort of didn't want to go, but my emotions were all pulling me towards her.
I think hospital beds are horrible places to die. If I were her I would want enough space for people to sit beside me and hold me. A comforting chest to snuggle into, as well as holding hands and stroking.
I also think I might want to ask for an overdose, although Mum says that once people have committed to dying it happens very quickly. Most of the anxiety, I assume, is around objecting to dying. Once you've gotten over that, you've made it to the end of the game anyway and don't need the drugs to help you on your way. Maybe the desire for the quick end is more about my needs than it is about Oma.
I don't know why I'm surprised that I'm not at work today. Picking at the scab of my grief is much easier at home than at work. I'm finding it easier to cry than to talk, while my sister is being all controlled, and my mum, aunt and uncle have all been crying for so long already and now they're more focussed on keeping Oma comfortable and relaxed.
I first cried about death when I was about 4. I'd just gotten out of the bath and it hit me that I was going to die one day, and I didn't want to. I cried inconsolably while my mother towelled me dry and told me that she thought it would be a long time before I needed to worry. I wonder if that was about the same time that our puppy ran away and got hit by a car?
I'm also spending some time online investigating country cemeteries. Mt Egerton looks nice. I wonder if they take new burials?
I think hospital beds are horrible places to die. If I were her I would want enough space for people to sit beside me and hold me. A comforting chest to snuggle into, as well as holding hands and stroking.
I also think I might want to ask for an overdose, although Mum says that once people have committed to dying it happens very quickly. Most of the anxiety, I assume, is around objecting to dying. Once you've gotten over that, you've made it to the end of the game anyway and don't need the drugs to help you on your way. Maybe the desire for the quick end is more about my needs than it is about Oma.
I don't know why I'm surprised that I'm not at work today. Picking at the scab of my grief is much easier at home than at work. I'm finding it easier to cry than to talk, while my sister is being all controlled, and my mum, aunt and uncle have all been crying for so long already and now they're more focussed on keeping Oma comfortable and relaxed.
I first cried about death when I was about 4. I'd just gotten out of the bath and it hit me that I was going to die one day, and I didn't want to. I cried inconsolably while my mother towelled me dry and told me that she thought it would be a long time before I needed to worry. I wonder if that was about the same time that our puppy ran away and got hit by a car?
I'm also spending some time online investigating country cemeteries. Mt Egerton looks nice. I wonder if they take new burials?
