A Grief Revisited

2sheepinthecity's Blog

Three years ago August 16th, my mother died. I’ll never forget how guilty I felt; if I’d let her stay home, the ER doctor, a first year resident, wouldn’t have overloaded her already fragile heart with three thousand cc’s of saline in an hour. I questioned him, but it was too late, she was lapsing into a coma, never to speak to us again. The last words she said to my aunt, sister and I; “I’m surrounded by beautiful women.”

That was so my mother. She was the kindest woman to a fault. Much of the injustice she was dealt can be directly connected to her willingness to look the other way, and to keep giving. When we admonished her for doing so, she’d say, “What difference does it really make?” I often ask myself that very same question. She wasn’t looking for anything in return. As long as we…

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