It’s Okay Not To Be Okay. (But for how long?)

When I think of my mother, I just want to eat until I pop. She died three and a half years ago and our relationship still plagues me. Three times over the course of my life, I tried to rid myself of her but she would never be ignored. So I changed tactics. I made peace with her, as much as anyone can make peace with a fairytale witch, and we lived in that brittle place where the dutiful daughter says I love you and sends the cards and gifts and makes the phone calls and the voracious mother is never satisfied. No matter how much attention she had from me, it was never enough.

She died in a fit of pique. Her companion told me she had refused to eat and drink for nearly a month at the end but there was nothing else wrong with her, except for blindness. When they did the examination, after her death they found nothing wrong. What I remember most clearly is that her ejection fraction was 59% I remember that because I struggle to keep my ejection fraction above 35%. Right now it’s hovering around 40% and I am proud of my efforts to keep it there but it can’t go lower. If it goes lower I will need an implanted device, or worse, a transplant. (and I don’t think I’d have much of a chance of getting a transplant.)

My mother’s companion, Gabe, told me he tried to give her water to drink near the end. He says she took the cup and put her lips to the straw. Then she drew the straw into her mouth, and with a terrible grimace she sucked it between her teeth, horizontally, chewed it up, and spat it out. At the end of her…