Are You Okay?

The doctor's words are still ringing in my ears. She doesn't have much time left. We need to prepare for her dying comfortably, with dignity, at home. Her body is wearing out. Pneumonia could take her. Her heart might just stop beating. She is tired.

I pushed her wheelchair through the hallway at the clinic, feeling hollow at the idea of planning her funeral...possibly in just a few short months.

We stopped in the waiting area and I saw her reflection in the mirrored wall. She was bundled in several layers of clothes. Mittens. That enormous fur hat. Those big dark glasses, worn to keep out the glare of the snow. Her face was gaunt and pale. Her body was leaning off to the right. She was motioning for something. I couldn't understand what.

To be taken across the room, away from the draft of the door.

"Are you okay?" Friends and family ask. You've invested so much.

No, I am not. I don't think so. But maybe I am. I don't actually know.

How would I know?

I assume that because I am only crying non-stop that I must be at least somewhat okay, since that seems like a reasonable response to the news that a loved one may only have a few months left to live. If I was rolling around on the ground or trying to light myself on fire, I would know that I was definitely NOT okay. Those are not reasonable responses to this news, to this circumstance. However, I still don't feel "okay."

I am sad. Very, very sad. I feel like my heart is breaking. It isn't even that I am unable to say goodbye. I just don't want to. I still want her in my life. I wanted her to be at my wedding, I wanted her to see my children. (Even though she'd have to wait about ten years.)

I know these things aren't realistic. I have been by her side for most of this last year. I know what the reality is. I know she is declining steadily and has been for a long time. I see how tired she is, how hard it is to get a sentence out. I see that each word is formed with maximum effort and how each breath is so shallow...

I see it. But I don't want to say goodbye. Not yet.

I know that I have a religion. I love my religion. I believe in it...but I have no idea what happens when we die and it scares me that I don't know what to tell her. I have clung to the belief over the past few years, that no matter what happens to us, whatever it is, is not bad. I do believe that there is a force in the universe, something that we must return to after we pass. Do we see our dead relatives? I have no idea. I'd like to hope so, since I certainly like the idea. If it doesn't happen that way, I don't think I particularly mind that, either. (Though it does take a little bit of detachment to be okay with that idea.)

Of course, I can't say any of this to her. Even though I hate the movie and everything it stands for, Ricky Gervais' Invention of Lying may be half-right. In the movie, he tells his dying mother that she'll see all those loved ones that passed on before her. It is presented as a lie that he tells her to assuage her fear of death. Perhaps that IS what it is. Maybe it isn't. I really don't know. All I do know is that whatever happens is not bad. It can't be. I've experienced enough myself to know, to really feel, that something happens. We reunite with the force that made us or we get reincarnated in some fashion or we walk around in a bliss of our own making...I have no idea.

Even with these feelings, I am still scared and I don't want her to leave me. I want her to be a part of my life for just even a few years more. See me get married, Gramma...see my children...please...

I know these things may not happen. I just always thought they would. Gram was such a FORCE...such a part of everyone's life. She raised her kids, other people's kids...saw them grow up and then raised those kids' kids, too. Can I have here there for my life events, too?

Maybe I want her there because I know how much she'd like to be there, herself. However, she is...so...tired. She may even be ready to let go. Do I want to ask her to hold on just to make me happy? Death is another part of life, I think...there is something holy there, something I don't understand fully. I can't ask her to stay around because I want her here. She needs to go at her time, when she is ready.

I sigh. None of this makes me feel better. That's not the point.

Am I okay? I have no idea.