Randy's Ruminations

This is written while waiting for my mother to die. Some deaths come quickly, even instantly. Most take a while. It is hard. It is frustrating. It is disorienting.

The disorienting aspect comes from doing the same things you normally do, but always with the reality of a loved one's impending death on your mind. Yesterday I went to Subway for lunch - something I do once a week. It was so odd to do this very familiar, common action, but within a whole different context. I felt like saying, "I'll have a tuna on Honey Oat to go and, by the way, my mother is dying."

Everyone else is just going about their day and business. But my day is anything but normal. Familiar routine is overlaid with something else that is highly significant. And when people say "have a good day" or "how's your day?" what am I supposed to do? Tell the truth? No, but the common courtesy answers are, again, disorienting.

Waiting is hard. We, especially men, are fixers. Some things can't be fixed. Sometimes all you can do is wait. And think. And remember.

Waiting for a loved one to die is a lot like pregnancy. It takes nine months to get used to the idea “I’m going to be a parent.” And there are preparations to be made.

Likewise, the dying process gives time to get used to the idea “I’m going to lose someone.” And there are preparations to be made.