November 4, 2012

day 4 NaBloPoMo: wasting away

I don't think she has much time left. I've been saying this for a good year now, but I really don't think there's much time left. And then I look at the date on the calendar and wonder if somehow the universe is up to something. In less than three days it will have been seven years since my Ota passed away. Is it sick of me to wonder if Oma may be joining him on that date?


She's just not doing well. She doesn't talk as much. Her breathing seems to be SO deliberate and heavy even though she's just sitting there.

...Wasting away.


She's SO thin. Her skin is practically see-through.

She tells me she can't eat, she has no appetite, and that it's upsetting to her. She doesn't understand why she can't eat.

My mom tells me she pukes if she does eat.

She sits in the same spot in the corner of the couch in front of the window. Her legs fold over one another so easily because of the lack of meat on her frail bones that it looks as if the two legs are one.

I want to reach out and just hold her hand but I'm terrified of putting her in more pain.

I can see how tired she is. I can see her wanting it to be her time. And I begin to feel the same way as I think, "Please let the pain and suffering end; she doesn't deserve this kind of life."

When it's time to say goodbye, I make sure Lovie gives her a hug and kiss. Oma gets upset because Lovie doesn't look at her. I've never noticed this before and Oma has never said this before- that Lovie doesn't look at her. I think Lovie might be afraid.

These are the moments in life that suck so bad.


  1. I'm so sorry Christina. That really sucks and I wish I could offer some words of wisdom. Instead, it's a virtual hug. xo

  2. Oh wow. All of the hugs. xo

  3. I bet loving is afraid. Kids definite sense things, pick up our vibes. This breaks my heart for you. I know how sad it is to see and desperately want the pain to go away. Hold her hand lightly. And I'm thinking of you and your family!

  4. ((( hugs ))) That's heartbreaking.


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