...my mother took her own life.
Not in the conventional way, mind you. No. Her way was much more long and gruesome.
Some OGs here have heard my parent's storybook life. For those that haven't...it all started back in 1956. My mother was 14 years old and was raised in an abusive home by her abusive (both physically and mentally) grandmother. Her mother left her and her little sister with this witch of a woman while she ran off with some door to door salesman.
By early 1958, she got a job as a carhop at a drive-in called The Queen Bee. One night, a dashing young sailor, fresh off the boat rolls in, driving a brand new '57 Chevy Bel Air, and sweeps her off her feet. They dated for a year or so, much to her grandmother's disapproval, until they finally married in April of 1960.
Throughout their marriage, they raised 3 boys, yours truly being the baby, had their ups and downs like most married couples do. But I never remember them fighting. They had disagreements, sure, and they might have raised their voices here and there, but there was never any physical violence or harsh words spoken.
Fast forward to 2016. My father is diagnosed with prostate cancer. By late 2017 it had advanced so rapidly, he had a choice of chemo that would make him wish he were dead, or do without until he finally was. He chose to live what was left of his life, chemo free.
He took a turn for the worse in May of 2018, and my mother was left with some tough decisions on what was going to become of her without him. He was her everything. Her knight in shining armor, her hero, her best friend and soulmate and she could not even fathom her life without him in it.
Around June 1st, she caught a nasty urinary tract infection. Instead of treating it, she had a DNR and let the UTI go septic. She lasted about a week, refusing to eat, drink or seek any type of medical attention. She passed away on this morning, June 10, 2018.
I love you mom...miss you.
Not in the conventional way, mind you. No. Her way was much more long and gruesome.
Some OGs here have heard my parent's storybook life. For those that haven't...it all started back in 1956. My mother was 14 years old and was raised in an abusive home by her abusive (both physically and mentally) grandmother. Her mother left her and her little sister with this witch of a woman while she ran off with some door to door salesman.
By early 1958, she got a job as a carhop at a drive-in called The Queen Bee. One night, a dashing young sailor, fresh off the boat rolls in, driving a brand new '57 Chevy Bel Air, and sweeps her off her feet. They dated for a year or so, much to her grandmother's disapproval, until they finally married in April of 1960.
Throughout their marriage, they raised 3 boys, yours truly being the baby, had their ups and downs like most married couples do. But I never remember them fighting. They had disagreements, sure, and they might have raised their voices here and there, but there was never any physical violence or harsh words spoken.
Fast forward to 2016. My father is diagnosed with prostate cancer. By late 2017 it had advanced so rapidly, he had a choice of chemo that would make him wish he were dead, or do without until he finally was. He chose to live what was left of his life, chemo free.
He took a turn for the worse in May of 2018, and my mother was left with some tough decisions on what was going to become of her without him. He was her everything. Her knight in shining armor, her hero, her best friend and soulmate and she could not even fathom her life without him in it.
Around June 1st, she caught a nasty urinary tract infection. Instead of treating it, she had a DNR and let the UTI go septic. She lasted about a week, refusing to eat, drink or seek any type of medical attention. She passed away on this morning, June 10, 2018.
I love you mom...miss you.
