I was by my mother’s side as she passed. No one tells you about the noises and sounds, how the way they hold their face changes, how their breath becomes a wheeze, and becomes a really quite unusually loud gasp, so loud and uncomfortable that you’re amazed it doesn’t wake them, and then shallows further and further until it stops. No one tells you how quickly we lose our heat. There are so many tiny yet striking new experiences that you somehow have to fold into your broader lifelong experience of them as a person, as your mother, that it takes time to process. Their death is such a tiny fragment of who they were, time can help contextualise that
It’s shit. It’s really really shit. I’m so sorry.
I was by my mother’s side as she passed. No one tells you about the noises and sounds, how the way they hold their face changes, how their breath becomes a wheeze, and becomes a really quite unusually loud gasp, so loud and uncomfortable that you’re amazed it doesn’t wake them, and then shallows further and further until it stops. No one tells you how quickly we lose our heat. There are so many tiny yet striking new experiences that you somehow have to fold into your broader lifelong experience of them as a person, as your mother, that it takes time to process. Their death is such a tiny fragment of who they were, time can help contextualise that
Until then, it’s shit.
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