Within a few weeks my Mother turned into a skeleton that I could not save. Worse I am ashamed of my inability to think of one kind act to do for her other than speak praise for my sister’s attending skills. I don’t know where I lost the impetus to continue being my Mother’s companion while she dies. I haunt the house at night trying to think of a book that might comfort her. The last book she was reading was about the Third Reich. It seems a bit morbid for her now. “The 5 People You Meet in Heaven” seems very contrived and unsatisfying.
One hour until the next Morphine drop. This seems too easy. My penance will prey on me until I pay the right toll for losing my parent this way. All the things I should have said. All the things we didn’t get to do. It feels incomplete.