Sleepless... for a reason (WARNING: not for the faint of heart)

I know exactly why I am not sleeping... It's because of what I see every time I close my eyes to go to bed at night...

I see my mother in a hospital bed in ICU--one eye taped shut, shriveled up to a skeleton of a person. I fall into my dad's arms just sobbing in disbelief; how could she have gotten this bad so fast...? She can't talk, eat, or even really move. She's not there... she doesn't know I'm there. I remember standing around her bed with my sisters singing some of our favorites of "her" songs all night long. I remember showing the nurses pictures of my mom on my wedding day and they couldn't believe she was the same person. I remember trying to talk to her when no one else was in the room, hoping for some kind of tv moment when she'd squeeze my hand, and I'd know she really heard me; that never happened. I remember the nurses changing the sign on her door to one that said "life transition" or something like that... basically alerting the staff of her "condition" which was dying... any day, any hour, any minute... I remember when the nurse stopped coming to empty her catheter bag because her kidneys had failed and there was no more urine to collect; the little fluid in the bottom of the bag turned to a kind of burnt orange color. I remember her fingers turning blue and the nurse rolling up wash clothes to put in her hands so that they wouldn't go totally stiff, her hands were ice-cold. I remember thinking over and over again: "this is not my life... this is not my mom..." I remember my dad playing her album over and over again... hearing her voice as she laid there dying made it feel like maybe, just maybe, part of her was still there... I remember trying to make as many jokes as possible, in hopes that I wouldn't cry in front of anyone. Didn't want to be a burden, didn't want to be weak, and frankly, didn't want to talk about my "feelings" or answer any deep questions. I could find my way around that hospital in the dark, blindfolded and with my hands tied behind my back. I remember watching the clock for days, checking to see how long of a pause there was between each of her breaths (the nurses explained to us that her breathing would slow gradually until it just stopped, and soon after her heart would stop). I remember the loud rattling sound that came from her lungs every time she took a breath as they filled with fluid... I remember the moment she took her last breath... waiting for the next to come (still timing)... but it never did. I remember the nurse coming in and calling the "time of death"... it was just before midnight on July 1, 2009... I remember the look on my Dad's face when he realized it was all over; she was gone. I have never seen that look before-- on anyone. And then when everyone cleared the room... I was busily picking up-- snacks, trash, cups, cans, bedding from the cots in the room, her belongings, etc., while my Dad was telling me to stop... I remember him finally covering her with a sheet when he couldn't bare to look at her empty body anymore... And then the nurse asking if we wanted to wait until the funeral home came to "take the body"...

SO... there you have it. That's why I can't sleep-- My mom dies every time I close my eyes, and there's still nothing I can do about it. I wish I could just talk to her one more time. Or see her in heaven, with a smile on her face, and healthy... My brain doesn't generally go back to the positive images of when she was well and happy... why is that?!... So off I go, to relive it again and again... luckily Juan is a heavy sleeper and never wakes up as I cry myself to sleep most nights... and then, just as I finally drift off, the baby cries and we rewind the tape...

So those of you that are sweet enough to try to make me feel better about Mother's Day... this is why, right now, I just can't. Maybe some day. But not this year. And trying to focus on the fact that I'm now the mother just makes it even more difficult. I never have to buy another Mother's Day card. Ever.