A Little of That

22 Weeks

3/7/15 7:24am EST

I’m having left over chocolate cake for breakfast. Bill Cosby said it was OK but who can believe anything he says anymore? Ren said it was OK.

Playing God. Two days ago I came up with the idea that we await my mother’s immediate fate based on the results of a new EEG. If her failing liver, heart, lungs, kidneys, hemorrhaging GI tract and eyeballs have not killed her they have destroyed her brain and put her in a coma. Julian, Matt, and I know she does not want to be kept alive by machines. She has said if she can’t think, she doesn’t consider herself in existence. That means we have to talk about... this...

The most difficult job in the past few days hasn’t been trying to function, or work, or wrangling doctors, nurses, and wandering opinions, it has been conversations with my mother’s father. I did not grow up knowing him well but in my small world, he is legendary. He is a voice of reason and wisdom. Conversing with him has been profound.

Profound. Everything is profound now. Like everyone said about childbirth, you can’t know how this feels until you’re there—losing a parent. My step-mother said this is losing a part of yourself. I look down at my mother’s hands attached to the ends of my arms. I am a part of her and she, me. We are all a part of each other. The Beatles sang it well.

Profound images will forever rattle around in my head:

Hand pumping breast milk next to my unconscious mother. The sounds of death and machines as I pump my son’s life.

Cocooned inside a crowd around an airport chair, I am lost inside my head, thinking about my mother. I glance up at an, “is that a costume?”, exaggeratingly gowned, orthodox priest. His heavy, golden cross the size of my forearm dangles inches from my eyes.

Sitting on the lid of our bathroom toilet while I listen to a neurologist explain his definition of ‘severe brain damage’. I glance at the floor and watch a lady bug struggle in circles around her broken wing.

Yesterday, in good story fashion, we painstakingly awaited the test results of the new EEG. It took two days to receive the information. The two longest days of my life. We were hoping they would give us a clear picture of the right thing to do. The stuff of movies. Except the movies don’t tell you that the truth about ‘pulling the plug’ is that the person you know and love is still in there. You know she is. She is in there frightened and suffering and trapped in her own hell and without knowing her thoughts, without her even knowing her thoughts, you have to decide if murder is the humane thing to do. I believe ending this torture IS the right thing to do but I didn’t know I would be a part of swinging the axe. It’s easy to have an opinion about our culture’s morality. It is a very different thing to be faced with the reality of it.

I can’t help but think about what Ren would do in a situation like this. I never want Ren to have to go through this. There has to be a better way for our society to deal with… this…


3/12/15 7:44am CST

Elizabeth (known affectionately as "Liz" or "Dale") Dallas Robbins Vela, 68, of Plano, TX died March 8, 2015. [It was tragic and terrifying and will forever haunt her children.] Elizabeth, born in Raleigh, NC, daughter of William Robbins and Winnie Johnson, loving wife of Julian Vela, passed away at the Medical Center of Plano in Texas. [She didn’t speak about her childhood very often. She had a strained relationship with her difficult mother.] She is survived by her father William, husband Julian, daughter Jennifer Skura and son Matthew Vela as well as her brother, Billy Robbins, sister Linda Ariella Robbins, niece Amanda Zoloto, and grandson, Ren Skura. [All of who knew only a precious fraction of her intelligence, strength, and power that suffocated inside her layers of challenges and self-doubt.] Liz worked as a technical writer and her hobbies included reading, photography, collage, gardening, and spending quality time with friends and family. [These are things she used to do mostly before she got sick. Towards the end of her life she enjoyed sitting on her porch, in front of her TV, or looking at pictures of her newborn grandson whom she never met.] She will be greatly missed by many who appreciated her empathetic heart, creative talents, and sharp wit. [Her daughter struggled desperately to make this part of the obituary truthful and succinct. She misses her mother and chokes on her own love and anger.] The family is grateful for any donations given to your preferred charity in honor of Liz. A memorial celebration will be held Friday, March 13th at Gaston Oaks Baptist Church (non-denominational service). [She wasn’t into the mythology of religion. She believed in the power of God as love. Her son was angry the ceremony was in a church. Her daughter was outraged and unprepared for... this... ]


3/13/15 8:58am CST

Mom’s memorial service is today. I wanted to write a eulogy or at least something to say. I wasn't asked to do the eulogy. So I asked to if I could speak because I definitely had something to say. I sat in the bathtub last night with a pen and wet piece of paper struggling to write the truth. I don’t want to speak unless I say the truth. I made a list. I’ll bring it.

The horror of watching my mother die will forever scar my heart. It can't be in vein. This... can't be.


3/14/15 1:58am EST

I spoke the truth about all of... this... while Greg held our son amidst family and friends.

Ren may not have known his Grandmother, but he will know the story about how he went to her funeral because his mother loved her so much.