Entry One Hundred Fifty-Six.
Monday, 2012.07.30, 11:59 PM CST.
Five years since one of my darkest days.  RIP, Mom.
Current Mood:  Nostalgic and notably sad.
Current Scent:  Ice*Men by Thierry Mugler.

Tonight, we've got a pretty full moon.  It's not 100% full, but it's getting really close.

Five years ago this evening, we had an extremely full moon too.  That was the night my mother died.

She'd been stuck in the ICU of Southcrest Hospital for twelve days, with her lungs failing.  Although we had some optimistic days, in the end, we knew she wasn't going to make it.

On July 29th, 2007, my mom made the decision to allow the hospital staff to introduce morphine into her nebulizer.  There was a tiny, tiny remote chance that it would help her - and maybe even save her.

However, everyone involved, including my mom, knew that the most likely effect of the morphine would be that she would become much less lucid and unable to hold a conversation... and that within two weeks or so, it would most likely cause her respiratory drive to shut down, and she would die.

She had told me point blank, "I want to die."  She was tired.  Even though she could hold a conversation, she was unable to rest, and she knew that she was only being kept alive by a breathing machine.  The medications in her system had caused her skin to thin considerably, and unfortunately the swelling caused by fluid retention caused parts of her - like her forearms - to crack like a dry desert and seep.  Plus, she was being subjected to painful tests regularly - especially blood gases tests, which (I can say from personal experience) are excruciating.

So, on that night of July 29th, she and I shared some time together in her hospital room, talking about the relatives and old friends she would likely be seeing after she passed over.  We watched the sun set through her hospital window... and we both knew we wouldn't ever watch a sunset together again.

The next morning, the staff introduced the morphine around 10:00 AM.  Luckily, Mom didn't hang on for weeks; she died that same evening, at 6:48 PM.

Mom was instrumental in my early days as a DJ, and I think it's quite fair to say that without her love, support (moral and financial) and encouragement... I would never have become a DJ.  Without her involvement in my life, I would have been a completely different person.  She encouraged me to be who I wanted to be and do what I wanted to do.  She gave me her sarcasm and was partially responsible for my sick sense of humour.  She meant a lot to me, and I think about her every day.  I sure miss her.

Wherever her spirit/soul/whatever happens to be...  I hope God's treating her well.  There's no question in my mind that she deserves it.

Whatever happens, I'll never forget those last three things that she told me, during our last conversation on the morning of July 30th:  "It'll all be okay. I won't hurt no more.  I sure love you all."

More soon,