what am I thinking? Mom died this morning.

9:29 PM 1/22/2017

I’m not sure what I’m going to write about yet. Mom died this morning.

I’m going home by way of Green Bank, WV, if I can remember to do that. That is the observatory where they have the radio silent zone. I want to find out what happens to the background noise and voices in my head when I go to a place that has reduced electromagnetic radiation.

I had a ‘looking for Mom’ incident, which I knew would happen – I know myself – that was why I insisted on being with her every single second as she was in the process of dying, holding her hand and putting my other hand on her forehead.

I was angry about our laws and customs. There is no deadly disease, nothing contagious, coming from Mom, that other people will catch if they are exposed to her body. Her body needs to be outdoors, in the light, above ground, decaying in a place where I can see it, where I know exactly where it is, where I can watch the gradual changes happening to it over the weeks and months and years. That way, I will always know exactly where Mom is whenever I start looking for her.

I was walking past Mom’s bedroom when it started. John and his girlfriend are still here – they’re leaving tomorrow – and their bedroom is above Mom’s room. So, when they walked around, I could hear their footsteps creaking the floor and making little noises, which sounded like they were coming from Mom’s bedroom. Dad was sitting in the family room watching TV, so I knew it wasn’t Dad in the bedroom.

I also knew intellectually that it was John in his bedroom up above making the floor creak. But my entire brain doesn’t know that. It’s only a few small parts of my brain that are kind of isolated from the other parts of my brain. There was a big part of my brain that heard the sounds of something moving around in Mom’s room, and I
automatically knew she must be in there.

I had to go in there, walk around, turn the lights on, and look for her and find out that she wasn’t there. I have to show all the other parts of my brain this thing that the intellectual part of my brain already knows. Mom isn’t in the bedroom. It was only John in the room up above creaking the floor as he walked around.

So then I started crying and feeling like I needed to go look for Mom. So I went outside, went over to the barn, and looked for her at the barn. The lights were off at the barn, so I knew she wasn’t there, but I had to go to the barn anyway. Maybe Mom got stuck someplace and she needs my help. Maybe she fell, maybe she got hurt, maybe something happened to her and I have to go help her. She can’t come back and that means I have to go out and find her.

This is the reason why I so firmly insisted that I must watch her every last breath as she was dying. I held her hand, looked into her eyes, looked at her face, watched her breath, felt the coldness of her skin. I know myself and I know that I absolutely have to completely understand that she is dead. If there is even some small doubt saying she might be alive, then I will be relentlessly looking for her and expecting her for the rest of my life, even when she would have been 150 years old. It’s like Elvis. Somebody swears they just saw Elvis walking around somewhere, even though he’d be like a million years old by now. I’d be doing that.

I put my hand on her forehead for a reason. I held my hand on her forehead because I knew she was trapped inside her body and couldn’t get out. It’s like being unable to wake up. I’ve had sleep apnea that was very severe a few times in my life, and couldn’t wake up from the nightmare, and wasn’t breathing, and I finally woke up and rolled off the side of the bed and blacked out again, still unable to wake up – something was very wrong. Whatever Mom was going through, it was going to be exactly like that. It’s like the dream where you can’t wake up, you can’t breathe, you can’t understand what’s happening, you keep trying to wake up, you keep trying to get out of the dream only to find you are trapped inside another dream.

I didn’t want Mom to have negative emotions while this was going on. I watched her facial expression. There was a moment during the process when I seemed to see a look of sadness around her eyes. Oh no – she was failing. She was giving up. She wasn’t able to do what she was trying to do. She went dormant, hoping there would be some help coming to save her, hoping she would reawaken, if only she got what she needed (and what she needed was food and water, and air, and blood flow – I will be ranting angrily about this, probably soon). I saw this look of sadness around the edges of her eyes, and I didn’t want her to feel that sadness.

So I started EFT tapping her face and hands and chest. It wasn’t really tapping, just gentle touching and pressing and massaging lightly. I touched the EFT points and I gently massaged her eyes and eyebrows to make the look of sadness go away. It did. It changed into a look of peace, a blank look without any painful emotions on it. There was no pain.

I thought of baby bottles, and I realized it was absolutely
appropriate for a sick, dying person who cannot eat to drink from a baby bottle, a nipple, to make it easier to swallow fluids. I think it would make it easier, as long as they weren’t humiliated by drinking from a baby bottle. If I had been able to get her a bottle of water, she would be okay.

I did actually try to get her some water at first. She woke up from a nap because the phone rang – Myron Williams (I will always remember his name associated with the phone call – we have a phone that reads the name of the caller, so that’s how I knew – we didn’t actually answer it and talk to him). She woke up, and Patrick was there nearby, and she got up to go to the bathroom – he helped her. She was able to walk and use the toilet with his help. Then afterwards, when we were getting ready to put her back in bed, she knelt down on the floor. She was breathing with fluid in her lungs. She began to move from one position to another, on the floor, the way she did when she was in pain and trying to get comfortable. She would kneel, lie down in one direction, roll over to another direction, and breathing like she was panicking.

Patrick took her blood pressure with the electric blood pressure cuff. It’s the one that automatically inflates, then slowly deflates, and the numbers gradually appear. It deflated, going down, down, down, down, down, all the way to zero, with no blood pressure and no pulse appearing at all. So he took it off.

He gave her a pain pill, and she was able to put it in her mouth – this must have been earlier on when she first got off the toilet. She couldn’t swallow it without much water, and he gave her ice chips. I didn’t want her to have ice chips, I wanted her to drink water. I tried to give some to her, but he told me not to because he said she would aspirate it, so I didn’t push. He said she wouldn’t be able to swallow.

As she was rolling around on the floor, I saw that the water from the ice chip had come back out the side of her mouth. She hadn’t swallowed the tiny bit of liquid, or the crushed pill.

Patrick got her back up onto the bed. Dad and John were coming back from taking a walk. I ran and got them and made them come in here. So we were all there – except Donald and Karen, who left yesterday. Dad, me, Patrick, John, and Kaitlyn. I held her hand while she was lying in bed, and I held my other hand against her forehead and sensed her emotions and sensations as she was trapped inside, unable to escape, unable to move, unable to blink her eyes, breathing fewer and fewer breaths, with her eyes still open.

At some point I said, ‘Mom, I’m going to close your eyes now, because they’re going to dry out, and you haven’t blinked for a really long time.’ So I closed them and they stayed close. I kept on holding her hand and sometimes talking to her quietly and pressing on various parts of her face and body to feel the remaining warmth as she got colder. I knew she was still alive inside. There were live cells cut off from blood flow and oxygen. There was also the disease, alive in her abdomen. There were her intestinal bacteria, surely still alive. I knew there was still lots and lots of life in her. I stayed with her as the last bits of warmth left her body. She was still not completely cold, but mostly, when I finally got up because some nurses and other people were going to come over and take her away.

Patrick made me leave the room while he cleaned her up. He did a good job. For instance, she had a little bit of dried blood barely visible at her nostril, and he cleaned that off. He cleaned the uneaten crushed pill out of her mouth. He brushed and braided her hair and placed her with her hands folded over her chest and somehow got her hands to stay there, and he put the two stuffed animals that Laura gave us under each arm. Then he sprayed some kind of perfume and he lit a candle because he said this place smelled like sick people.

I liked the candle and decided that I should always light a candle if somebody is dying or dead, from now on, if I can remember to do that.

When the people came over, and after they talked to us and examined her, there was a moment when they were going to come into the bedroom and take her body off the bed. I had already been talking quietly to her a few times during all of this, saying little things to her, and so I warned her, ‘Okay, Mom, some people are coming in and they’re going to move you around and lift you up off the bed. So be ready for that. They’re coming in right now.’ I tried to watch, but once again, Patrick made me leave the room.

But I watched from the hallway as they wheeled her out. She had a blanket over her face. They strapped her onto the cart and buckled her down so she wouldn’t roll off. As they were going out the door, just before the left, I pulled the blanket off her face, whispered, ‘Goodbye Mom, thank you so much, I love you,’ and then I put the blanket back down.

I’m not ready to angrily rant at this particular moment about her non-holistic treatment and how if only she had been given holistic treatments and alternative treatments from early on, and was helped with ‘complementary medicine,’ like, for instance, an IV to give her fluids if she wasn’t able to drink, during the pawpaw chemotherapy, to shrink her tumors, just to keep her alive during the period when the tumors were still there, when the treatment had only begun – if I had done it my way.

I understand exactly and I agree about not giving her chemotherapy. I didn’t want to do that either, but I also do not believe it is necessary because I believe in alternatives. I agree with Dad and Mom in their decision to avoid doing chemo-radiation-surgery. That part was great. However the rest of it was terrible – they assumed that if you don’t do cut-poison-burn, there is simply nothing at all that you can do except let her die as quickly as possible.

For the last couple days she didn’t eat or drink, not even milkshakes, and barely any water, and so I am going to say that the cause of death WAS NOT CANCER, but rather dehydration. It was also starvation but she could have starved just a little bit longer – dehydration kills you faster than starvation. My mom was killed by dehydration, I believe. That was the immediate cause of death. Dehydration, probably combined with lack of electrolytes in her blood. I do not like to just lump it all under ‘cancer’ when actually, her death was caused by lack of holistic treatment (nutrition, detox, decon, avoidance of drugs, etc), refusal to try alternative medicine, assumption of inevitability of death, overdrugging, and of course dehydration.

And these things are also not merely called ‘complications of cancer.’ They are the direct result of HOW THIS WAS HANDLED. Those are not complications from cancer – it wasn’t the cancer’s fault that this was handled so badly. Cancer would have been greatly disempowered. Cancer is not so strong. No, these complications were the result of human activity, not cancer.

Like I said up above, I often have different parts of my brain that believe different things which might conflict with each other. I know that this evil, the way this whole event was handled, is not the fault of any of the particular people involved in it. It’s an abstract, general thing that exists throughout all of society – ignorance, custom, and other motivations – things maybe I don’t have a word to express.

But another part of my brain is going to be angry at my dad for not even considering any alternative or holistic medicine, and also angry at Mom for the same reason. It wasn’t all Dad – it could have been Mom just as much, looking for something to save herself, although by that time she was in so much pain she couldn’t think anymore, so I couldn’t expect her to do internet research anymore. I won’t really ever be able to reconcile these two perspectives completely – Dad’s Fault, Not Dad’s Fault, Everybody’s Fault, Nobody’s Fault.

I was lying here, on this couch in the den, thinking, I don’t want to go back to State College and get swallowed up in the hopelessness again. I actually feel pretty good here. The background noise is less, in this location. I will go through Green Bank, WV, on my way home, if I can remember. I want to find out how it feels.

But I have failed at all of life, because I have been swallowed up by hopelessness. Getting out of that rut, by going to another location, just being here, it makes me feel better. I’m not allowed to stay in this house long term, Dad said. And I don’t necessarily want to live here either.

But I don’t want to go back to the darkness, the evil darkness, the immobility, the stuckness, the jail that I live in. I don’t want to go immerse myself into the darkness and the hopelessness again. I need to gather my belongings which are in the tent, and I won’t leave that up there, as there are things I need in there. But if I enter that town, the doors will shut behind me. Then I’ll be like, ‘Oh, I have to get a job again and save up some money,’ which will lead to additional years of slavery. I can’t make enough money to even save a couple hundred bucks, which is the reason why I couldn’t rent a car a couple months ago and visit Mom while she was still relatively healthy, which I desperately wanted to do, all year long in 2016. I could not even save $200 without it being destroyed.

There is a real evil in that town. It is darkness. The doors lock you in. I cannot point to the doors and show you where they are. I cannot point to this darkness and show you where it is.

Oh, I was thinking of Mom now. When we talked on the phone and she was upset and worried about me, she would sometimes say, ‘I know your demons won’t let you do such-and-such, but please try.’ Try to get an apartment, try to get a job, and so on. She would refer to my demons, because she understood that these demons were a real thing that needed to be talked about, and they needed to be called something, and the word for them was demons.

So I was here in bed realizing that now that Mom is there on the other side, she can see the demons around me. They must be terrifying to look at. I wondered if she could look at me and tell me what my demons look like. Are they scary? Do they look like horrible disgusting monsters? Are they like in the horror movies? She can see them, from where she is now.

There will never again be a reality check from her. Whenever you fantasize about a person, when you imagine talking to them, when you imagine how they would feel, how they would react, what they would say and do, it becomes unrealistic in your mind. I will never again be able to talk to the real Mom and find out how she would really react. From now on, she’s an invisible fantasy Mom who reacts in ways that my limited brain is able to imagine. I can’t really imagine or predict all the nuances of how the real Mom would have behaved, the real words she would have said.

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