My mental circus, inside and out.

Maud Gone

Maud is gone.  For the past few weeks she had fallen ever deeper into sleep.  We will never know what she dreamed, for even when she could speak,  she was ever the cypher.  But I believe that once she was blind, she felt no reason to go on living. My son and I made the trip down over icy roads, listening to a radio interview with Ray Kurzweil who expounded on the tragedy of disease and death, the promise of immortality, and the need to take 200 supplements a day.  His are the days of miracles and wonders and the Great Singularity.  "If we just make it fifteen more years in relatively good shape," he said, " we'll be able to reverse aging."  At the Big House, as we have always called it,  everyone was arriving.  My father had come to say goodbye and left quickly.  Dave's partner, Roy, thanked Maud for her son, now also gone.  He left quickly  too. And then we just waited, the five remaining children, a scattering of inlaws and grandchildren and health aides, sitting around the hospital bed, measuring a different kind of progress, the number of breaths per minute Maud was taking.  The last grandson she would ever know took toddling steps around the bed, waved to his grandmother and smiled.  30-50 shallow breaths, then, after several hours, 10-12 breaths, then, very quickly, a strange breathing with swollen tongue, slower, slower, the court house clock across the street banged 6:00pm and Maud drew a last, soft breath. 

Posted by: EmmaPele at November 24, 2005 20:23 | link | comments (1)

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#1  24 November 2005 - 21:52

 

I am sorry for your loss. You write it well. I was with my grandmother when she died, and it was a similar experience.

InMyLife

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