I took my leave because there’s nothing left to do. I thought I’d be more upset, saying goodbye for the last time and knowing it was finally, truly the last time. She moaned in agony. I patted her shoulder and left. I mumbled “I love you” on the way out.
I thought
I’ll be glad when she’s dead.
The guilty thoughts—wishing my aunt dead, not paying enough attention to her, not caring enough, thinking her a chore—I take them out of context so that I suffer more. So that I’ll suffer longer. Because she’s dead after all and I’m not. I tell myself that I wished her dead, as if I wished her dead in a vacuum. The context is she was dying. The context is she suffered and I wanted it to end. The context is I was selfish, but most people are. The context is my thoughts and reactions were completely understandable for a caregiver over the long haul. Death sucks, you do what you can.
The context is
she had cancer,
motherfucking, no-cure cancer.
The context is
I wished her dead, yes,
but. the thought. did. not. kill. her.
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
13 comments
Comments feed for this article
March 16, 2010 at 10:18 am
Bryan Borland
Very, very, very strong.
March 16, 2010 at 12:09 pm
jessiecarty
i can’t help but think of the day my mother died, which I don’t usually talk about directly, but the day she was rushed to the hospital i had tried to call her because i selfishly wanted to come spend the weekend with her to get away from my father and step mother.
she didn’t answer the phone.
i assume she was in the ambulance.
in short, i can relate.
March 16, 2010 at 8:48 pm
dusty
that is some really emotional content. I have to think that took some courage to post just these specific thoughts. Cause I am thinking they were not every thought you experienced.
Posting only some of your thoughts such as these could leave the reader thinking poorly about your character. That would be a mistake (on the reader’s part) Cause you clearly have many friends who enjoy your company and like reading your thoughts.
I like reading your thoughts M.L. I have to admit that I don’t like traffic counter straight up lying about how often I come here. 😉
March 17, 2010 at 7:52 am
medicatedlady
Perhaps it’s just what I deserve to be thought of poorly. I thought those thoughts after all, but you’re right, they weren’t the only ones. They are just the ones that haunt me.
March 17, 2010 at 2:37 pm
47whitebuffalo
Thoughts, thoughts that reflect a miserable reality of suffering—death is the ticket to the next ADVENTURE–Journey–Exploration. Death is a reprieve from suffering, from samsara.
You have NOTHING to be guilty about from my perspective. A caregiver deals with what most people work hard to ignore. It’s not easy. It’s not glamorous. Your aunt probably did not enjoy suffering from cancer. She has been RELEASED–and so have you from a hard scenario. May I suggest you honor her journey and yours with her by LIVING fully?
shanti om, ML–let the pain go–there’s way too much of it that folks hold onto because it’s so familiar.
March 17, 2010 at 7:58 pm
medicatedlady
Thank you, 47whiebuffalo, I needed that. It’s very hard for me to let the guilt go.
March 18, 2010 at 5:26 am
lamarj72
“motherfucking, no cure cancer” says it all…
To me, praying, hoping, wishing for a loved one’s suffering to end comes from a place of love more than anything.
Big hug.
March 18, 2010 at 2:43 pm
Pamela Villars
Yes, yes, and yes. Yes to your true feelings, yes to the fact that many feel this way and don’t have the courage to say it, and yes to your work.
March 19, 2010 at 7:15 am
medicatedlady
Jessie–thank you so much for sharing. It’s heartwrenching…and that memory must haunt you.
March 19, 2010 at 7:16 am
medicatedlady
Thank you for that, LaMar. Hugs right back at you.
March 19, 2010 at 7:21 am
medicatedlady
Thanks so much, Pamela.
March 19, 2010 at 9:15 am
jessiecarty
ML – it gets easier over time but I still can’t write a poem about it…
March 19, 2010 at 9:21 am
medicatedlady
And not everything has/needs to be put in a poem. It all depends on the person and situation.