Do Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Dylan Thomas, the drunk, was a selfish jerk who had no business telling his fading father to resist the inevitable. Sadly, my Mom is declining rapidly. Two weeks ago at her 93rd, she was overwhelmed and out of it -- toasting "Happy Anniversary" to all there. We had hoped she was just disoriented by the many guests, but alas, it was not to be. I saw her last Wednesday, and although in her own world, greatly enjoyed an ice cream at the MJH gazebo. Today, one week later, I visited, and it was nightmarish. She was in her bed, agitated and in her own world. She appeared unable to find a comfortable position. She had no idea who I was or why I was there. She called out, repeatedly, for her brother Marty. Marty died 12 years ago. I held her hand, and she pulled it away. Every once in awhile, she'd cry out, like in a bad dream. The nurse came in and gave her pain meds. She seemed to swallow them, but ended up spitting them out. I told the nurse -- she was going to try again later. I called her doctor and asked him to prescribe a sedative. He said he would. We all talk about how much better we treat our pets than our relatives, and it's true. Our beloved dog Honey was in distress and ancient -- the vet lovingly gave her some injections, and blissful sleep came. I guess they allow that in Oregon, but no where else in the US. So I pray Mom DOES go gentle into that good night. She's lived 93 good years, and it's unlikely she's going to improve from this point. I'm heading back later this afternoon to sit with her awhile longer. I hope she's more restful -- seeing her thrashing and crying out is truly heartbraking -- even for a cold SOB like me. Dylan Thomas was an asshole...