HE’S Back

Elan and Piano

Elan is back too.

Early update! I’ve been traveling and now home so anxious to get back into the EMR groove.

Real LIFE:

  • My printer died, poor guy just was exhausted. Bummer that I can’t wait for the electronic sales, I have to get one for next week’s update. Anyone love their scanner/printer?
  • On a somber note, any words of wisdom when you have a parent dying? I’m thankful I have EMR to keep my mind off of it for large periods of time.
  • Awww he looks so cute and adorable and happy with the piano. ^_^

    *hugs themice* I don’t have any words for you, but if you need a shoulder to cry on or someone to vent on, I am here. *hugs*

  • JesBelle

    When my mom died, it was so sudden, she was gone by the time we got to the hospital. There was nothing left to do but remove the respirator and let them harvest her organs. My dad wanted to know if my sisters and I were okay with that. I told him, “Let’s get whatever good we can of this.” That would be the only wisdom I can offer — If you can’t avoid the bitter, try to suck as much sweet out of it as you can.

    • themice

      I suppose it is all bad – so sudden that you don’t have any chance to say good-bye or having to watch her slowly die in such pain. All bad. :(

      • *hugs*

      • JesBelle

        No, I watched my Gran die of cancer. Slow and painful is much harder for everyone involved. Just know that there are people here who care. {{TheMice}} <– That's how we did hugs back in the day.

        • themice

          Thanks! I’m already going to see a doc tomorrow about my stress symptoms. I used to be so mellow!

  • kuku

    Oh, so sorry to hear. Take care of yourself, take time to get in all the love you can while you can, do what you can to renew yourself. This culture is unlikely to hand you the time you need to get through these things, so you may have to be assertive about carving it out for yourself and those close to you. After I lost my mom I threw myself into staying busy because I was afraid of sinking into depression, but I think it might have just driven the grief underground. A friend of mine has gone to a “grief group” and found it helpful. I think everyone’s different, and everyone’s relationships with parents are different too. It was so hard for me to really accept that my mpm was dying – I wish I’d pushed the rest of my life back a little further to have more time with her right at the end, but I didn’t know it was the end. And after she died I would have dreams that I couldn’t protect her, or that somehow I had neglected to call or visit, and I’d lost touch with her, and how could I have, literally, lost my mother? I don’t say that to scare you, but just that if you go through hard things, you’re not the only one. But also, eventually, I became more able to remember her as she had been years before, not as she was later when confused. And though it is a great loss not to have the one you love here to see and touch and hear from, someone you love dearly is never gone from your heart.

    • themice

      All good to know. I’m going to see if the University here has any grief counseling and I’m not going to search the internet for her disease!

  • kuku

    PS always good to see Elan with a piano!

  • Donald Burch


    I apologize for coming late to this conversation. I can’t know what might help you but I can share how I coped with the loss of my mom and my best friend, Shayne.

    My mom raised five kids alone in the 1950’s-70’s and in a situation where her ex-husband, my father spent 21 years stalking and beating our family. Mom was tough as nails. She wasn’t perfect, she made mistakes with us but she did her best. She worked farm labor all her life. It was hard and thankless. She had no insurance and so her health steadily declined until she could no longer look after herself. I chose to look after her when I was 16 and I continued to do so for 16 more years before she fought a long, lingering battle with lung cancer.

    I took her to doctors. I held her hand. I fought like hell when nurses abused her with neglect and I caught them. I tended her wounds as they took one lung piece by piece and then half of the remainder. After three years she told me that life was “just no fun anymore.” She could no longer look after her flower garden. She could no longer go fishing or take long walks with the dog and cat. For a woman accustomed to a life of strength and independence life became hellish. Still, she fought.

    She told me on her death bed. “Life is a gift given by god and gifts are never given back lightly.” She fought for every second of her life because she believed it was the only way to honor the gift god gave her. I was fortunate. I got the chance to hug her every night. I got a chance to say “I love you” and tell her how much I admired her strength. We talked a lot. I cherish those memories. They give me strength because I still have nightmares. See, at the end Mom lapsed into convulsions and could no longer make decisions for herself. Doctors told me they would fight for her life heroically if I gave the word. I asked what mom could expect if they succeeded and they told me, honestly that she might have a little time but she would only suffer. They could not save or prolong her life with any meaningful hope of success. Knowing this, knowing my mom’s wishes I signed the papers to cease treatment. While in my head I know I did the right thing in my heart I feel as if I killed her. I wake every night wondering if I honored her wishes. I wonder if I did the right thing. I can never really know. I can drive myself crazy with doubt or I can attempt to let it rest. I’m working on the latter. I think about what Mom would want. She would want me to let it rest. That knowledge helps.

    If I have advice for you it is this. Make the most of every second you have. Cherish every second. Say everything you need to say. Most of all don’t dwell on death. That was the lesson of my best friend, Shayne.

    Shayne passed a little over a year ago. He passed suddenly, shockingly, and it stunned us all. To cope I focused on the beauty of his life. The joy I felt in his company. Thankfully we spent a lot of good time together and we enjoyed many long talks. I chose to honor his life and keep his memory alive. I can’t bring him back. I can’t bring Mom back. I can honor them. I can remember them. While they are alive I can love and cherish them. This gives me comfort in their absence. It isn’t perfect but it helps. I only hope these words help you. No matter what, Mice know my heart goes to you. I can’t know your pain. I can only be here for you.