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mousmeMy mother just called. My uncle Tony is dying. He's had Multiple Sclerosis for the past forty years or so, and he's been really sick for about ten or fifteen years.
Now he has lung cancer. They can't operate or perform any kind of treatment, because of the MS. The shock would probably kill him outright. It's palliative care from now on, much as it was before, except that there'll be a lot more painkillers.
He's got about six months left.
My mother's going to fly to Connecticut to see him in the elderly people's residence where his wife dumped him a few years ago. She won't be going to see him until Christmas. She says she's too busy to go visit him before then. I don't think I'll ever really plumb the depths of human selfishness.
I haven't seen him in about fifteen years. I'm probably never going to see him again. I don't know him, but he's the last direct family member my mother has. Our line is fading. I'm the last person to carry the name in our branch of the family.
I only ever met him twice in my life, but I spoke with him often on the phone at one time, when he was able to call my mother from Pennsylvania, where he used to live. He called almost every week, but gradually his mind started slipping (as anyone's would if you were kept isolated in your house without even being able to go up your own stairs by yourself —his wife would leave him for days and weeks at a time to go on trips), and his calls became incoherent. Then his wife put him in a home, and he only called a few times after that.
My grandmother's death nearly destroyed my mother. Her family never did anything for her except subject her to the worst kind of emotional abuse, but she loves them. She loves them so much that her heart breaks every time something new crops up. My grandmother's passing broke the last real tie my mother had with the Old Country, since my uncle from the start made every attempt to become as American as possible. But he's her last living direct blood relative.
I'm sad, but sad for my mother. I find it hard to grieve properly for this man I hardly knew. His life has been nothing but sadness and lies and suffering, and I hope that his passing will bring him relief. I'll light a candle to St. Anthony, his patron saint. I think he's still religious.
Now he has lung cancer. They can't operate or perform any kind of treatment, because of the MS. The shock would probably kill him outright. It's palliative care from now on, much as it was before, except that there'll be a lot more painkillers.
He's got about six months left.
My mother's going to fly to Connecticut to see him in the elderly people's residence where his wife dumped him a few years ago. She won't be going to see him until Christmas. She says she's too busy to go visit him before then. I don't think I'll ever really plumb the depths of human selfishness.
I haven't seen him in about fifteen years. I'm probably never going to see him again. I don't know him, but he's the last direct family member my mother has. Our line is fading. I'm the last person to carry the name in our branch of the family.
I only ever met him twice in my life, but I spoke with him often on the phone at one time, when he was able to call my mother from Pennsylvania, where he used to live. He called almost every week, but gradually his mind started slipping (as anyone's would if you were kept isolated in your house without even being able to go up your own stairs by yourself —his wife would leave him for days and weeks at a time to go on trips), and his calls became incoherent. Then his wife put him in a home, and he only called a few times after that.
My grandmother's death nearly destroyed my mother. Her family never did anything for her except subject her to the worst kind of emotional abuse, but she loves them. She loves them so much that her heart breaks every time something new crops up. My grandmother's passing broke the last real tie my mother had with the Old Country, since my uncle from the start made every attempt to become as American as possible. But he's her last living direct blood relative.
I'm sad, but sad for my mother. I find it hard to grieve properly for this man I hardly knew. His life has been nothing but sadness and lies and suffering, and I hope that his passing will bring him relief. I'll light a candle to St. Anthony, his patron saint. I think he's still religious.
