The greatest Mother's Day gift was having my son gifted home today. Macy (my Am. Bulldog mix) was euphoric. We had to ensure that she was not meteoric and propelling all 65 lbs as a canine joy missile into my son's abdomen. My joy, while not so raucously demonstrated, was no less great.
We take so much for granted at times about out bodies. In the hospital, we are reminded that our body's ability to handle the simplest of tasks--urine output, BM's, an efficacious cough, keeping food down-- when impaired can imperil our health and if not corrected, take our lives. Sometimes the line between being here and not is but a wisp of thin smoke.
Seeing my father on Friday desperately trying to breath and his obvious distress--ashen face, grimacing mouth, and a body shuddering for each breath--was a reminder of that. I was also reminded of my own Mother's death so many years ago from lung cancer. Your body is so conditioned to breath that it does so for a minute or so reflexively after you die. I learned this the difficult way when I was present during my mother's death. I suppose there are no good ways to really die; and there are a good many bad ways. I'm hoping that there will be a Mercy Maids service--much like Merry Maids--that my family can call when the time comes to dispatch me to the great beyond before my family has to watch my mind and body deal with the ravages dealt by disease. I know many have strong beliefs about that, and I don't say that to provoke offense. But it is my opinion for my circumstance.
I was also reminded of that wispy line by the ominous looking black body bags. I've never seen one before in my life prior to last week. I saw three: one filled and covered by a sheet in a room; one in-transit to a body in the room that I happened to just be walking by as demonstrated by the orderly by pointing to the doorway just there when a nurse asked "who are you here for?"; and one in 'standby' in another room. My first reaction upon seeing the bag was that it was for some sort of hydrotherapy. It literally looks like a blow up mattress--not the sleek body bags on TV.
This past week with my father in the hospital, my son in an auto accident and then stricken with appendicitis, is a reminder that our bodies work until they don't. Perhaps one of the most important things we can do in our lives is to honor our bodies: eat, sleep, exercise (more vigorously than most of us do), relax. They really are our 'vessels' for our lives. Like our computers, cars or refrigerators, when the body ceases to function as it should, we are reminded of how much we depend on it.
I hope that each of you found a way to honor your Mother's on this day.
We take so much for granted at times about out bodies. In the hospital, we are reminded that our body's ability to handle the simplest of tasks--urine output, BM's, an efficacious cough, keeping food down-- when impaired can imperil our health and if not corrected, take our lives. Sometimes the line between being here and not is but a wisp of thin smoke.
Seeing my father on Friday desperately trying to breath and his obvious distress--ashen face, grimacing mouth, and a body shuddering for each breath--was a reminder of that. I was also reminded of my own Mother's death so many years ago from lung cancer. Your body is so conditioned to breath that it does so for a minute or so reflexively after you die. I learned this the difficult way when I was present during my mother's death. I suppose there are no good ways to really die; and there are a good many bad ways. I'm hoping that there will be a Mercy Maids service--much like Merry Maids--that my family can call when the time comes to dispatch me to the great beyond before my family has to watch my mind and body deal with the ravages dealt by disease. I know many have strong beliefs about that, and I don't say that to provoke offense. But it is my opinion for my circumstance.
I was also reminded of that wispy line by the ominous looking black body bags. I've never seen one before in my life prior to last week. I saw three: one filled and covered by a sheet in a room; one in-transit to a body in the room that I happened to just be walking by as demonstrated by the orderly by pointing to the doorway just there when a nurse asked "who are you here for?"; and one in 'standby' in another room. My first reaction upon seeing the bag was that it was for some sort of hydrotherapy. It literally looks like a blow up mattress--not the sleek body bags on TV.
This past week with my father in the hospital, my son in an auto accident and then stricken with appendicitis, is a reminder that our bodies work until they don't. Perhaps one of the most important things we can do in our lives is to honor our bodies: eat, sleep, exercise (more vigorously than most of us do), relax. They really are our 'vessels' for our lives. Like our computers, cars or refrigerators, when the body ceases to function as it should, we are reminded of how much we depend on it.
I hope that each of you found a way to honor your Mother's on this day.
1 comment:
Hmmm...
FWIW, I left a comment yesterday and it didn't publish.
G/S
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