Every now and then, I go back and read my previous blog entries. Sometimes, I don't recognize my own words. Most of the time, the words take me back to the very feelings that I had while writing. A couple have made me laugh. But, overall, I have such a profound feeling of sadness as I read. Especially, the recent posts, I sound so sad and as if I feel hopeless.
Early entries didn't shy away from the deep feelings, no matter how negative. But, they were usually injected with a just a bit of hope. That hope has been missing recently. Both, in my words and in my life. The desperation is so real now. I shame myself each time I wonder when this journey is going to be over, I pray for it to be over. Shame because I am wishing for my mother's life to end. I can't ask how long must she be forced to live like this, she is not living. Instead I must ask how long must she suffer? And, selfishly, how long must we?
But, the biggest shame of all comes from the jealousy I feel when I hear of a victim of this disease finally being given peace. Yes, I am happy that their fight is over and they are whole before their Father. But, I am also jealous that their caregivers are at peace, as well. Through the pain of loss, there has to be some measure of peace. And that is the hope of this entry.