27 September 2012
Pulling the Plug
To have the privilege of being born, we all must face the consequence of death. Some take the death of a loved one very poorly, while others take it fairly well. I just so happen to process death in an accepting manner. My mother isn’t so lucky.
“Wake up!” I heard my mother whisper in my ear, “Today is the day.” My eyelids slowly opened only to see a white, lifeless ceiling staring me in the face. “Seriously, Get up!” my mother said in a hateful tone, “I don’t want to go through with this anymore than you do.” I slowly, but surely, dragged myself out of bed, forced myself to put on a decent looking outfit, and grabbed my bag while following my mother to our car. Today was the day my mother’s decision took place. Taking the life of my grandfather. My grandfather had been in the hospital, on a ventilator, with little to no hope of recovery for weeks prior to this day, but my mother still didn’t want to be the one to end it. The relationship between my grandfather and my mother was irreplaceable; they were inseparable from my mother’s birth to now. Because my grandfather had no family besides my mother, she had to be the decision maker in the entire process. My mother is a very indecisive person, and to have such responsibility all in the palm of her hand was a complete burden.
As my mother and I drove to the hospital I studied her face. Her eyes were droopy, the lines in her brow were more visible than usual, and she seemed to have a sense of guilt that filled up the entire car. “Are you ok?” I sympathetically asked her. I got no reply or even a reaction at all for that matter. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. My mother and I have always had a close relationship, but since my grandfather had been put in the hospital it seemed as if she was disgusted by the sight of my face. I understood that the situation was not one she was used to handling, but ignoring and...