Few my mother was no giant by

Few things in our lives will ever prepare usemotionally, for the death of a loved one. The sadness,anger, and comfort that fills the heart cannot be imagined. It was within the last five minutes of my mothers life, thatI realized that I was not prepared. As I stood on the sideof the bed and watched her gasp for precious air, myMy first thoughts became those that were filled withsadness. I felt deep sadness and regret, and wondered if mymother ever knew how much I idolized her.

Did I really everreturn the love and care that she gave me? My eyes sawsadness when looking at the lifeless figure of wrinkled skinthat my mother had become. This by no means was the samewoman who used to wrestle with me and my brothers, and beatus all. No way could it be the same strong woman, that usedto play tackle football with me when I was little.

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I remember one time, when I was about 8 or 9 years old,I came into the house crying. My mother asked me what waswrong. I told her that my two older brothers were gangingup on me in tackle football. She asked the usual motherquestions, and when she found out that they had chosen theteams as them against me, I quickly had a new teammate. Shegrabbed my hand smiling and then we marched outside, withher striding like a defensive lineman going up to receiveher most valuable trophy award. As soon as my brothers sawher come around the corner of the house, with my hand inhers, they knew that it was a whole new ballgame. Now my mother was no giant by any means.

She was 51tall and about 140 pounds, but on the first play ofscrimmage, I hiked the ball to my mother and she went aroundthe right end running over both my brothers. Not only didshe run them both over, but then she even taunted them withthe ball. Both my brothers got up holding various body partsand cringing in pain. Though she told them that she didntmean to hurt them, we all knew the truth.

It was only alittle retribution for me, and to let them know that shedidnt approve of their unfair tactics. On the ensuingkickoff, my brother Wes tried to block my mother, it was afoolish attempt. My mother tossed him aside like a hay balebeing thrown in the loft, and then proceeded to make myother brothers body become one with the ground. That wouldbe the last play of the game, as both my brothers startedwhining about how unfair the teams were.

It was just whatshe had wanted to make them understand. As my teammate andI went into the house, I had gained a new appreciation ofher. It was sad to see what used to be a vibrant, dark-haired, attractive woman, turn into a living corpse void ofany coherent thoughts. As I processed these thoughts ofI was mad! Why in the hell did I have to lose mymother, my teammate? Why god, why her? God had chosenthe one person that had been a steady and very influencingfactor in my life to join his band of angels. All mybeliefs, values and ethics were strong willed from the handof mom. I was mad at the fact that my mother was beingconsumed, eaten, by a disease that didnt play fair. Myanger only grew worse when I started to think of the painand suffering that she must be enduring or had endured. Whydoes she have to lie her and struggle to live? Why the hellisnt the brain smart enough to know when to shut of theautonomic response and rest in peace? As my mothers breathing increased even faster, Istarted to feel comfort in the fact that this senseless actof living, even when dead, would soon be over.

I tookcomfort in the fact that this body would soon take itsrightful place beneath the dirt, and also in the fact thatmy dad would be able to start living again. He really wasMy father had watched his wife of 37 years go from astrong-willed woman that could take care of herself in anysituation, to a childlike dependency state. He had watchedover the course of a year, my mother who he


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