In between work, taking care of our son and living through the fright of New York City that had turned into a dystopian reality show, we got on calls every couple of hours to get the updates on my mom’s condition. After initially showing signs of recovery, she took a turn for the worse and was put on a ventilator; the glimmer of hope were were given was replaced with a darkness that still resides deep in my heart. I am eternally grateful to the doctors and nurses who made it a point to contact us frequently, pray with us and even call us on Facetime so that we could see my mom as she labored to breathe. In all honesty, this is the first time I reflected to this depth about my mom’s death; I learned a long time ago to pretend that nothing was wrong when disturbing events arrived at my door.
It breaks my heart to write this about her and relive the terrors of seeing my mom as she was transitioning before our eyes. The traumas of seeing my father Fikremariam Million intubated when he was battling lung cancer, the painful memory of seeing him struggle to pull out the tubes and the blue lights that went off in his ICU unit as he coughed up blood shortly before he receded into a sleep he would never wake up from were revived as I witnessed my mom struggle to stay alive. Less than 24 hours later, my mom succumbed as a cytokine storm ravaged her body and took her away from us. We buried my mom on May 15th, 2020; the woman who gave birth to me was lowered into the ground and her presence was replaced with only memories of who she once was...continued...
READ FULL ARTICLE AT: https://ghionjournal.com/revisiting-tra ... ts-spirit/
-
teodroseIII
- Member
- Posts: 1753
- Joined: 01 Aug 2015, 23:26