Hi guys! I normally don’t write about personal topics here, but this situation is affecting me on a somewhat primal level. It’s difficult to contemplate the mortality of one’s parents even hypothetically, and I find myself forced to do not because of the vagaries of time but by the deliberate…
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I can’t remember the details of the phone call I received from my mom last spring but I can vividly remember that she could scarcely breathe. She was so quiet that I closed my eyes as if to shut out any interference. She paused between syllables and I waited, blood pounding in my ears, as she gasped. Weakly. She sounded as though all of her wind had been knocked out, and I felt a corresponding nausea and weakness. I felt horrified at myself for becoming accustomed to her congestion. As though it was just how it was. This is the culture that has been cultivated around us, though. The soothing “everything’s fine, nothing to see here” and it’s power seemingly over life. Again, forced to address an issue, the district sent my mother to a specialist. CAT scans revealed that every sinus cavity in her face was solidly packed with fungal spores.
This is heartbreaking, Alana.
