My mother is dying. I've been slowly making my peace with that statement for some time now. After all, the destination for all of us is the same. We all eventually end up as ash and someone's memory. It's no secret to those who know me personally, that my mother and I rarely ever saw eye to eye on things. The few times we did, however, were pretty nice. Unfortunately though, most of the time we were worlds apart in our thinking. I think it would be an injustice to both of us to say it was just due to me being gay. Though that was, of course, definitely a factor. We were in so many ways, polar reflections of each other. So very different... and yet so very much alike. I find myself lately often wondering how different her life, my sister's, and my own would have been if her eyes had just been capable of looking at the world a little gentler.
This morning she was taken to the hospital from her nursing home as "unresponsive". Her breathing is very labored. I'm not sure if I will ever hear her voice again. Probably not. Even after having all the olive branches I ever extended burnt (and burning a few of hers), I will still miss her very much. I honestly hope that she soon finds the peace that so sadly eluded her in this life.