No matter how many times I have been told that there was absolutely nothing that I could have done to prevent the death of my son, Alex, I still conjure a way in my mind that I am completely responsible. I should have looked in on him, I should not have taken a bath before I went to wake him for his appointment, I should have known that he was dying (if I was a good mother, that is), or any number of reasons that it was me who was at fault for his death. The fact is that he was very sick and had spent the majority of his life in unbelievable pain.
I learned today that just weeks before he left this world to be with his father, he told his favorite uncle that life was getting too difficult for him. He said that Alex told him that each day was a struggle, the pain (emotional and physical) was escalating and he felt he could not make it for much longer.
I am able to look back and see that the choices that he had been making in the recent years really weren't for him. No. They were for me. He had asked Manuel and I five years ago if we would allow him to die. What a horrible thing to hear from your sweet 25 year old son. After a few counseling sessions, we were able to go to him and say that we would support whatever decision that he made. Shortly after that he met a woman and fell in love. Now he was willing to do whatever it took to stay alive, for her. She may not realize it to this day, but she gave me a miracle! I had five extra years with my son because of her.
I suppose that what this means is that my guilt is unfounded. He was a sick man who was going that morning of his death to an appointment with a surgeon to confirm and set the date for one more surgery that he did not want. After all, his wife was no longer with him, he was living at home with his mother, unable to work, unable to play his beautiful music, and his mind and body were failing him. I believe that we all have the ability of making a choice about when we die. How many times had I seen it as a nurse? A family member would stay by the side of the dying patient wanting to be there at that time. But, it is the precise moment that they leave to get a cup of coffee or go to the chapel that the loved one takes the opportunity to leave his earthly body. My dear Alex was no different. He knew that he did not want to disappoint me by declining the surgery, but he did not want to go through anymore. It was no coincidence that he died that morning.
I also believe that the process of dying is a very private and personal one. If I had come in at that time to check on him, to remind him of his appointment or to heed a motherly feeling, things may not have gone as they were planned to go.
So, there. With all of the guilt and myriad 'what if's', I was not to blame at all. It was his time.
Now I will wait while this knowledge slowly flows from my head to my very broken heart.
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