Aunt Tudi has been on my mind a lot, more so than usual, these past couple of weeks. I hate it. I want to turn off my brain, but I can’t seem to. It would be okay, if the memories I had were just of the times we spent together, good and bad. The laughter and tears, the fights and the impromptu comedic moments, the times that make up people’s everyday lives.
But they’re not.
The memories are interspersed with the sharp flashes from the days she was on life support to the day she was taken off. I don’t remember it all. I was in a haze. But I remember enough. I have some very vivid memories of those horrible 96 hours.
To remember her failing on every level to learn the Electric Slide from Johnna, then instantly see her lying there with tape over her partially opened eyes, is unbearable. I miss her so much, and I still feel the burden of responsibility for having put her in such a dehumanizing situation in what would be her last days. She would hold my hand when we crossed streets in Asheville, but she didn’t hold my hand back when they took her off life support. She wasn’t there, I know, but the gravity of the moment was very present, and it still is for me.
It’s like it was just yesterday all that happened, even though it’s now going on five years. My brain will not stop with the incessant barrage of pain, and I have no solution to remedy the problem. I just want it all to stop.