In Memoriam: Death of a Parent

[Content Note: Today’s post contains mentions of tragic circumstances, specifically the death of a parent, smoking-related illnesses, and also mentions of suicide. If either or all of these are things you need to take into consideration for your own emotional well-being, I strongly encourage you to skip today’s post. No worries if that’s what you need to do! We’ll kick it together again some other time? Deal?

That said, if you decide to move forward with today’s post, and it brings up any difficult feelings for you, I encourage you to reach out to the peeps at the Crisis Text Line, or for you international readers, the IASP has some good resources specific to your local area.]

I had other plans for today’s post, but due to an unforeseen and very tragic turn of events, I’m putting them on ice for the time being. I have some sad news to report: my family member died this morning. One of the on-call nurses came over, and called it.

November 4th, 2021.

8:10 AM, CST.

My family member was my mom, and that’s what I’ll be referring to her as in this blog going forward. My decision to keep things vague was out of respect for her and everyone else in our lives during these past several months, whether good, bad, both, or neither.

I’m so sad to report that her addiction and her demons won out in the end, and she died this morning. She died after a long, hard fight with COPD, and a history with lung cancer. The cancer diagnosis came by happenstance, and we caught it before it spread.

This was 4 years ago.

Her addiction was far bigger than either one of us could’ve ever imagined. My mom was so young. The worst part of all is that it never had to be this way.

The end went quickly, and without pain. That’s the only reason I’m not going through with my original plans to kill myself, and I’ve had them, believe you me.

There were times in these last couple of years where I came super-close to going through with it.

The rest of my mom’s care team arrived at the house after the on-call nurse made the call. The funeral director arrived after we decided to dress her up in her favorite dress she saved only for the holidays.

I remember it as a kid, and always will. It was this bright red dress from the 1980s, and it had pockets on both sides.

We found it like a week after we unpacked from the move, and my mom showed it to her care team when they decided on a change of clothes after her daily bath the day before.

My mom’s care team, the social worker, and I made the calls to some immediate relatives out of state that she was close with for the most part.

My grandma was one of them, and she mentioned that one of my uncles still smokes. It broke my heart to hear that, even in spite of what’s been going on.

Going forward, I hope this is is his catalyst. Juncture. Baseline zero. Zero hour.

Just like I had when I lost over 100 pounds. I knew my weight would kill me the same way smoking killed my mom, and it was one of the driving forces behind why I lost the weight.

I don’t want these tobacco industry horse dicks to ruin my family any more than they already have. I don’t wanna see my uncle’s loved ones end up in this type of life, and I don’t want my uncle to have to suffer even a second of what my mom did in these past couple years.

BTW, to you tobacco industry jack-offs, I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re proud of yourselves, you fuckin’ proxy killers. You’ve just made my mom a statistic in U.S. Fuckin’-A Today. Tell me something, how tf do you people live with yourselves?

“One of many,” my grandma said when she got the call, and the social worker touched on this. My grandma was right: she’s one of many others who will die today, no thanks to the tobacco industry and their deadly, addictive wares.

I saw this day coming as a kid when she had her first of a whole slew of health scares over the years. Every single day, I lived in fear that any day could be her last.

It’s all over now. It’s over. Everything these sorry fuckers put us through no longer matters. My mom’s now above all of it.

Now what? Where do we go from here? I don’t know. I don’t know where I’ll be at, or what the future holds for me.

At the same time, I want kids of my own. Knowing their grandma won’t be here to meet them tears me up inside like crazy.

I have plans to write more about what happened these past few years in an e-book. It’ll more than likely be on Amazon, even though I’m not a fan of them. I’ll explore other avenues to sell it as well later on. My goal is for the book to be a companion piece to the blog, share my mom’s story, and stress the importance of living a healthy lifestyle.

That being said, nobody’s real names will be used, regardless of the role they played in our lives.

If you find this, and you’re in the same boat as me, where your loved one died today of a smoking-related illness, know that I see you. I’m grieving with you, and you matter to me.

My mom deserved so much better than this. So did your loved one.

Readers, if there’s one thing I want you to take away from this, here goes: Make healthy choices. I’ve said it once, and goddammit, I’m gonna say it again. Make healthy choices! Quit smoking, regardless of what it is. Don’t end up like my mom. Don’t end up like me. You deserve better than this, no matter who thinks otherwise.

But for right now, can you join me in a moment of silence? Even if it’s just once, and only for a couple seconds.

Go rest high on that mountain, Mom. You’ll be home with me soon.