She was diagnosed in 1990. She'd spent nearly 30 years morbidly obese. She loved to cook, and loved to eat, and her choice of foods was tragic. She absolutely would not exercise. After losing 100 pounds on a liquid diet, her heart had not reduced in size like the rest of her, and that's when it was diagnosed. Her Grandmother, also very overweight, also died of the same disease.
Idiopathtic dilated cardiomyopathy means, "you're heart's enlarged, and we don't know why."
It means, "you need a new heart."
It means, "there's a 75% chance you'll die in the next five years."
Watching your mother die is mile 21 of a marathon that won't end. The overwhelming sadness as her life slips away is unbearable. When she slipped into a coma the day after Thanksgiving, her heart was pumping 11% of its normal capacity. She died the following Monday, aged of 61.
First, her heartrate soared up to around 200 bpm, and then it stopped. Just. Stopped.
My father, her husband of 43 years, was so grief-stricken I had to pick him up twice. He actually fell down from grief; he hadn't really thought she'd actually go and die on him. He hung around for a while, until this past Christmas, and then he just got tired of being a
lone.
My father, her husband of 43 years, was so grief-stricken I had to pick him up twice. He actually fell down from grief; he hadn't really thought she'd actually go and die on him. He hung around for a while, until this past Christmas, and then he just got tired of being a
lone.There are those times when I'm extremely resentful that she didn't take care of herself better. That sounds awful, doesn't it? But grief is a very, very selfish emotion.
My mom will never to see her grandchildren graduate from high school. She never got to meet my Sweet Baboo. She never got to see me get my life together, settle down, and become a teacher. She never got to see me become a runner and a triathlete. She was a talented, professional artist, and loved to take pictures from which she would paint.
I'll never see her at a finish line with her Minolta, snapping away, laughin
g at my folly.
g at my folly.It's in her memory that I have decided to make the Jay Bensen Triathlon in Albuquerque my annual mother's day celebration.
In her memory I will not become morbidly obese, I will not leave my children motherless too young; I will not leave my Sweet Baboo grief-sticken, haunted, and struggling to cope with being alone. In her memory I will run, bike, and swim on the second Sunday of May.
I don't mean this to be a somber as it sounds. Take care of yourselves, if not for you, then for your loved ones, and have a Happy Mother's Day.
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