During her stint as a palliative care pediatrician, Sherry Scott believed "healthy grieving" was directly attributed to how well the physical, emotional, and spiritual needs of the patient and family were met while undergoing end-of-life care. "The idea of a good bereavement blew up in my face after the death of my mom, because the year that followed revealed just how quirky and misunderstood grieving could be. I discovered it to be uniquely personal, particularly when, for fear of being labeled crazy, I couldn't voice to those closest to me my burning desire to return to adolescence." The journey from one October to another is a moving picture of the author's clumsy attempts to interact with world around her while entertaining thoughts of fantasy and escape. The underlying narrative of the twists and turns on the way to healing is layered with humorous remembrances from childhood up through motherhood, middle age, and career transition. The process of grieving is revealed to be more than just surviving the day-to-day grind; it often holds the key to reclaiming parts of ourselves left behind as we slowly emerge from the darkness and remember who we reall.y are.
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|Title of eBook: The Year My Mother Died|
|Release Date: 02-08-2012|
|Publisher: (Indie Author)|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||The Year My Mother...|
|Devices||Samsung Tablet, Apple Ipad & Iphone, Barnes & Noble Nook, Kobo eReader, Aluratek Libre, Iliad, Nokia, Blackberry, Hanlin|
|Note||ePub, short for electronic publication is one of our favorites and should be yours for a couple of reasons. ePub offers reflowable text giving you flexibility to manipulate how the content is presented. Moreover, lots of cool features are now being developed for the reader like advanced video and audio. ePub is now an industry standard, so all of the "non-propreitary" hardware manufacturers are now supporting it.|
The Year My Mother Died
I didn’t think October would be the last time I would see her. I remember watching her slowly walk back up the walk in her bare feet after retrieving the evening paper. She wore a long white, sleeveless cotton gown over her blue jeans. Her new tomboyish haircut accentuated those voluminous brown eyes, somewhat glossed over and shaded by her drooping eyelids due to the medication she was taking. After having known her for so long, I was still struck anew by how beautiful she looked. My friend Gail had fought an off-and-on battle with Hodgkin’s lymphoma for the past thirteen years, and on this particular mild late September afternoon, I thought she had a lot more time. I thought we had a lot more time. I thought her decline would be gradual, allowing time for drawn-out goodbyes, nighttime vigils, and a wearing down of the body, mind, and soul to the point of one agonizing last breath; after all, it was what she had always feared. But in typical Gail-like fashion she decided to forego all the wasting away and bedside drama and slip quietly away one October afternoon in the same room she had slept in as a teenager....