A tough night

Tonight I found myself getting ready to lie in bed when, out of the blue, I started thinking about the last time I actually spoke with my mother. It was a Saturday at around 8pm on June 2, 2007. I was in Sacramento to celebrate her birthday (on June 7th) and a friends birthday that June 2nd. My friend had taken me to see my mom earlier that day, but no one answered the door when I knocked on it and no one was answering their phones. So, we went back to his place and I helped them prepare for the party that evening. The party kicked off at about 6pm and before any of us realized it, we had all had a bit too much to drink. Lots of good times that night. Then, I received a call from my Aunt (my mom was staying with her...her sister, of course).
Now, I knew that my mother had suffered a slight stroke recently, but no one warned me that she was unable to speak clearly. My Aunt gave my mom the phone and the next thing I knew, my heart was breaking. I was listening to my mom and she sounded absolutely... I don't even know how best to describe this without offending someone on the planet. If I hadn't recognized my mom's voice, I... Folks, to be horribly blunt, it sounded as though someone had given a mentally challenged person some LSD and cocaine and got them super drunk and had them call me. I could barely make out anything my mom was saying, but I could tell she was desperately trying to communicate with me. I could hear it in the desperation in her voice that she wanted so badly to express herself as clearly as possible, but she was no longer able to do so. I had no idea that my mom was suffering this much. It may seem selfish, but I was devastated. I could not make out a single thing my mom was saying, but I could hear the pain in her voice and so I did my best to pretend I understood what she was saying.
I'm a shit liar, by the way. I am quite sure my mom knew that I was struggling almost as much as she was.
Time for a quick history about my mom. My mother found out that she was HIV+ in 1993. How she got infected is not for me to share. At this time, my father and her had already divorced, so she was on her own. Very literally. Over the course of the next 15 years, my mother drank a lot, experimented with various drugs (things I had never heard of) and there were two instances where she was in the hospital and we (her family) thought we were going to lose her. Fast forward to the end of April 2007. That was when my Aunt had called me to let me know that my mothers liver had failed and her doctors were saying it was only a matter of time before my mom's body shut down completely. Knowing that I was going to lose my mom, I made sure to travel from Eugene, Oregon (where I was living at that time), to Sacramento in order to spend her birthday with her. I was unaware of just how badly my mom was doing until the night of the phone call.
I wanted so badly to drive over to see her, but, as I mentioned, I was at my friend's birthday party and I, along with everyone else, had already had too much to drink. It would seem that partying cost me from ever seeing my mother well again.
The following day (Sunday), my friend drove me over to my aunt's apartment again and I sat outside the door for nearly 2 1/2 hours knocking on the door and sitting on the front steps hoping someone was home or would come home. Nothing.
At this point, I was frustrated as hell because I had been calling and calling both my aunts and my moms phone numbers and no one was answering/responding with the exception of the one phone call that Saturday night during the party. I had called other relatives to find out if anyone knew of any other way to reach my aunt and/or my mom, to no avail. My grandmother (my mom's mom) said I should contact the police if no one answered the apartment door considering the condition my mother was in.
Sadly, that is what I had to do. I was banging on the door and the kitchen window of my aunt's apartment hoping that someone would answer the door. After waiting an hour, I called the police and let them know that I was worried for my mom's safety.
Racing through my mind was the awkward attempt at a conversation that I had had with my mom just two days prior. When the police arrived, I explained my mothers health condition and that I was getting worried because I had been over to this apartment for 3 days in a row and no one was answering the door, but I knew my mom was living there. The police knocked on the door, as well, with no response. After about 20 minutes they started searching for the property manager. Upon discovering the property manager was off-site (and on vacation, I believe), they decided they would risk breaking the door down. So, after having been there for nearly two hours, the police shouted that they were going to break the door down (in case someone inside had been asleep or something) and lo and behold, my aunt suddenly opens the door and asks "what is going on?"
I was so furious. I was pissed off. Folks, this is my favorite aunt I'm talking about, too. I had NO IDEA what her excuse was for not answering the door for nearly 2 hours. I still do not. But the police officers said I was not allowed to go up the stairs (her apartment was on the 2nd level of the building) until they went inside to check that everything was okay. Within 2 minutes, I heard sirens. An ambulance showed up and two fella's ran up the stairs with a stretcher. I tried to make my way up the stairs, but the police officer that was with me prevented me from doing so. Next thing I know, my mother is being brought down the stairs on the stretcher and when I was able to see her face, she looked incredibly gaunt. I do not remember if I said anything or not, but I do remember looking up the stairs and seeing my aunt and feeling a bundle of emotions I never thought it possible to feel towards someone in my family. The lack of communication I had experienced over the course of the 3 days leading to that moment...the only exception being the random phone call I got on Saturday night that lasted no more than 10 minutes and, considering that my mom was essentially speaking gibberish... I never want to feel that kind of hatred and loathing of a person ever again. I still love my aunt, folks. I do. But, at that moment, she disgusted me on so many levels. Her behavior was, and still is, inexcusable. I may never know why no one answered the door. I may never know if they had even been home the other times I had come over. I have no idea. What I do know...is I was never able to see my mother coherent and aware again.

For the next two weeks, I found myself in a position that I was completely unprepared for. She was in the hospital until Thursday, June 7th. Her birthday. That is the day that the doctors told us (my sister flew in from Houston, and my grandmother and 2 uncles came down from Oregon) that there was nothing to be done and that we had to make a decision. My sister had "power of attorney" and was the one that was supposed to take care of everything. We both had to make the decision, essentially, to have the doctors take out the feeding tube and take her off of oxygen and....we had to admit her to a nursing home until, well, until she died. On her birthday.
For the next week and a half, I did my best to be by her side to just spend time with her in the hopes that she would be aware enough to know that I was there. My sister had to return to Houston, so I ended up being the responsible party for my mom. What was supposed to be a 5-day trip turned into a little over two weeks.
I was working a minimum wage, part-time job as it was, so I ran out of funds very quickly. Sadly, on Saturday, June 16th, I had to return to Eugene to go back to work so I could make some money. I hated leaving my mom. Hated it. Something inside me told me I would never see her again. When I returned home, I called up my boss and asked if I could be put on the schedule. She said she'd be happy to have me come in on Wednesday, June 20th. That Wednesday morning I woke up to find several messages on my cell phone. My mother had died.

The whole time I was in Sacramento and was by her side...my mom never recognized me. She had no idea that I was there. The last time she was able to acknowledge me was that Saturday night on the phone.

I'm not sure why I can't stop thinking about this tonight.
I guess it's because that was the last time I saw my sister, too. And, as crappy as this is, it looks as though I'll be lucky to still have my sister in my life passed this year. She's going through both radiation and chemotherapy treatments for a couple of forms of cancer. She also has Lupus. I hope I get to make it down to Texas to see her before she dies. I hope she doesn't die, of course. But things aren't looking so great.

So far, I seem to be doing rather well health-wise. I just wish I could say the same about my sister.
And I miss my mom so damn much. She and I were friends, folks. Actual friends. I wish I could have taken the HIV away from her and had it myself so that she didn't have to suffer so badly. It was painful to watch my mom during those two weeks. She could barely eat or drink anything. She couldn't move herself. She was a complete invalid and she was so gaunt. I wish there was some way I could have helped her.

I wish I could stop crying.