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Mom went first. Emphysema. For her, the inhaler was her life line. The miracle tool that allowed her to exhale. Inhaling wasn't a problem, it was the exhale that she couldn't do. It was kinda funny needing the inhaler to exhale - until it wasn't funny anymore.

Dad went next. There was no bottle of pills to save him, rather it was the 'bottle' that killed him. His total addiction to alcohol made his heart just finally give out.

My brother Jim followed with cancer. He had consumed many many chemicals to try to save him, but in the end only the morphine really mattered, the one thing that would at least take the edge off of the excruciating pain.

And finally, my brother Bob. Diabetic and on dialysis for years - he finally had had enough and used his life saving insulin to end his life. Injecting two full syringes worth into his arms. It took him 2 days to finally die.

And that's it, with Bob's death it meant the end of my entire immediate family (except for my son, and thank God for him). Without him I don't think I could survive the intense sorrow and loneliness.

Don't get me wrong, I know I have people in my life that love me. It's hard though to have lost everyone that has known you for your entire life. Grew up with you, raised you, saw you through scraped knees, crashed cars, and failed marriages.

I miss being able to talk to someone who was there when I was playing piano, aged 7, at Aunt Ruth's, and then again when I graduated college, and then again when I started menopause. The shared history is lost.

This sounds so very selfish, when I think about it. Here I am feeling sorry for myself when they are are the ones that died. "It's all about me".

Well, who the hell else is left for it to be about though, and where's my pill for that????
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  1. brothern's Avatar
    That's not at all selfish. Why would it be? I know that I would be upset to know that those I left behind were spending their time missing me. I'm certain your family would feel the same.


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