Believing the lie: I killed my parents

It came like a thief in the night. I was completely unprepared. Thoughts that left me gasping for breath. Debilitating, gut wrenching, agonizing thoughts. From the pits of hell, into my mind. I killed my parents.

And I believed it. Twice. Both times. After each parent passed away, I struggled with the same notion. I was responsible for their deaths.

I want to be transparent and vulnerable, really vulnerable, in the great hope that my story can help others who may have walked, are walking, or could walk a similar journey. I am going to do a post on my Mom and then one on my Dad. And then a third post on how you can take control of your thoughts and how God can use all the ugly for good. These are really difficult for me to write as I have to relive hard memories but my prayer is that God uses my pain for your good and His glory.

My Mom passed away May 31, 2013 from bile duct cancer. A few weeks before she passed away, she became much weaker as she could not hold any food down. She was so hungry and she knew it would come right back up but she wanted to enjoy, savor every bite. And she wanted to feel normal. She would wake up and drink her coffee every morning. She would only have a few minutes before it pushed back up and exited her body. I would get so frustrated with her because she knew she would vomit every.single.time. It was hard to watch but mercy, far harder for her to endure. But my Mom knew she was dying. And she just wanted to live.

The lack of food left her weak and unsteady. She could not walk without holding on to something because she did not have much strength. She weighed 85 pounds and her fragile body barely held up her frame. And her pain was becoming more severe so that was taking a toll on her body. But my Mom was stubborn. She did not want anyone to think she was weak or that she was losing her independence. During the day, we would keep an eye on her to make sure she did not fall. This became more prevalent in her last weeks. I would stay awake all night to keep an eye on her as she slept on an air mattress in the living room. I laid on the couch beside her. She refused a hospital bed because she, again, just wanted to feel normal. And her and my Dad’s bed was too high for her to get up or down.

A little over a week before she died, she began to have cold/sinus issues. She asked me to give her some medicine from the cabinet. I believe it was cough syrup. I gave it to her. I had no idea that it could cause her to become dizzy or weaker than she already was. The next morning before 6am, I woke up to her moaning. I had accidently fallen asleep. I remember the battle to keep my eyes open. Within minutes, my Mom and gotten off of the mattress, and tried to walk to her bedroom. I am assuming it was to go to the restroom. She did not make it. She fell face first onto hard tile floor. As I turned towards her, all I saw was blood. Her frail face desperate for someone to hear her, for someone to help her. It was worse than heartbreaking. In that moment, I felt extreme guilt that paralyzed me. I screamed for my Aunt. And inside, I screamed at myself. I killed my Mom! In an instant, every butchering thought that could go through my mind, camped out there. I should not have given her medicine. I should not have fallen asleep. I should have heard her get up. It’s my fault!

We took her to the hospital where they bandaged her head. The doctors said it was a flesh wound and because of her constant state, she bled really easily. The ER doctor did not want to do a head scan because he said, “She is going to die regardless. There is no point.” Deep down, I knew he was right but she was my Mom and she deserved the best care even if she was going to die regardless. If she had a concussion or fracture, she should still receive treatment so she did not have to suffer. They reluctantly did a scan which showed everything was normal. I was relieved that I did not cause her more pain.

When we arrived home from the hospital, I told her she could be mad at me all she wanted but I was not leaving her side. If she moved a muscle, I was right there. At night, I would box her in so she could not get off the air mattress. I became a parent to my parent.

A few days later, her pain became much worse. The cancer was devouring her body. But it did not affect her spirit. She had so much life and goodness, she wanted to live. Hospice came by and I asked if she could be given more morphine. The hospice nurse explained that the increased dosage was the most she would be able to receive outside of the hospital. My mom wanted to die at home so the hospital was not an option. I agreed to the increase so she could get relief. It was what my Mom wanted.

Friends, let me tell you now, I did not understand morphine. I knew it helped with pain. That is all I knew. I had no idea that a day later, my Mom would begin to rapidly decline to the point that she could no longer walk, move, close her eyes or her mouth. Her pain might have been eased but she was now in a coma like state. I did not have time to even process or accept what was happening. She could no longer talk. She could moan. I felt so helpless. She could not have water because her muscles did not work as well. She could not swallow. I cried on the phone with hospice because she was so thirsty. But they told me not to give her any because it could choke her. I would stand beside her lifeless body and weep in agony. Her lips were so chapped, they were peeling. I would dab water on them so she could feel some hydration. My Mom suffered. Oh how she suffered.

It was months after she died when I became debilitated by memories and images. I would see my Mom lying in a pool of blood and I could not breathe. It was like I was back there, reliving it all over again. And she was reliving her pain and suffering. Like she was still there on the floor, alone, just crying out for help. I was a prisoner to that memory. It would replay in my mind anytime I let it in and many times, I just could not control it. I was especially more prone to those debilitating thoughts when I was triggered by a stressful day or if I felt hurt in some other way. It was like a door would swing wide open and the memories would walk right in.

And it became worse when I understood morphine. I then understood that it was because of my decision to allow the increase of the medicine that she died. My intentions were really good- she was in so much pain and she wanted relief. And I wanted her to have that relief. But it ultimately led to her death. While cancer is what truly caused her death, the morphine quickened it.

Friends, I do not have to tell you the depth of sorrow I felt from the images that would replay in my mind and the thought of having killed my Mom. I entered into a stage of grief that I was not prepared for and did not know how to handle. And since my Mom’s death was the first significant loss I had ever experienced as an adult, I was an amateur to grief. I now could understand a sliver of what others experience from post-traumatic stress. And I ached. And I hurt.

I participated in therapy with a professional counselor which helped me gain control. But it would take me years to really work through my grief. And learn how to immediately take my thoughts captive when those images or thoughts would appear. And how to defeat the lies of the enemy with God’s truth. I am going to spend a whole post sharing more insights and how God can redeem every bit of it and use it for your good and His glory.

I was in a really good place when my Dad was diagnosed with cancer. I was able to use my past experience with my Mom and the wisdom and knowledge I gleaned from those experiences to help me be more prepared for my Dad’s journey. While the grief has been different and more expected in some ways, it has been harder in other ways. This post will be continued......