Yes, true, every word. Betty wanted to die at home and was screaming blue murder in the hospice, being disruptive. They wanted rid of her. Nobody would step up to take her. She only had weeks left if that. She was clutching at me, begging me to take her out. I didn't want to, but how could I refuse and live with myself?
Gratitude, No! But I didn't expect any. I didn't go to the funeral and apparently her mother was outraged and accused me of having had some hand in her daughter's demise. My father acted abominably throughout the whole thing but he never could cope with anyone being sick. Sickness is all in the mind, he used to say. Ironic!
Edit: Thanks for the reblog!
I love your stories!
Some mother that Betty had. Wouldn't care for her herself, not even for a few weeks, but was outraged about the way you did it. There have been a great many colorfully dark persons in your life.
Nora was as tough as nails, an ex-moneylender. I suppose there have been a lot of dark people in my life. Shit! What does that say about me?:)