The Number of Visits to JoJo The Dog Face Girl's BlogSpot

Thursday, September 2, 2010

'Til Death Do Us Part...

Or is it "til death DUE us part"... either way, we part.

Morbid topic, eh?  I don't mind.

A few years ago, my Mom told me that she had a "DNR" order on her chart.
"WHAT? You're on a walker... you aren't at death's door...  I don't get that!"
She explained, that when God called her, she was going home.   Changed my view on a few things.     Something I had to look at professionally and personally.   It is her RIGHT to not be "saved", is it not?  

I'll honor her wishes and she won't ever go on a ventilator or be electrocuted.   Because I love her and that's her wish.   

A year ago, she'd decided she wasn't going to go on dialysis when the time came.   I said... "Ok... I'll do whatever you want.   I didn't know you wanted to die though."   She says, " I don't want to die!!!"  (I'm a straight shooter.. obviously..)   I told her that death IS the alternative to dialysis.   She changed her mind and says she wants it when the time comes.  (But reminded me, no code)

This past week, she went into congestive heart failure.   A rough diagnosis, but even rougher if you're in chronic renal failure (and tetter on that line of getting dialysis).   So, yeah... this isn't a death sentence, but will ultimately mean a shorter life span for her.   

Mom is the greatest thing since sweet tea.  One day my heart will break in a million peices.    She only wants a memorial and insists on being cremated.  I'll comply.   But told her I'm not sticking her on a shelf.  I don't wanna be watching Idol then bust out crying because her ashtray catches my eye.   I'll spread them with her parents and sister (Shhhh!  Don't tell Forest Park).

So this makes me think of my own mortality.   And I 'm OK with dying.   My only concern with dying is leaving our kids and my husband.   But otherwise I'm ready and I've got some great "a priest, a monk and a Rabbi walk into a bar" jokes to tell God when I get there.   

I do have a few requests:
No thick make up.   Don't wear it now, don't want it then.
Don't put my hands on my belly.  I don't wanna look like Santa Clause.
         Place them at my sides please.
Only a quick memorial, no "funeral" .   That *** is depressing.
No "visitation" they charge for people to come look at my corpse (iffen  
         folks GOT to see me not breathin, do it at the quicky memorial thingy)
And unless, it's my husband or kids  don't allow folks to stick stuff in the box
         with me.   
My sons don't have to go to the memorial.  And no one is to judge them for it,
        cause I'm their Mom and I said they don't have to go!
Needs to be at 3:30pm.   No earlier.   (for my peeps)
Elisa has to sing.
Patricia has to cry out,"Awww lawd... Jo, what us gone do wit out you?!!"
My husband is to be inconsolable for weeks.  Then get the hell over it and go   
          blow the insurance money! (But not on expensive cigars and cheap
          strippers, I say go with the cheap cigars and expensive strippers... they
          have less stretch marks & more teeth...)
And.. when he remarrys (not a stripper, please)... she can have anything of
          mine buuuuuuuuuuuuut (and let me be real clear here....)

So... Did ya hear the one about..... a Priest, a Monk and a Rabbi go into a bar....?


  1. I thought the camera would go with you.

  2. lol Jason... You know the funeral home thugs would pry my pine box open before they shoved me in the oven. Then send me back to my husband in a chinese take out box.