Loss is Never Easy

I’m spending my days in a hospice unit, waiting for my mother to pass away, yet terrified at the same time of her loss.  She is 87 and has lived a good life.  But these days remind me too much of 26 days that happened 13 years ago, when my 20 year old son died from meningococcal meningitis.  So much is the same — watching numbers on machines, kissing my mother, kissing my son, telling them how much I love them.  One is dying from old age.  One’s death could have been prevented.  Being in a hospice unit is beyond terrible for me, because as I grieve for my mom, I also am reliving the days my son was sick.  In recent days, politicians have misspoken about vaccine safety.  Don’t believe them.  I have confidence in the FDA and the CDC to protect my children.  In the parking lot this morning, I found a few pennies.  I thought to myself, for a few pennies a day, I could have saved my son with a vaccine, if only I had known.