A twitter friend posted: “I find myself sending prayers to [snip] as he and his family go through that which is hardest.” I had no idea what she referred to.
Her feed had no more information than that, and I’m pretty much out of everybody’s loop. I followed her link back to the other fellow’s account. The most recent post said, “Of course, this is Rebecca. It’s entirely likely that she’s staying precisely because we told her she could go.” My god! Was this guy tweeting the death of his mother?
I started to feel like I was in shock. The previous post, an hour before, said, “We keep telling her she can go, she can rest, she can stop fighting. It’s not working. She won’t go, or can’t.” Oh my god! I could picture my own mother’s passing.
Then, before that post, “She looks dead. She already looks dead but her body keeps breathing and I keep trying to find the words that will help her finally let go.”
Before that, roughly seven hours before I saw it, “She is essentially gone, yet her body keeps taking shallow breaths; her heart beats strong, but irregularly. Caught between life and death.”
Eight hours before, “I will be so, so sorry when you’re gone, Little Spark, but I will never, ever, ever be sorry that you came to us.” Little SparK? An odd pet name for someone’s mom.
But under that, I realized the horror: “An hour ago, at 7:24am EDT, she officially, thoroughly, totally turned six years old.” Before that, “Sunrise on her sixth birthday.
Her last birthday, and probably her last sunrise.
She’s unconscious, unable to see it.
Not long now.”
Eric Meyer shares more on blog posts over the past few weeks. This is easily the most painful thing I have ever read. Part of me is comforted that the Meyer family can gather support from the internet community that’s so much a part of their lives. Another part of me wants to never look at twitter again.
My god, my god. I am so sorry.