February, 2009. Warning: death. Leaving space for those who wish to scroll past.
5:30 AM, I get a phone call. It's the hospital, calling to tell me that if I want to see Mom, now's the time. She's dying. M and I hop on the El, and arrive an hour later. I'm told that she passed very soon after I was called (I hope to my core that they called me as soon as she took a turn, because I hate to think of her in a bad way for hours, wondering where I am, and I'm only just notified as she's about to die.) After I compose myself (tho this day I am ashamed that I cried for maybe 30 seconds, and then never again), I go to the nurses' station and ask about her things. They tell me they're still in the room that she was in, and I can go in and get them if I want.
I go in, and her body is still in there, uncovered. I am *very* thanatophobic. I (very quietly) freaked. I moved out of the room like it was on fire. M was consoling me, and when asked, M told a nurse the situation. The nurse (bless her) went in and got the things, and was apologizing for it. It wasn't anybody's fault, but I *really* wish I hadn't seen that.
There's an even worse one, but I don't think I should post it. PM me if you really want to know, but know in advance that it concerns spousal abuse.