weave a little tale

omg thank you so much <3

”En gardé, monsieur!” Verso has a second to register it before he realizes he’s being cornered by three, very serious children. Gustave’s apprentices, to be more precise. Not the threat he first would’ve thought of, but there you go. ”What are your intentions towards Gustave?”

In which the apprentices have had enough of Verso & Gustave’s pining and confront Verso. They might also recruit some help while they're at it, and Verso suffers.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/85818646/chapters/226834136

(i've come back from my little hiatus, at least for a little bit.  I first wrote a little snippet couple of weeks ago, and then I just had to write some more light-hearted things and it kinda grew into this, which is basically "the apprentices pull a lilo on verso, ’he likes your butt and fancy hair, we know, we read his picto journal’

my mom died last night. she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer last year on february and her treatments stopped on february this year.

i've been grieving this entire time. we knew from the start that it'll be a year maybe two at most, even with the treatment. we knew.

and during this time, i witnessed her panic, her fear, her pain, her exhaustion, her horror at realizing that she's going to die, that she'll never see her grandchildren grow up, that she'll never see her next birthday, that she'll never see 70.

she was 61.

i saw her struggle, i saw her make peace with who she was. we talked about what sort of a funeral she wanted. she apologized to me for all the mistakes she's done. i told her that she was a good mom who did her best and that i loved her.

she was in the palliative ward for the last two weeks when her condition got worse. she could barely walk when she was admitted, the pain was too much despite having opioids.

after they upped her medication, she got better after that, for a little while. then the pain got worse. she got a morphine pump and after that she was slowly slipping away. sleeping more. she started talking nonsense, but she still recognized us, me and my dad.

we held her hand.

yesterday was the last time i saw her. i went to the hospital after work. she was so pale. so thin. there were dark circles around her eyes. her eyes were glazed, unblinking and she looked at me, but she seemed to look through me.

her breathing was shallow, wheezing and quick and sometimes there were long pauses between each inhale and i was so sure she was gonna die then, in front of me.

i patted her hair, told her i love her.

and last night, just after midnight, she died.

i've been grieving for a year and three months.

things got stable at times, but it still was bad. i kept working, thinking it kept me structured and sane. my co-workers have been absolute saints. she called me everyday when she was still at home. asked about my work, how i was, if i was sleeping okay. we didn't always see eye-to-eye, we clashed a lot at times, but she's still my mom. she was dying and she still wanted to know if i was eating okay, even though she barely eating well, herself. i'm 34 years old and she still kept worrying about me.

grief is a strange thing, i've noticed. it doesn't pause, it's there in the background, you're picking up milk from the store, when you're on a subway, when you're laughing at your friend's stupid joke and all the while she's dying and you know she's dying and you're grieving.

there are no shortcuts dealing with this. no shortcuts to grief.

yesterday i felt... serene, accepting even. i have cried a lot. but yesterday i felt like i had accepted it. Even though it's so unfair, it's so unfair that i could scream that she deserved to live at least 20 years more, to do things she wanted, to see the world and to see the grandchildren grow.

but it doesn't work like that.

now she's passed and it hits me again. dad went to see her this morning. he said she looked peaceful, that she was almost smiling. the nurses had put a flower on top of her chest.

i'm sad, i'm tired, i'm relieved, i'm so incredibly heartbroken, but at least she's not in pain anymore, that she's not suffering. i hope she's at peace. we were there for her, for every step of the way, we held her hand, we told her how much we loved her. how she doesn't have to worry about us. that she can sleep, that's it's okay.

these are my jumbled thoughts about this, about grief.