Death and Dying - some ideas on surviving it - or not

All my mother wishes to talk about is wanting to die.  She says she has had enough.  I try to cajole, encourage and incite her to try and enjoy her last days, months and quite possibly years.  It does no good - she is not going for it.   She is stubborn and fixed.

Mum suffers from depression - at least that is the diagnosis.  On occaison I have spoken to her health care workers who become somewhat evasive, reticent and use true Scouse humour to deflect me from an actual "naming" of her condition.  I have been given responses such as, "she's complicated" to "hasn't she been pretty much like this for years", so I really don't know what she suffers from apart from a "chemical imbalance".

To use another "D" word she is difficult, depressing to be around and definitely demonstrative in her denial of the world offering her any joy.  She holds on tight to her depression and wraps it around herself like a well-worn cardie.  She wants to have a fight about something - it's a family tradition so I chant inside my head and try to remember to be mindful and gentle with her - it's darn difficult.

To be honest I have my own doubts as to her true desires.  Manipulation, downright lying and guilt-tripping are definitely areas of behaviour that could win her an Oscar - well maybe an Obie as she can be very convincing.  My grandfather, her dad, was quite similar in his theatrics and was a rather successful moocher in pubs.    

I have thought of bringing her to Canada but there would be no health insurance for her, she cannot get sponsored as she has a list of stays in mental hospitals.  Mum seems to like hospitals as they pay a great deal of attention to her.  One of the care  home attendants once asked me if my dad spoiled her - in some ways he did but that's another story.

So I tell mum not to worry - she will die one day but maybe not today so perhaps there could be something to do.  She adamantly denies there is anything to do and that she is bored stiff.

I blame the War #2.  Her brother died, much loved, sweet soul and I don't think the family ever recovered from their grief....

so when I see her I ply her with alcohol - well a half of bitter shandy anyway and hope I am able to enjoy my older years - its not genetic is it?