The backstory is that she's been sick for quite a while. Not terminally sick, but sick enough that she hadn't been herself in some time and had been admitted to various hostpitals on a somewhat regular basis. She had, along with my stepfather, taken to not telling me about these hospital visits. I assume it was to keep me from worrying. Sometimes I found out through my brother, sometimes my sister, and sometimes I called while she was in there and my stepfather spilled the beans. I'm sure there were plenty of times that I just didn't know.

So she was in the hospital, and since everything seemed to be going smoothly I was left unaware.

It seems she had a bad fall down the stairs. She was given painkillers (Tylenol 3). One night, she took way too many of them. It's impossible to know why, at least for certain. She was not even remotely suicidal. What evidence exists seems to indicate that she repeatedly took the maximum dose and went to bed, waking up shortly after still in pain and no memory of taking her last dose. She did the natural thing and took her painkillers, thinking she hadn't had any all night. By the time my stepfather woke up and realized what was going on she'd taken, well, a lot of them.

She was admitted to hospital, and while she seemed to be recovering, the huge dose of acetaminophen was too much for her liver and it shut down.

I used my temporary travel document to go see her in the summer, and I'm sure glad I did. I had spent much of last week thinking that I should call her so the kids could tell her all about their teachers. That was pretty typical for us, to spend a few days thinking we should be calling someone before actually getting around to doing it. It wouldn't have changed much, since she would have been in the hospital anyway.

I miss you mom.