It’s strange that it’s gotten harder, but I now have consensus — at least from my dad and brother — that yes, in fact, it has. Before, we were all worried about Mom. Now. . . now there’s nothing to do but feel the loss. And wow, it just sucks. I’ve had more than one more moment when I’ve thought, I am so unhappy, I need to call Mom, and then realized, uh, yeah, not so much. Such a strange, strange sad feeling.

But Dad came over tonight and we ate salmon, potatoes, salad for dinner, and then watched Source Code. The two dogs were reasonably well-behaved and remarkably delightful and it was a nice interlude in a day that was filled with a lot of unexpected tears.

When my grandfather died, back in 1990, Chris told me that we had to go to a movie, and I picked Pretty Woman. As I recall, he grumbled, but I still remember it fondly. That happy ending was just what I needed.

So this morning, I was on the phone, feeling helpless, not knowing what to do, and I said, Cowboys and Aliens. Harrison Ford, sci-fi, summer blockbuster type, what could go wrong? Only Daniel Craig spends half the movie searching for his lost love and it turns out she’s DEAD. But that’s okay, because he’s met Olivia Wilde. Only she DIES. And then that’s okay, because she comes back to life, woo-hoo. Until she DIES again. I’m not sure I could have picked a worse movie in which to try to hide our grief if I’d tried.

I think that I will always have a niggling regret that she was alone when she died. I don’t know that having someone hold her hand would have made any sort of difference, but I wish I’d been there. Or that someone had been there.

I know I’ve been a little slow with this update. That’s because on Monday, Karen talked to the doctor and she was told that it would be any time now, but probably within the next couple of days. I’ve been waiting, therefore, thinking that there would be a change any minute. But it’s now Thursday morning, those two days are come and gone, and Mom seems to be basically exactly as she was on Monday.

As for how that is, honestly, not bad, at least to the best of my ability to judge. She is no longer responsive at all — there’s been no conversation, no attempts to move, no facial expressions for a while. I’m not quite sure how long, but I’ve been at the hospice for the past twenty-four hours and during that time, she’s been essentially unconscious. The nurse was a little late with her pain medication this morning (she’s getting it every 12 hours) and Mom gave no indication of being in any discomfort. Her breathing is steady and clear, and her temperature is normal. I haven’t spoken to the doctor yet, but I suspect she’s gone from being “any minute” to “sometime pretty soon”. But from my perspective, she’s not in pain and she’s not agitated like she was before, so this is not that bad. I’d say that from mom’s perspective, she’s probably ready to be done with it — but since she’s not letting go yet, maybe not. The nurse did say to me this morning that sometimes people, moms especially, won’t leave while their kids are in the room, and Karen and I have basically been with her round-the-clock for the past several days, so we’ll see.

As for how the rest of us are doing, I think pretty well. It’s sort of settling into a routine — a strange routine, but a routine nonetheless. Both teenage boys are excited (at least I think Tyler is, but I know Rory is) about getting a chance to spend a night home alone: Rory’s first was last night and when I called him this morning, he told me that the dog guilted him into going to bed at a normal time. He was going to stay up really late, but she was staring at him disapprovingly and so he didn’t. I feel really lucky to have such a responsible teenager that he lets the dog tell him what to do! And such a good dog, too.

It’s Sunday morning, and I got home an hour or two ago from spending the night at the hospice. Dad was with Mom when I left her and Karen’s headed over later. She’ll spend the night there tonight, and I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.

Time is very strange at the moment: it feels both like it’s moving very quickly, and that it’s dragging out endlessly. The quick part is remembering that a week ago, we were still having conversations. The slow part is that this terminal restlessness thing is really not very fun. I am incredibly glad that we are mostly able to be there when she needs us. This morning she was briefly coherent enough to realize that she was having nightmares, but mostly she hasn’t been. That said, the vast majority of the time she is simply unconscious — the bad moments are mostly brief windows before another dose of medication, so they’re over quickly.

She was able to swallow one of her medications this morning with a little applesauce, but that’s become rarer over the last couple of days. Yesterday, Karen was using a syringe to give her water. And her temperature has started to fluctuate a bit, which is a sign that her body is beginning to shut down. It probably won’t be much longer.

As always, thank you so much for your prayers and well wishes. I know I’m not being very good about answering emails, but I do appreciate them.

***
Thursday, July 28th

Mom’s resting comfortably right now, so I thought I’d try writing from the hospice. It’s about 1:30 on Thursday afternoon. The past couple of days have been rougher. Yesterday, Dad got here and found that she’d been moved closer to the nurse’s station, so that they could keep a better eye on her. And last night, she entered a period of what they’re calling terminal restlessness: the nurses had a lot of trouble keeping her in bed (and safe, because she’s really not able to walk anymore) and I believe finally had to sedate her. When I got here today she was sitting up in a chair to keep her calm, but I’ve spent a lot of the past three hours assuring her that it’s okay, and that she shouldn’t try to get up. There’s a nice nurse’s aide sitting with me now, because they’ve put Mom onto crisis care, so she’ll have someone with her round the clock. Karen will get here in a little while, and then I’ll go home and collect Rory and bring him over to spend the night with Dad so that I can stay here through the night.

She mumbles a little and sometimes seems to say entire sentences, but they’re pretty incoherent. I’m honestly not always sure whether she’s not making sense or whether I’m just not understanding. But I do know that she understands us. Yesterday, Karen and I were talking about crying in the car and falling asleep the moment we get home, and Mom — who had seemed unconscious — sat up, held out her hand, and pulled us close to kiss us. And that time I definitely recognized the mumble as “I love you.”

We got several cards yesterday and I read them all to her. I wish I could tell you how she responded but I really couldn’t tell much about her reactions. But I believe that she heard and appreciated them, and I know I appreciated them — knowing how much she is loved makes a hard time a little better.