Travels and sorrows

I guess I'll start with the sorrows. Though I didn't think hospice care for my mother was end-of-life care, she decided differently. She's been "declining" (that's their word) almost since hospice started. It's strange, because hospice didn't really change anything except that her medical care is under their charge, but it happened anyway. We went to see her last weekend and she was clearly not her normal feisty self. She had trouble finding the right words, and she knew she was having trouble. The worst moment for me was when Jake and I got there and she looked up and didn't know me. Fortunately, that didn't last long, and she did interact with us. We stayed a couple of hours. The staff told me that she hadn't eaten much lunch, and she didn't drink all her coffee—neither of those is normal for her, especially not drinking her coffee!

I talked to the hospice nurse the next day (3 days ago), and that's when I first heard the word decline. The nurse had seen it in just in the few weeks that she'd been visiting Mom. I called my brother Phil and told him, and he said he'd get over to see Mom. I also called my brother Don. He and I hadn't spoken since March 2022, when we had a spat while trying to deal with Mom's house. I'm glad I called, and we will be in contact now. He also visited Mom, so she's seen all three of us. On Tuesday, the hospice nurse called and said she though maybe Mom had had a stroke over the weekend. Besides the speech issues, she had no feeling in her feet. She was also having trouble swallowing. We'll never know if it was a stroke, or just progression of her disease—it doesn't really matter. What matters is that she can no longer swallow, which means no food or drink is going in.

I'm dragging this story out, and I've got a few things out of order, but it doesn't matter. She will die soon, within the week and possibly within a few days. She is comfortable—they'll make sure of that—but without taking in fluids, it won't be long. She's seeing things that aren't there, but whatever she is seeing is making her smile, so that's good. When I visited, she told me Dad was there too, at Regency. So, maybe he's keeping her company as she prepares to join him.

I haven't planned to go back up. I just saw her, and the last thing we said to each other was I love you. (Yes, she said that clearly.) I've asked the hospice nurse to let me know if she thinks I need to be there. If she feels like Mom is waiting for something/someone, she'll call me.

I've contacted a few people who I thought should know that it won't be long till Mom is gone. The saddest was her good friend in Florida. Jean and Mom have been friends since college, maybe around 1950. They've stayed in touch, visiting every year for the past few decades and traveling together. Jean is 2 weeks younger than Mom. Mom's 92nd birthday is August 6, and Jean's 92nd will be August 16th. Jean is still active and totally with it, thankfully. But the news hit her hard. We've been communicating by email, because we'd both fall apart on the phone.

Finishing out Mom's life on the paperwork end will actually be quite simple. She donated her body to the state, so there won't be any service or memorial. I'll have to notify social security, the pension people, and stop her health insurance. And donate her clothes somewhere. That's about it. She's had a good long life, and was healthy and happy for all but the final few years—you can't ask for more than that. I am so very glad that we had our adventures. We started in 2011, when she was 79, with our trip to Turkey, and did something exciting every year until our final trip in March 2019—she'd always wanted to see Ireland, so we spent 8 days there, driving tiny lanes and enjoying it all. That was the joy of traveling with her. She found every little thing interesting.

I'm still going to Iceland a week from today. Heck, if I were wavering about it—which I am not—I know that she would tell me to go.

So this has been all about the sorrow. Next time, I'll write about the travels.