My mother is dying. I can’t think straight or curved. I keep expecting her to open her eyes, smile and start a conversation.
She has been taken off meds — except for pain narcotics that have not allowed her back into reality since Saturday afternoon. My stepfather has elected the “comfort care” level that comes with palliative care. The surgery to repair the break in her femur was on Monday night. She had strokes peri-operatively which have resulted in paralysis on right side, total blindness, inability to swallow.
Is she with us? We’ll never know. The prospect of three months of total immobility (stroke affected same side as her surgery) along with care at a facility of some sort, inability to do anything for herself for many months or possibly forever was too daunting to consider.
I am at home. I can’t go back there. I have released her from my grasp, and accept that the end is near. Parting is deeply wounding.
90 doesn’t always mean old and feeble. Anything but. This is another story, my dears.
All of the healing powers in the universe cannot alter the devastation that has fouled her body.
I await news from the hospital.
later…………
what you've said