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things that are not too good
We went this weekend to my mother's home town to visit with most of her side of the family - my brother and the younger of my cousins, that is, the ones with the smallest children, didn't come all the way from Boston, but everyone else was there.
My dad is doing worse. We don't know how bad it is except that it's bad, nor do we know how much longer he's got except that it's not as long as we want. He's begun talking about what he wants, not in terms of end-of-life issues and immediately thereafter (though he's also thinking about that, of course), but about his eventual memorial service, whom he wants to speak, what music he wants played, and so on. It's comforting him to have control over something, I think, so he will be the main producer of that event. Fine. I know it's inevitable, but I don't much want to think about it.
But I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about how unfair it is - the fact that I've had all this time to prepare for losing him isn't going to make the loss any less devastating when the time comes. Today on the way back home, just on the plane I had no fewer than four messy sloppy crying jags, the second and third separated by only about a minute and the third and fourth by even less than that. I mean I'll be a wreck, then pull myself together, then be wrong about having pulled myself together, in less than the time it's taken you to read that sentence.
Everyone has been marvelous. My cousin asked how I'm doing and I said "I'm hanging in there," and I got to "in" before my voice cracked, and mere seconds later I had that cousin and two aunts and my Gentleman Caller all trying to hug me at the same time. I mean everyone has been marvelous. And Gentleman Caller has been marvelous. Basically he spent his weekend (a) meeting [counting on fingers] a full dozen family members he'd never met before (plus self, my parents, and the one aunt he had met once at my parents' house) and (b) holding me while I cried. He has a hard time telling me he loves me, but he's much more about actions than words in a number of areas, this being one of them, and he's showing me just fine.
So now I'm back home - back, that is, at Gentleman Caller's home - with a soccer game on the TV and about to get started writing a little paper that's due on Wednesday. Nothing to do but keep on keeping on, I mean to say. Right?
My dad is doing worse. We don't know how bad it is except that it's bad, nor do we know how much longer he's got except that it's not as long as we want. He's begun talking about what he wants, not in terms of end-of-life issues and immediately thereafter (though he's also thinking about that, of course), but about his eventual memorial service, whom he wants to speak, what music he wants played, and so on. It's comforting him to have control over something, I think, so he will be the main producer of that event. Fine. I know it's inevitable, but I don't much want to think about it.
But I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about how unfair it is - the fact that I've had all this time to prepare for losing him isn't going to make the loss any less devastating when the time comes. Today on the way back home, just on the plane I had no fewer than four messy sloppy crying jags, the second and third separated by only about a minute and the third and fourth by even less than that. I mean I'll be a wreck, then pull myself together, then be wrong about having pulled myself together, in less than the time it's taken you to read that sentence.
Everyone has been marvelous. My cousin asked how I'm doing and I said "I'm hanging in there," and I got to "in" before my voice cracked, and mere seconds later I had that cousin and two aunts and my Gentleman Caller all trying to hug me at the same time. I mean everyone has been marvelous. And Gentleman Caller has been marvelous. Basically he spent his weekend (a) meeting [counting on fingers] a full dozen family members he'd never met before (plus self, my parents, and the one aunt he had met once at my parents' house) and (b) holding me while I cried. He has a hard time telling me he loves me, but he's much more about actions than words in a number of areas, this being one of them, and he's showing me just fine.
So now I'm back home - back, that is, at Gentleman Caller's home - with a soccer game on the TV and about to get started writing a little paper that's due on Wednesday. Nothing to do but keep on keeping on, I mean to say. Right?
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On a practical note, do you know if your mom has been in touch with a hospice organization? They're a great resource, even if the end isn't all that close.