Angel and I shared a pull out bed last night, getting some decent sleep. Though my mommy-ears tune and sprint out of bed at any odd sound or movement. At 4am, I dashed over thinking she was climbing out of bed but she was simply turning over...the simplest task complicated and slow. She is so talkative this morning...asking Angel to change her drain dressing because they itch...the stitches beneath starting to heal, I suppose. She teases Angel that she just wanted to be fussed with. She talks yet again about the idea of going home...I remind her that her nurse coverage here is 24 hours and she wouldn't quite have that at home. Not to mention that her room would need a retrofit. We all hope to keep her comfy here...visitors can come, family can linger. She asks for her crochet work, but by the time I gather it, she has drifted off again.
As the hours pass, we notice she's making less sense. Speaking of batteries and tape, talking about a Mrs. Joe...we speak in soft tones back to her...confirming, acknowledging. Speaking words that are purely not Linda-like. Words not written to ensure they drift away from memory...the lady that she is would be so offended. I don't need to remember a tinny version of my sweet Mother. Another switch shift, we leave as Jody takes over. Sis confirms that she's no longer herself.
Back at Pepper Road, I buzz about tidying... knowing that when she passes, Dad will have visitors. I want him to have one less worry. I hang the last two tops of Mom's that will pass thru the laundry. Knowing she'll never need them again. Knowing she'll never care if I hang them out of her order, but I do it anyway. I notice her bed is now undone...I had made it reverently over a week ago when this first began. Immediately offended...holy ground tainted. Talking myself off the ledge, this is just the beginning of firsts and lasts in her room.
We return to the hospital to find her in a fitful sleep...moaning, limp hands grasping at the unknown. I confirm with nurse that she's indeed not in pain...reminding me of a dear friend's labor and delivery. Like cavemen...her moaning tribal, soothing. One bringing in life, one ushering out. We all sit quiet...some close, some far-away, unsure, uncomfortable, all sad. Her output is reducing, no significant food or drink in days. Unsure if her current state is anti-nausea related or the Cancer is finally pulling her under, I whisper sweet, difficult words to her once alone...It's okay. You were such a wonderful mother. Making me a good mom..creating a legacy I'll share with Maya. We'll all be okay, missing you terribly, but we'll be with you again soon. So, if Jesus comes and gives you his hand, please take it. This body is a wreck and soon, you'll have a new one, free from illness and pain. I love you so.
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