Rollercoaster

Mom just opened her eyes. Though she was back to her old self this weekend, she’s unfortunately taken a turn for the worse, and has been in a deep sleep since Sunday afternoon. She’s opened her eyes only a handful of times since noon. We’re not sure what’s going on – her blood, urine, and chest exams have come back negative -- but it’s clear her body has initiated a process from which she will most likely not recover. We’ve discussed her condition with her medical team, and have agreed that the best thing for mom is to allow this process to continue – no more CT scans, no more prodding, no more invasive measures. She’s worked hard for nearly 66 years; it’s time for her to rest. We’re not sure when it will happen, but we feel it’s soon. She’s no longer eating, and we’ve stopped her medication. Our focus now is to make sure she’s comfortable. The nurses and doctors have been more than supportive, and have offered us hugs along the way.

D, E, and I slept over last night for one more slumber party with our mom. Dad and C arrived at the hospital a few hours ago. We’ve been rotating alone time with mom, so that we each can have an opportunity to spend private time with her. Balancing this with Craig’s care has been difficult -- he’s actually downstairs getting a CT scan of his chest as mom rests. Though he had flirted with rescheduling his scan until tomorrow, his health is also important and this scan is particularly critical given his recent symptoms (the latest being bleeding from his Hickman site). Though I know he feels torn, it’s important that he not compromise his health, and I think mom would agree.

Though we’ve anticipated this moment, it’s difficult seeing the process happen. Saying goodbye is hard, especially when you don't know when the end will come. Loss as it happens and the anticipation of it are equally difficult. Still, we’ll be here until the end – as a family. -- J