What can I say except that Mom continues to decline. Each day she reaches a point where I don't think she can possibly get any worse, and yet each day she does. I'll be honest. We're nearing the end.
Mom has completely stopped eating and she rarely will accept water. As of Sunday she refuses to open her eyes on most occasions. If you ask her a question, she will respond, but I'm not always certain she knows what she's answering. Comprehension isn't 100%. She says she's not in any pain, but any sort of movement has her crying, "No, no no."
At some point over the weekend, I started to cope a little better. I started to come out of the depression phase of things and started to focus more on the 'what needs to be done' side of things. I was able to talk about it without breaking down or even becoming weepy. And then last night, just as I was about to head up to bed, I lost it. I had one thought: I'm going to be motherless. I ended up spending 45 minutes ugly-crying on the couch with Hans bringing me tissues and just holding me. And of course, today I'm back to weepy
I cancelled her doctor appointment for today as I'm unable to transport her, and there's not much point in it. That said, palliative care is sending out a nurse practitioner to meet with me and seriously talk about hospice.
I feel bad for all the people who have asked to visit Mom. At this point, I'm allowing a few select people in if I'm with them. Otherwise, please stay away. She won't realize you're there anyway, and having so many people around is just overwhelming.
Yesterday, I sat with Mom for a while. I sang songs to her. I sang the most soothing things I could think of...lullabies. I had Anna with me, and I snuggled / nursed Anna and sang lullabies to both my child and my mom. God, that sounds even more depressing when I write about it! Anna has been a trooper. She's normally good for a 30 minute visit or so, but I can tell it takes its toll on her. After each visit, as I take her from her stroller to put her in the car seat, she reaches up and gives me the most wonderful hug. Maybe she's just tired, maybe she's just grateful to be out of her stroller, but I truly believe that she's hugging me because she's upset to see her grandmama so ill and her mommy so upset. Most visits now are when Hans can be home to watch Anna.
At this point, I'm just making sure Mom knows how much we love her. I tell her I will always love her. I tell her that Anna and I are OK, and we'll be OK. Yesterday, I thanked her for teaching me how to be such an amazing mom.
And now I wait. I hold my breath every time a nurse calls. I get angry when they call me with trivial news. "Mrs. P, I just wanted to let you know your mom hasn't been eating." Do they not see me there every single day? Do they think I don't already know that? One of these days I'll receive a final phone call from them, and I won't have to hold my breath anymore. Why must they call over such simple matters?
I know I'm rambling. It's just how my thoughts are working right now. Keep us in your thoughts. Thank you for all the love and support so many people have shown. If you see me, and I'm smiling, be happy for me. If you see me and I'm crying, I'm sorry. Don't run away. It will pass and I'll smile again soon.