Last Days

I am in St. Louis. My father called me Thusday night to tell me that Mom's condition - actually her mental acuity, her tiredness, and her strength - had faded quickly, and that she had to be put in the hospital. He told me that he had spoken with her Doctor, and that the Doctor had told him, that the mental fragmentation, the weakness, her failing body might not improve, regardless of the treatment options, and that her condition coould decend further. He also told me that they had discovered a new tumor on her spine. The tumor was ina very difficult place to reach, was not there 2-weeks ago, and that he and mom had decided not to risk surgury to remove it, and decided that they would not actively seek to treat the tumor.

I was on a plane Friday morning.

Friday afternoon when Dad picked me up from the airport, he said that Mom was feeling much beeter, and that her mental acuity had improved after being admitted to the hospital.

When we got to the Hospital, she was alert but her mind was slow. She wasn't in pain.

Sha, my sister, was there, and we all talked about what the doctor thought was the situation, and what Mom wanted to do. The intent was to to find a nursing facility or find "home-care" for her, as her care took more than one person could provide, and my Dad could no longer keep up on his own.

2-weeks ago, when I was there visiting with my wife, Mom and I chit-chatted, and talked a little. She was feeling good then, sleeping alot, and was very hopeful that this was just a low-point in the treatment that would see her much better on the other side. We talked a little, mostly the length and subject of little exchanges that you have with people that you've known a long time, and the kind of conversation that doesn't amount to a lot, and carefuly avoids shoals of conversation where disagreements are likely. Snalltalk. "How is Honey?" (my wife). "Have you decorated anymore of your house?" "Hows Max?" (my dog). "How's work?". "How are Honey's parents?".

I was shocked when I saw her, because her skin was ashen, and her face gaunt and drawn and looked like it belonged to a much, much older person if not a different person all together. But when I first saw her, she was over at Sha's house and stood to welcome me, and hugged me, and early conversation revealed that she was tired, and ran out of energy quickly, but that conversations with her doctor had not lead her to believe anything but that this treatment had every chance of working, and that she expected to recover from her treatment.

I spent 3-full days there with she and Dad. I was not prepared for what I was witnessing. Mom spent all 3-days (other than the hour or so we spent at Sha's house with she, her husband D-, and their kids) on the couch at their apartment, and most of that couch-time sleeping. I could not resolve what I was seeing with what Mom and Dad had said to me with regard to Mom's health, and the prospect of her recovery - and unprepared as I was for what I was seeing ... I didn't know what to do, or what to say, or how to spend my time.

Now ... 2-weeks later, she cannot hold any kind of real conversation, and has only intermittant lucid moments, where you can be sure she understood you, or can communicate clearly even simple thoughts. Sha said that about a week-and-a-half ago, and she had a short conversation with her, and mom had been on the phone with someone throwing the book at them - so She thought Mom was maybe on the up-swing. Apparently after that day, she has been in the bed, with almost no appetite, no control over her body, and little in the way of mental faculty. Literally within 2-days she went from having a completely lucid an heated conversation with someone over the phone, to not being able to string 2 simple sentences together and keeping her mind focussed on even a simple question like whether she wanted another bite of pancake or not.

My father - in general - is almost not communicative about his heart or his feelings. He just doesn't or cant, or hasn't for so long, that he doesn't know how anymore. I don't really know why. He has much emotion - he's not a stone - he tends to get angry quickly, and voices frustration and irritation with real flair. He has depended on Mom for most of his adult life in one way or another, and in sometimes more fundimental ways than others as he himself has some not-insignificant health issues, but other than she, has generally depended only on himself. When he called me in Colorado Thursday night, he was crying. He said that he just couldn't keep up with the laundry, and the care, and the shopping, and her medication, and help her to the bed, and the bathroom ... he said he could almost do it, but he just couldn't keep up - and that he was having to admit her to the hospital. The woman that had kept up with him, and who he's been able to depend on for likely as much as he ever expected and more, couldn't do for herself - and he just couldn't do it on his own anymore ... and he was heartbroken. it wasn't anything to do with him, it was more than anyone could do on thier own - but with so much emotion, even clear logic takes a back-seat to pain, and he was hurting, and just felt like he failed mom.

Here, now, we all feel that way. Like we have all failed her somehow. Like we should have spent more time with this woman, that always made time for us. Like we should have done more, for the woman that was never contented with all that she had done for us. Like we should have, could have, might have...

I've written about the situation we are in now before, and all those supositions are true. My heart aches though. Tears fall, and threaten to choke the air from me. The pain scares words from my mouth, and the thought of living in a world without my mother, opens an empty hole in the darkness behind my eyes, and makes me afraid. Afraid of the loss of the linchpin, the family keystone - afraid of a world I have never really considered. There is still peace. I can see it from here ... and I know it is there. And when I need it most, I know that God will be there, and is there even now. But for now, I am afraid. I am sad. I hurt.