Counting Down

It's been a while since the last post...sorry about that.  Lots going on, of course...and I was kind of waiting to get down here to get a personal feeling for where things are instead of writing from a third person perspective.  The bottom line, frankly, is we're counting down the days.  The real trick to that is, how do you know what number to start with before being able to get to zero?

Margaret and Dale got mom home, connected with Hope Hospice, and with the generous help of a couple of friends, have been doing the bulk of the caregiving here for mom.  I arrived yesterday afternoon for a planned week of much needed respite for them, as well as my chance to help and be with mom.  My first hour here at the house was a bit keystone cop-like that included apparently locking myself out of the house (whew, back door was open!) in my attempt to get the social worker to and into the house. It all worked out, but certainly was a bit crazy!  She was happy to see me and have me here, as I knew she would be.  We had a good evening and some good talk before bed.

Mom's condition varies from day to day.  Life gets a little bit harder with each day...for her and us.  Here's how she spends a good part of it...when she lets the kitty sleep with her, which isn't always.  She was awake for the photo, obviously, but quickly went back to sleep...that was yesterday afternoon.

Today, fewer smiles.

Mom is ready and more than willing to move into her next "new way", but she is very frustrated that her body hasn't - nor have we - helped her get there with the speed with which she'd like.  Her vital signs still are all pretty strong and sometimes she's alert and can have a conversation with you.  Other times, she's very confused and can't remember much...and she is getting weaker.  Her legs don't always cooperate they way they should or the way she'd like...and today, we had a moment when they failed at an inopportune moment, *just* missing her being able to sit back down on her bed.  I was holding her, so it wasn't a fall...more like a melt.  Gratefully, the hospice nurse was due to be at the house within a half an hour so, I positioned her on the floor and made her comfortable there and waited for assistance.  With some coaching from Margaret and remembering the technique from the hospital, I got a sheet under her that would later allow the nurse's non-emergency requested assistance from a much stronger team of firefighters to just pick her up and put her back into bed.  The nurse assessed and assisted with other tasks and left mom with a nice hug.  It takes a special type of person to do be able to do this work and we appreciate their kindness.

To mom's friends...know that you're always welcome, but "successful" visiting is pretty much a bit of a hit and miss opportunity right now.  Please let me know if you are interested in visiting and we'll go from there.  I am here at the house full-time through next Tue and am scheduled to head back to the Bay Area on Wed morning.  So, until then, it would be easiest to contact me directly.  Many of you who read this are connect via Facebook in some way, so commenting or private messaging me would be the preferred option, then I can provide my phone number to give a call.  

Dying is a different and unique journey for each of us.  The end comes quick for some and slowly for others.  And we, both the experienced and inexperienced observers, can't always know what that looks like as we watch and wait.  Yes, there helpful booklets and other sources that describe the physical and emotional conditions and behaviors we may observe in the dying process.  However, knowing where one is in that collection of conditions isn't always easy for anyone to determine.

I have just been introduced to this poem by Henry Van Dyke that, as an avid sailor, I find I appreciate this imagery:

Gone From My Sight

I am standing upon the seashore.

A ship at my side spreads her white

sails to the morning breeze and starts

for the blue ocean. 

She is an object of beauty and strength. 

I stand and watch her until at length 

she hangs like a speck of white cloud 

just where the sea and sky come 

to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says;

"There, she is gone!"

"Gone where?"

Gone from my sight. That is all. 

She is just as large in mast and hull 

and spar as she was when she left my side 

and she is just as able to bear her 

load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone

at my side says, "There, she is gone!"

There are other eyes watching her coming,

and other voices ready to take up the glad

shout;

"Here she comes!"

And that is dying.

by Henry Van Dyke, a 19th Century clergyman, educator, poet, and religious writer

So, today the truth is that we don't yet know how close to that horizon mom has sailed, but she has definitely raised all of her sails and is working them all to the best of her ability.