Hospice...

When her dad said the word hospice, it felt like her stomach dropped down to her ankles. She knew her mom's condition had been going progressively downhill, but hospice? It couldn't be. We were to have a call with the nursing home and a nurse from hospice. Trying to not get of herself wasn't working. How could you not get ahead of yourself when you hear that word? On the call, the nursing home coordinator explained her mom's deteriorating condition. They consider her in the final stages, which means she has entered into the dimensia stage. Along with that comes loss of appetite, loss of ability to talk, and loss of weight. Hospice was being brought in as an additional layer of care for her mom. In the final stage, additional care and additional knowledge is necessary to adequately care for her mom. It wasn't like she was on her death bed at this time, BUT she was in the final stage. To the daughter it not only meant final stage of the disgusting disease, but it meant the final stage in her mother's life. Man that was hard to think, and even harder to admit. Part of her wanted it over so that her mom wouldn't have to suffer anymore, she really wasn't living anyway, but the selfish part of her didn't want her to leave yet. The finality of it scared the hell out of her. This coming from a girl who hates the thought of ANY funerals let alone a funeral of a loved one. She gets anxiety even going to an acquaintance's funeral. Nobody likes them but her body has difficulty physically handling them. If that happens at regular funerals, how could she possibly make it through the funeral of her mother. A woman she loved so dearly, and would miss so very much. Then there was her dad. He deserved to have his daughter by his side, and she felt guilty for wishing she didn't have to be. Picking out caskets, tombstone's, writing an obituary? How were people suppose to do this stuff? It just doesn't seem possible, and more than that, how can it be expected of a family? She just wanted to run away when it happened. Run as far away as she could. It's not right to expect so much of people. She would only disappoint, she knew that. She would fail. She deals with things alone, in her own way and in her own time. Being on public display and having to deal with a loss in front of people just wasn't her way. But what could she do? It was her mom. The thought of people dropping by with food, talking about her mother, and extending their sympathy? All the calls, all the cards, all the visits? That just isn't her. But her dad would find comfort in things like that, whereas she wouldn't. We were so alike in certain ways, but also very different in other's. The last thing she wants to do is not be there for him, but it is so far out of her character..how was she going to do it?

Funny how one word can lead a person to snowball their thoughts and before you know it they have rolled down a hill and formed one big avalanch!

All from one word....

Bucket List............

Ever since the movie, there has been a lot of talk about "bucket lists". Quite a concept and there has been some talk from people I know that they may create one, and some even have one. Hmmmmm interesting. I don't have one, but should I make one? If so would I actually work to check items off the bucket list? Or would it just be a list? Kind of like the list I created titled "things to do before I turn 30." Piece of paper with things on it but I never really did anything with. So do I try it again? And if so what do I put on it? It would be interesting to me to hear some of the things that people put on their lists. Feel free to share if you want to. I will do the same............IF I decide to create one!:)

The struggle continues...

Everytime she thought she was making some progress, the reality of it all would smack her across her face. The next slap was her mom's birthday party. 81 years old and getting worse every day. Alz was doing one hell of a job on her that's for sure. It kept taking day by day more and more of the woman she knew as her mother. Hardly able to walk on her own anymore, she was confined to a chair. She would fuss and fidgit; her legs wanting to move and walk, but the mind not capable of telling the muscles what to do. The confusion was getting worse. She says things that make no sense, and has troubles finishing her thoughts. Communicating with her was getting all but impossible to do. This really bothered her as she had always looked forward to the conversations she had with her mother. Always positive and always bubbly. That lady seemed so far away now as she looked at the lady in the chair. The resemblence was there but the disease had taken the bubbly and positive attitude and squashed it like a bug.
She managed to keep it together during the party, mainly by keeping busy handing out cake and ice cream. She also kept her distance from the mother she so desperately wished she could help. It was just too hard to look at her and see her struggle and not lose it. The tears held inside until she got outside the nursing home. Then they fell out of her eyes and onto her cheeks. Crying uncontrollably and asking why why why. She would never understand, and just can't get a grip on accepting this horrible thing. But she had to figure out a way.