Skip to main content


Showing posts from April, 2016

My mother

My mother decided this morning that she was done with hospitals and rehab centers and the endless pills she had to take. She was more of a Mustang kind of person. She loved the one she had before I was born.

A hospital bed could no longer contain her.

I picture her speeding off now, at peace, no more pain, no more suffering.

I love you, Mom.

No more brake lights. The open road awaits.

A time to speak and a time to listen

I have said goodbye to my mother each night for nearly a week now. It has been my fear each time, although I had not noticed a whole lot of change until recently, that I might have been saying goodbye for the last time.

It does not get easier each time. I do believe I have finally said everything I need to say. If I haven’t, it’s my own fault. I’ve had a week of days and nights to get it all out. The first night I left, I regretted that I left out talking about certain people or certain memories. I made up for all of that since and then some.

I also told my mother numerous "secrets" (boring ones, of course) and observations that I wouldn’t share with just anyone during this time. I even fessed up to a few things that I’m sure she knew all along. Some were trivial, some were serious. Some I wish I had not put off. Most will remain just between us.

We always think we’ll have more time to say these things or that something else is more important so it can wait.


Of cour…

We can't keep holding on

I’ve been thinking a lot lately because I have a lot of 􀢢me to think. This blog started in 2007 during a time when my mother and I were driving back and forth for her pre-cancer surgery appointments.

My second entry in the blog documents the day my mother had her surgery. As I write this, my mother has been in hospice since last Tuesday. The call could come at any moment. I have wondered
if the call would come when I am in the shower. I keep a hand towel next to the phone right outside of the shower just in case. I wondered if it would happen when I was pumping gas or ordering at the drive thru. Or, will it happen when I am there? I am home during the day and there in the evening and late into the night. When I am in the room is the only time I am not afraid for the phone to ring.

The change is so gradual that it is hardly perceptible to me. The professionals, the doctors and nurses, say they see it and although the process is surprisingly slow even in their eyes, it is happening.
I …