Zosia and I are a lot alike.
As we get older, we get good days and bad. I talk with Jim about our girl being in hospice, and we both know and acknowledge what is coming. We both know our hearts are very heavy at the thought.
We have been down to the bay, albeit slowly, and with the exception of yesterday, I have had them out walking daily, regardless of the weather. My friend Ginny posted on my Facebook page about the intelligence in talking to our pets. I would talk to them regardless, as kids will be kids, be they two or four legged.
Kasia knows what’s coming down the pike, but I am still thankful daily when I hear all eight paws of my girls hit the hardwood floor. I know I have another day to talk to them, and for them to look at me. Zush, with her canine dementia, does actually talk back to me. It brings me back to my Mom and her sundowning: you relish what they say, even what sounds they make. You know one day you’ll long to hear them again.
I savor every moment!
The joke is where we have moved to, well, let’s just say I’m one of the youngest people here, full-time wise.
A good percentage of the residents come down for the summer, or part of it. A neighbor of our that we would have lived immediately next to, if we bought the first house, lives in Collegeville. He has been coming down here for ten years or so. He is married and has two adopted and one biological tumor.His age is somewhere between mine(55) and Jim’s(60).
He came down here over the weekend with one of our neighbors and his family.
He wants to die here at his house here.
He has a mid-brain tumor.
For those of you who know me personally, or have been reading the blog for a while, you’ll recall I lost my niece, Alexandra, to a mid-brain tumor.She died at 18.
What flashbacks this has brought back to me, my neighbor’s illness.A brain tumor is definitely NOT how you want to go out. It is a fight, a hard fight.
My neighbor and I were walking past his house and one of the neighbors came out and said he isn’t expected to last the night: hospice is there with them.
We mourn the man, but rejoice that his suffering will be done. I am happy he actually hung in through the car ride to get down here, but I know this was his final wish.
Kiss or hug someone you know after you read this. Do it for me.
Life is too damn short.
I was here working on a scarf last night; not for long as my eyes were tired and almost ready for bed.
I received a text on my phone.
Sue had passed.
It’s over. My friend had gotten her wish to be with her Mom.
After the text from the caregiver, around ten minutes later, Sue’s husband phoned me to let me know. I told him I was so sorry, and he started to tell me how he was waiting on hospice to come. He knew the day was coming but he was in shock.He cared for her for the last four years and was married to her for the last thirty-two. I guess I’d be in shock too.
Rest in peace, my friend. You’ll be missed but you’re in a better place with your mom.
I have just spent 25 minutes singing Polish Christmas carols& hymns to the Blessed Mother, but now Mom has settled down.
As her condition has been deteriorating ,I have had her in hospice care at home. I listen to the phlegm rattle in her throat as I sing.This is new to me.. No, not Mom making a vocal comment to my singing, but watching and waiting. I sit and wonder what will be.Will she be granted a gift to see her 89th birthday this Sunday?Will she see Christmas?New Years? I sat with her wondering if the woman who brought me into the world will be here for my birthday-Not that she would know the day, but will she be here? My chest is tight as I think of that. I’d like to think almost four years of caregiving has toughened me up,but obviously not.The book has been almost 52 years in the making,and all I can do is wait.
This is not quite as hard as having to tell my folks I had cancer, but it is a close second.
All I can do is pray.Any you can say for us would be deeply appreciated.
Thanks, my friends.