Monday, January 13, 2014


Today is my Dad's Birthday. My brother pointed this out to me last week. Honestly I never really even paid any attention to it since Daddy had passed away when I was four. Mom never pointed it out either when we were growing up I'm sure for fear of making us sad. As you all know now, she would have never wanted us to be sad. Looking back last January when Mom had her first ER visit — that night when she was very confused, she did clear as day turn to my Brother and I and tell us "You know, it's Daddy's Birthday next week". So clearly he continues to be top of mind for her.

I mention this because now Mom is on day 27, that's right 27 days with only taking in 2-6 spoon full's of water a day. She has had a few more amazing spikes of conversation but as of yesterday is now silent. The hospice team says she is very close.

We have been encouraging her all weekend to join Daddy for his Birthday celebration in heaven today since she loves a good party. I'm certain he will have a Boston Baseball game on t.v., a chocolate cake and plenty of highballs to go around. But clearly she is not buying it.

Saturday morning the caretaker brushed her teeth, combed out her hair and told her "Virginia, I helped you look beautiful for your husband". Mom's response with her eyes completely shut "My husband is deceased". Yes, that's right. No response from her in 24 hours and then she belts that out.

Last week she gave us some true moments of bliss amongst a forrest of fog. Thursday when I arrived I decided to finally tell her about the blog. I had held back telling her for fear of a forehead wrinkle which is worst then the stink eye. Surprisingly she responded by an over exaggerated wink and said "I think we have a good book". That meant a lot to me. I had been carrying a bit of guilt about sharing such personal moments and details about her journey. I left that night thinking maybe that was the one last thing we needed to share.

Friday I thought she was reciting a Dr. Seuss book. It was almost like her brain could only formulate these very creative rhymes. In between all these obtuse sentences she told the caregiver "you have ingenuity". She repeated that three times. How can you not formulate real world sentences one second and then clearly say something so complex the next?

Mom struggled, lifted up both arms and reached out to grab my face (since she can't see me) and said something that was both rhythmic and very articulate "Super-sizing with you is the best thing I can do". That was the best compliment she could have ever given me.

I cried.

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