My mom was taken by ambulance to the hospital from the nursing home on Sunday morning. Very high temperature and heart rate. Suspected pneumonia. Unresponsive. No change in 48 hours, and she's on hospice care. Now we wait.
My soul is tired.
Keeping up appearances for our childrens' sake. Letting them see it's hard, and that it's okay to find your own particular way to grieve. But not falling apart in front of them.
My relationships with my brothers. Eyeroll. From what the hospice coordinator said yesterday, that's par for the course...issues between siblings when a parent is dying. Conflict.
We just keep moving on. I feel like I've been holding my breath since my mom's first stroke just over 5 years ago. A steady decline.
I look forward to the end, not in a callous way, but she's suffered long enough. A reunion is about to be underway. A heavenly one. She lost her dad when she was 7 and her mom when she was 20. Her sister in 2017. And my mom, at 90, is the last of the elders.
She actually smiled yesterday afternoon. Eyes shut, no reaction to company in her room, but having her own party in her head, I guess.
And so it goes.