Picture of the evening

I'm sitting in the red chair in the living room, at mom's feet. This is the chair the family has snuggled in, read in, cried in, dozed in since my childhood. (Mom and dad once said they'll be giving each of us kids a "red chair" when we marry; for now, we all share this one.)

Mom is in the hospital bed. We moved her there yesterday in order to more easily adjust her resting position. I'd hoped she would die sitting on the couch--more homey, less medical--but the bed makes sense given how difficult it's become to move her.

She's asleep. A slight grunt comes with nearly every exhale. A washcloth on her head. The knobby blue shawl covers her skinny shoulders and deflated breasts. On the bookcase, a mug of flat gingerale, untouched since this morning. Beautiful flowers to my right. A card from Sarah, with a picture of Port Townsend's Chetzemoka Park (mom's favorite), displayed to my left.

Jesse and Nathan are on the couch. Nathan: researching the stages of death...what to do afterwords...trying to prepare for something you can't really prepare for. Jesse: reflective and quiet...so gentle.

An unframed painting of mom's is propped along the windowsill..it's of pears...four versions in a row like stop action photography. Mom rediscovered the painting when we sorted through her sketches three weeks back; dad liked it so much he snagged it for his office but hasn't had a chance to take it there yet.

Aunt Lorie kisses mom's forehead and heads to bed. Dad settles in on the green couch.

We sit. Watch. Wait.

Is this the last night?

Valarie

Where we are

Sorry, all, but no cheery pictures at this time. Doesn't quite fit where we're at right now. Fortunately, Lily, Isaac, Elissa and Nigel dropped off this magnificient box of colorful doughnuts that we determined picture-worthy (and taste bud worthy, too).

Mom had a significant pain increase over the past 24 hours. Went from 3 mg of morphine an hour to 8 mg. Took us a while to get her evened out; she refused to take the oral pain meds yesterday afternoon. Can't blame her--last thing she really had any control over. Today, she's sleeping, somewhat fitfully, but doesn't appear to be in as much pain as yesterday. Her lucid days have likely come to an end. No urnination...very little fluid intake.

Even though we knew this was coming, it's still terribly painful.

One bright spot: we think we've found the right place for her memorial service. Tentatively scheduled for May 9th. Odd to be planning this already, when she's alive; even odder to be planning something so meaningful without her.

Valarie

On Sunday, Mom had some ice-cold watermelon--one of the few things that won't plug her up. She devoured it in about 30 seconds. Ginger ale finally has competition.

We are in a bit of a holding pattern here. Mom has told us repeatedly that she is ready to go--that she wants to go. And her vitals and mental clarity have led us more than once to think she would go very soon. But come each morning-time she has lasted the night, her tough body plugging away; her spirit weaker but still there. Yesterday she kept Dad and Lorie busy from 3 am until 5 am recording her thoughts on dying...a philosopher to the end.

The hospice nurses are of course circumspect--the I-have-no-crystal-ball metaphor is frequently used and continually unsatisfying. Their estimates range from a week to weeks, though in the next sentence they caution that her condition could change rapidly.

I can't speak for the others, but I feel very much in a time bubble, where the days pass quickly or slowly with much activity or none at all. There are so many parts of her history and her approach to la vida that I know I will wish I'd asked her about. But there is scarce perspective from her bedside in the living room, leaving me few triggers for those questions. And it would be impossible and exhausting and selfish on my part to try in any case. Instead I am attempting to content myself with the little gems of herself that she shares every now and then.

"Carry on my sweets," she says.

-nate

Mom was never a heavy drinker, but has more than made up for it in the past few days. This little smile will show up and she'll say "get me some of the special stuff," and we'll run to the kitchen and fill up a little glass with ice and ginger ale. We are rewarded with a happy look on her face and the satisfied little "ahhh" when she finishes and lets the straw fall from her lips.

-n

Jesse's home! (The bundle of brown hair, lower right.)

With all of our energies focused toward mom these last few days, the hours pass in a rush or not at all. Even though we haven't responded to all your love and thoughts please please know that they're getting through. Every card and email elicits a laugh or a cry or a smile or a good thought in all of us here. (Fyi, we're working on getting the Zumba video from Meg.)
-n

While you might imagine things are mostly serious around here, every now and then some humor happens. Like this afternoon, when Mike, Lorie, Dad, Mom and Mary were thoroughly enjoying a video of Val and Mom doing Zoomba in the kitchen. (Meg recorded it on the sly weeks ago.) Will let all of you imagine Mom and Val sashaying around in the kitchen as they do.
-n