The blurry days

The week was mostly a blur of mom's dark, sad room and conversations and reminiscences that mostly avoided discussion of the inevitable. My dad, and even the hospice nurse, would talk about her care like this was going to be a long time thing. I know my dad knew there was only a matter of days or weeks but I wasn't going to be the one to burst the bubble he'd created for himself. Fortunately my mom was swimming in a drug cocktail that I'm sure at least dulled the physical and mental pain she was feeling

The big event of the week came on Tuesday when the hospital bed arrived. This was clearly something that had been stressing my sister out and I promised we'd help. The obvious thing that had to happen was that mom had to be moved to my dad's bed while the old bed was taken out. The less obvious thing to everyone but me and my wife was that the room was so filthy with bits of  food and tissue, and old clothes and newspapers and who knows what else, it had to be cleaned. We were determined to get do this. It was something concrete that could be fixed.

My sister moved my mom to my dad's bed which for a minute brought out her old self, yelling and complaining and tantruming. After 20 minutes of hearing my sister and dad pleading with her to calm down. I decided to play "bad cop." I really didn't want to do it; I didn't want me being a jerk to be one of her last memories but we needed her to calm down. So I went in to my dad's room and stared her in the eyes and told her she needed to cooperate. There was a flash in her eyes of that scary anger I remembered from my childhood, then her face softened, then a pause, then..."Okay."

My sister, Elisa, my wife Lisa, and I  scrambled like maniacs to get the bed out and the room clean before the hospital bed was due to arrive. We filled 3 bags of trash and I vacuumed for a solid hour. We finished just as the doorbell rang with the new bed. And it really was worth the work. It must have been the Lexus of hospital bed, sleek and comfy looking, not like what you usually see in a hospital.  It would be the last place she'd live and it made her comfortable. She could at least raise and lower herself and get some sleep without being contorted like she was in her old bed.

That was the night I decided to extend my time in California for more days. The routine had been to go down and eat with her. But the night before  had been busy, and noisy with my dad, sister and wife and I in the room, so this night  I went down alone. The two of us ended up talking for hours. Nothing profound, but there was a tone, and quality to her voice that was unlike anything I'd ever heard from her before. She was calm, but a little childlike, but also peaceful in a strange way.

 Food had always been her passion, even now the Food Network was playing quietly on her TV(it made me hate Guy Fieri just a little less, knowing that he was comforting my mom).  Lisa and I had eaten sushi for lunch and then gone to a Mexican market and had told my mom about it. For dinner we had ordered Chinese takeout for everyone. In between talking about her dad and our family trips she would start talking about the great ceviche she could get at the Chinese restaurant. Or she'd talk about the great Mexican Market where they had lovely sushi. I sat there politely, internally knowing that even after her stroke she was never this confused. 

At one point she reached over and grabbed a lipstick which she smeared, childlike on her lips. She looked at me, opening her eyes wide and then said "If I don't put on my lipstick I  will die." That chilled me to the bone.  I was unsettled enough that the next morning I rescheduled my flight home.

The next days were more of the same. Some nights me talking to her by myself some nights with my dad. On my last night there the three of us sat in her room(my sister was working). She was drifting more and more. And my dad was struggling to keep the conversation going. It was natural and unnatural at the same time. It was sad and not sad the same way.

When I left the next day. She asked if she'd see me again. I didn't say yes or no; I knew the answer. But I said I'd come back down as soon as I could. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said "I love you." That's not something I had heard from all that much as a kid, but I said it back with my voice choking, and meaning every word of it.

I don't really remember my flight home except that for the first time in years I was seated next to a guy who wanted to talk. I didn't want to be rude but I couldn't handle that today. Thank God airlines let you put your earphones on the whole time. I landed in Seattle starting a mental clock of how much longer I thought she'd last.

(more later)