Waiting For the Call - a Move to Hospice

Note: I intended to write a very different entry, which may yet get written. Sometimes writing writes itself. This is one of those times.
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Following Kaddish for my father, I took a break. I always thought I'd get back to my blog, but, somehow, I didn't. Until today.

This post has been a while in the making. Not only is this a form of sharing, but that sharing is a way to process what's going on. Whether trauma or joy, sometimes the emotions and/or thoughts bubble up, and need an outlet.

So here we are.

Life is not perfect, but sometimes it can be charmed. And so it has been for us. Definitely not perfect, but very lucky. Two New Yorkers meeting in LA, barely dating, but fast becoming close friends, we began dating only months before becoming engaged. Friends (at least one, Dan) thought we were crazy. But we knew. Twenty-six plus years and going strong. We have wonderful children (not without issues, but we can talk ADD, anxiety, and depression later). We've worked and lived in amazing places - California, New York, Hawaii, North Carolina, and Ontario. We have friends whom we count as family.

And so we are blessed. I hold this knowledge close for perspective as I push on through this year.

In April my mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Not two years after my father's death, she was just getting her life in order, finding her way, and feeling comfortable. Then - Cancer, pancreatic.

Chemo. Radiation. More chemo. Then a break. Building up strength. September brought us news she was driving again. She was going to her clubs and programs. She felt good. The tumour shrunk significantly. We knew there would be more, but breathed a sigh of relief, that deep breath you don't even realize you're holding.

November. The pain was back. My brother was having back surgery. I was scheduled for a full hysterectomy. My mother's first thoughts, "Please God, don't let me die. My children can't sit shiva right now." (Yes, really. Those were her first thoughts.) In just a few weeks it all went sideways. First Russell's surgery. Thank God, successful. Then fluid in her lungs. Drained twice. Two weeks of rehab to gain back strength. My surgery. Also, successful (still recuperating). Less than two weeks after my surgery I drove to NJ with the kids to ensure they could see her. She was weak, but gaining.

We arrived home late December 26. December 30, more fluid was drained. December 31, Mom couldn't get out of bed. Overnight, the fluid returned. And that was it. No more procedures. She was done. Somewhere as that decision was being made, I returned to NJ. After six days in the hospital, Mom returned home to hospice care.

And we're not there. Mom has other family. She has wonderful aides, who must be among the lamed-vavnikim. She has hospice workers who check on her. But we're not there. Her children and grandchildren are too far to be present. Each with our own recovery, we've been gone from our jobs too long. And so we push on. We push through.

But we know, it's not enough. We're going through the motions. Funny, my mind said the the last sentence, but my fingers typed, "through emotions." That's what it is. motions and emotions. Perspective and dreck. Thanking God for blessings, but wondering when the other shoe could drop.

So I hold my children. I laugh with my friends. I work hard. And I wait for the call.