first off – i’d like to throw out some support for all the people effected by hurricane sandy.  absolutely tragic – you guys are in my prayers.

secondly – as i deal with my very own hurricane sandi – i can’t help but think what a crazy coincidence that right now of all the letters to be on it’s “s” hurricane and all the “s” names to choose it’s mama bear’s name.  i found myself searching the interwebz today to see when hurricane sandy will pass.  because who knows…

i don’t even know where to start today.

first off – she’s still here.  let’s just get that detail out of the way.

after starting the haldol yesterday mom’s nerves calmed down and hospice didn’t have to insert the foley catheter.  i’m glad – that’s just one more tube and invasive thing she’d have to endure and i’m feeling like it’s just not something i want to do unless is it absolutely necessary.  all these hard choices, right?  ugh.

she’s fighting.  HARD.  she’s really struggling to let go.  you can just see that she really doesn’t want to go.  she’s comfortable (not in pain) but not peaceful.  does that make sense?  i dunno… it’s hard to explain.

her apena (where she breathes and then stops and then breathes and then stops) has continued and worsened significantly today.  she now takes 2-3 breaths and then stops for 10, 15, 20 seconds.  and gasps and starts all over again.  she’s really starting to struggle to breath.  sometime she is gasping, other times she has the “death rattle” (sounds like if snoring and the gurgling girl in the well from that movie “the ring” had a baby – really it’s just fluid built up in the back of her throat), other times she breathes slowly and quietly and other times still she is absolutely silent.  there just is no normal.  nothing about this is easy.  they say you die like you’ve lived and i’ve never known a truer statement about this process.

this whole sitting around waiting for her to go is really starting to take a toll of me both physically and emotionally.  it is so incredibly hard – especially as her breathing pauses become more frequent and for longer durations.  every 10 seconds i’m thinking, wondering if she has breathed her last breath.  there are a lot of every ten seconds in an entire day and i’ve now been here 6 days.  so – i guess what i’m saying is – i’m stressed.  and anxious.  and mom and i feed off of each other so i’m really trying to calm the fark down.  for the both of us.  but it’s really hard.

today hospice sent the chaplain to visit me and we sat and talked for a couple hours.  her name is deborah and she was awesome.  she asked how i was doing and somehow i ended up telling her my life story.  apparently i had used up all of my canned “meh – hangin’ in there” answers to that question and she got the real deal.  bam.

then edye came to visit (hoooooray!  i lub edye) and she did her visit and together her and deborah kicked me out.  well – not really – but they “encouraged” me to take a little breather.  they said often times people have trouble letting go and hold on for their family.  they said that sometimes people need privacy to die peacefully and that sometimes you have to give (or at least offer) them that.  and so i did.  deborah stayed with mom for a couple hours and i busted out the old folks’ home.  it was almost strange to be back in the land of the living.  people’s lives have continued while mine has stood still and it didn’t occur to me until i left, looked around and felt like someone who had just busted out the big house after a 5 year stint.  there are new stores (hello tj maxx) and new buildings (where the heck did that town pump come from?).  it was just really odd.

still no change in the meds from hospice.  mama bear is still 100% on comfort care.  she’s been completely off her meds for over 24 hours now and is still holding strong.  it’s incredible.  this woman is tough as nails.  fo’ realz.

after i had returned from my little outing a hospice volunteer came to visit me and mom and told me that she’d like to sit with mom while i took a shower or went for a walk, or whatever else.  it was actually really great timing because the kids came up and i put them in their costumes and took some pictures.  they aren’t great – but good enough.  3 year olds are crazy.  let’s just call it like we see it, mmkay?  lol.  but at least i got to see how cute (read: silly) they looked.  i wish i had some edited to show you – but that’s quite a ways off.

let’s back up just a tad – after the volunteer got here and before the kids came she and i were sitting in mom’s room listening to her breathe (and not breathe) and mom is 97% unresponsive at this point.  then – all of a sudden – mom opened her eyes, looked right at me and said, “ok – here we go.  i gotta go home.  i’m going.  ok?  i gotta go home. i really love you.”  and just like that – her head hit the pillow and she was out again.   i couldn’t believe it.  you guys – i couldn’t make this stuff up.   she’s been saying from the beginning that she wasn’t dying and she’d tell me when she was – and tonight – she did.  and while i know it’s (beyond) time – it broke my heart.  she came through on that promise – i thought she was so beyond the point where she could do it – and she did.  i said, “ok – mom.  go.  we’re going to be ok.  i love you too.”  then she stopped breathing.  for a loooonnnnng time.  so long that i thought – holy crap – she’s really gone.  and then – another breath.  it’s exhausting.  i can’t imagine how it must be  in her world.

there are still times she’ll half way open her eyes (or one eye) and look right at me.  i know she’s still “here” sometimes.  even through the unresponsiveness and meds – she still looks at me – so sad.  her eyes kind of roll around a little bit and are really glassed over – but she’s still very much still there.  it’s heartwrenching.

i’m going to share something with you that is going to pull some of you guys’ heartstrings, make the hairs on the back of some of your necks stand up and others still will think i’m an absolute whack job.  first off – i believe in jesus.  i believe he died for us and i believe if you believe i’ll see you in heaven someday.  (woooot us!)  i also know that mama bear and i muddled through a prayer for her salvation the last time she was in the hospital.  surely – it wasn’t pretty – but we got er’ done.  since then – i believe the gates of heaven opened to her.  she’s been seeing our old dog toby son, my dad and “men and women” who have remained nameless.  whether or not you believe what i believe is irrelevant.  i hope you do – for your sake – but i’m here to tell you even I have felt my dad around this place lately.  there is this blanket mom had made of the two of them kissing sitting on her couch and i often talk to him over the couch (and said blanket) and out the window into the clouds.  today – the clouds broke from old man winter snow storm clouds back to fall and the most beautiful blue sky opened up directly above where i imagine heaven’s line is (coincidentally immediately over highgate’s 3rd floor roof) and you won’t believe what i saw.  before i show you – let me say this… i have over 1800 pictures sitting on my phone and this is the ONLY one that has this.  the courtyard opening was shadowed and there is nothing that could have been reflecting.  there was no direct sunlight coming in.  look at this (and don’t tell me my daddy-o ain’t round these parts.  cuz i know that big bad biker is a bright white light):

and so.  there.

keep us in your prayers.  i can’t imagine this could go on much longer – but then i realize i’ve forgotten who i’m dealing with.  sandra will go when she is perfectly good and ready.  and you can take that to the bank.  <3

until tomorrow,

*m