My mother is dying.
For some reason, writing that makes me feel like the opening line of "The Stranger" "Mother died today." There's a certain stark reality. An acknowledgement and acceptance of the inevitabilies of life.
My mother is dying, and I am going about my normal routine.
I am also preparing to go to where she is (some 900 miles away) and dispose of or take or sort out for other family members many of her possessions that remain.
Mother has been in assisted living for the last two years.
That means she has been living in a room the size of most motel rooms. The closet is perhaps larger. She has her own furniture. Her own knick-knacks, her own things around her.
But not now.
Mother has had a stroke. She is now in a "skilled nursing facility" They check on her every two hours, making certain she is still alive. All of her medications have been discontinued, except for those which will keep her relaxed, make her feel comfortable, ease her passing.
Hospice services have been called in. She will not be alone.
Life reduced to plus or minus. Meaning reduced to items and the memories attached thereto.
It is inevitable. Death always is. Mother had 95 years, most of them good. I joke that her warrenty has expired and there are no more replacement parts. That may seem slightly sick, but it's quite, quite true. How many people live 95 years?
When she turned 90, I called her "A chronological over-achiever." She was pleased. She said she had not been considered an over-achiever before. Mother was/is modest. She never bragged of her own accomplishments. She was quiet, a follower, not a leader.
I'm not ready to write about her yet. I do not know if I will ever be ready.
Until tomorrow, since somewhere around Spring of last year, I have written her a letter every Sunday. I don't know when my last letter reached her, or if she ever knew. She talkded about my letters the last time I saw her (two weeks ago)She didn't know who I was, in person, but she told me her daughter, Robin wrote to her every week.
No more relplacement parts. It's time for her to go.
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Waiting for a parent to die is not easy. My Dad passed suddenly at age 50 when I was just out of college, and I had no opportunity to prepare for him being gone. My Mom died at 81 several years ago after a fairly short and rapid decline, but this time I was able to mentally prepare. However, you're never really prepared; there are still times when I think "I need to tell Mom about this!" and then remember she's not around anymore. The best you can hope for is that it won't be traumatic for either of you. Remember the good times.
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