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Apr. 16th, 2010 11:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
outsdrThe trip went well.
Air travel was, as always, aggravating, but no moreso than before. Listening to my father's political views on the three hour drive to his house was also aggravating, but again no moreso than before. He's holding up well, I suppose, although I can tell it's hitting him hard. He's known my mother since he was six, when he met her at his birthday party. She was four. He showed her how to run the race they had.
It was difficult to talk to my mother at first, just because of the giant elephant in the room we were trying to ignore. I just couldn't bring up anything important without choking up. It got easier as we worked on her book; I suppose I was able to ease into things better. I did joke with her and ell her that she could have just told me she'd like me to come home for a visit, that she didn't have to go to this extreme.
Most of my time there was spent finishing and printing her book with her. But important things were talked about too- her funeral wishes, burial wishes, etc. She helped me write her obituary on my last day there. I figured it was better to do it now, rather than wait until the actual death, because then, no one would really want to be bothered with it. Plus, I could get her input, and as I told her, neither of my siblings can write worth a damn, lol. We finished the book the night before my final day there.
My last day there, I rode to the nursing home with my sister-in-law (She's second in command there.) We spent the day just being together. My mother was back in bed by noon, but instead of napping like she normally does, she tried so hard to stay awake the entire time I was there. I did leave for about 30 minutes in the afternoon to visit my grandmother, who also lives at the nursing home. Maybe she napped a little then, but she was awake when I returned.
One of the things we talked about many times was just how unreal it seemed to be. She's on heavy doses of steroids to keep the brain swelling down, and as a result it's impossible to tell there's anything else wrong with her. Neither of us could really wrap our heads around the fact that we'll never see each other again. We talked of many things we've discussed before, and new things as well. One of the things I learned is that as a result of the damage done by the tumor to her brain, she can no longer cry. This made it easier and harder when I left.
Midnight came; she'd stayed awake longer than she had in weeks to be with me. My dad arrived to take me to Pittsburgh airport, and it was time to say goodbye. This wasn't as hard as I expected, because it just didn't seem (and still doesn't) that I'd never see her again. The trip went astonishingly quick.
Now, I call her every morning and talk to her briefly before starting my day. And dread the day when she doesn't answer the phone.
Air travel was, as always, aggravating, but no moreso than before. Listening to my father's political views on the three hour drive to his house was also aggravating, but again no moreso than before. He's holding up well, I suppose, although I can tell it's hitting him hard. He's known my mother since he was six, when he met her at his birthday party. She was four. He showed her how to run the race they had.
It was difficult to talk to my mother at first, just because of the giant elephant in the room we were trying to ignore. I just couldn't bring up anything important without choking up. It got easier as we worked on her book; I suppose I was able to ease into things better. I did joke with her and ell her that she could have just told me she'd like me to come home for a visit, that she didn't have to go to this extreme.
Most of my time there was spent finishing and printing her book with her. But important things were talked about too- her funeral wishes, burial wishes, etc. She helped me write her obituary on my last day there. I figured it was better to do it now, rather than wait until the actual death, because then, no one would really want to be bothered with it. Plus, I could get her input, and as I told her, neither of my siblings can write worth a damn, lol. We finished the book the night before my final day there.
My last day there, I rode to the nursing home with my sister-in-law (She's second in command there.) We spent the day just being together. My mother was back in bed by noon, but instead of napping like she normally does, she tried so hard to stay awake the entire time I was there. I did leave for about 30 minutes in the afternoon to visit my grandmother, who also lives at the nursing home. Maybe she napped a little then, but she was awake when I returned.
One of the things we talked about many times was just how unreal it seemed to be. She's on heavy doses of steroids to keep the brain swelling down, and as a result it's impossible to tell there's anything else wrong with her. Neither of us could really wrap our heads around the fact that we'll never see each other again. We talked of many things we've discussed before, and new things as well. One of the things I learned is that as a result of the damage done by the tumor to her brain, she can no longer cry. This made it easier and harder when I left.
Midnight came; she'd stayed awake longer than she had in weeks to be with me. My dad arrived to take me to Pittsburgh airport, and it was time to say goodbye. This wasn't as hard as I expected, because it just didn't seem (and still doesn't) that I'd never see her again. The trip went astonishingly quick.
Now, I call her every morning and talk to her briefly before starting my day. And dread the day when she doesn't answer the phone.
