Mom continues to live her life according to a roller coaster, with the highs just a little bit less high each time and the lows a little bit longer each time.
On Tuesday night, Mom really enjoyed visits from a number of friends and family. They stayed until 10:30 at night with Leslie, talking and telling stories and laughing and generally having a great time. And so was Mom. Her eyes were following people around the room, she was smiling and nodding in all the right places and even managed to say a couple of words. It was a great night.
On Wednesday morning, Leslie had a difficult time waking Mom up at all. She just wanted to sleep and lay still in her bed.
And that right there is what makes this so difficult. We can see flashes of the old Mom, the old Catherine, the old Kaki (and she’d absolutely hate to hear me refer to her as old. She never thought of herself that way.), and then it just. . . goes away. And we’re left with the new reality.
We know that the best we can hope for is that Mom remains comfortable, happy in the knowledge that she made the world a better place just by being herself and that she can die knowing she is loved. And, yet. . . And yet. . . There are those flashes.
We can see exactly what it is we will be missing. And we know we’re don’t want to say good bye.
And this is beoming far too maudlin, dudes. Mom would hate this. Let me tell you one of my favorite stories about Mom.
This happened back in the days when dinosaurs ruled the earth and I had to walk five miles to school every day, uphill both ways, through the snow and avoiding alligators. I was in late junior high school, surely old enough to know better, and I was pushing all of Mom’s buttons. Every single one.
I can’t for the life of me remember what the argument was about, but it was ferocious. Finally, Mom had had enough. She reared back and was about to slap my face off. She tried. I, being the not-quite-manly man that I was, reached out and caught her hand. The blow never landed, but my smirk sure did.
I was about to make some joke about her not being big enough or tough enough to do anything to me and I was going to rule the place from then on out and I was going to —
Then Mom grabbed my wrist, turned around and flipped me right over her back and onto the ground.
I just lay there, stunned. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. Mom smiled down at me, shook her head sadly and then walked away.
Ever since, I’ve asked for a rematch. She’d just smile and shake her head. Heck, I even asked her for a rematch a few days after she went into Hospice. She just smiled and shook her head.
That’s my mom.