My Mom is transitioning to death.
According to the nurse, "she isn't actively dying yet".
I've been granted the wonderful, painful, conflicting, confusing gift of time with My Mom.
Her little Chihuahua, a pain-in-the-ass but oh-so-loyal sweetheart crotchety old man of a dog doesn't leave her side much. He escorts us back and forth to the bathroom, right along side the walker. He lays between her ankles or knees, sleeping, under the covers. If you try to move him, he's at a point where he will growl and get angry at you. He's a very protective, worried pupperdoggo. As Mom eats less, as does he. I wouldn't be surprised see see them die the same day. It's a little macabre, maybe, but it's also kind of endearing.
Mom loves watching tennis - always has. The TV has stayed on the Tennis Network for the last few days.
None of us gets the choice to not have cancer. Somehow we trick ourselves into thinking it won't choose us. My reality is that I will very, VERY likely have some form of terminal cancer. Being afflicted with it somehow, miraculously, spawns gifts....plants seeds of new life. If you *try*. If you can trudge through your feels, surrender the selfishness of the loss, you will see the beauty of death, the sun rising in the body. Weak smiles. Whispery laughter. You can look around and bear witness to the legacies.
Mom's body will give up soon, and her soul will rise, rise, rise to the great beyond. And I will be standing 'neath the warm sunbeams she will shine down on me, a smile on my face.
I love you so much, mom. Thank you for choosing life and saying "yes" to me.
xo
