One thing and then another

Daughter Becky here, reporting in from Seattle.

In September mom and I were talking on the phone and I asked her how she was feeling about her cancer diagnosis and the winding down of her life and she said "Becky, I don't want to get into the oven."

One thing about mom, when she does say something, she doesn't mince words.

I assured her a whole bunch of things would happen before she got in the oven, and that the most important of those things would be that she would actually be dead.

"Mom, you don't get in the oven until you're dead." 

She got it but it still bugged her.

Mom and I have always talked candidly and at length about all manner of things and the topic of her illness and the toll it's taking has been no exception.  I've followed her lead and mustered up the courage to get through whatever she's wanted to talk about, even though almost all the time it was me crying, not her. 

Strong.  Determined.  Stubborn.  She's all that and more. 

But back to the conversation about the oven.

To help aleviate her anxiety, we worked our way through what would probably happen over the coming weeks and I used daddy as our guide. 

In his last few weeks of living, his appetite diminished, he lost interest in his usual passions, then he couldn't walk, then he couldn't talk but he could still write, then he couldn't write but he still comprehended (blink once for yes, twice for no).  When that was gone, he could still hear and we knew it because his eyes would brighten, his respiration and facial expression would change.  Then came constant sleep.  Then uneven breath.  Then, finally, death. 

Then the oven.

I assured mom that, as long as nothing catastrophic took her out sooner (infection, organ failure, etc.) she'd probably follow a similar trajectory.

When I talked to mom yesterday, the only words she could say were "I don't know what's happening."  Tonight, she was only able to craggle out "I love you" and "that must have been good" when I described what Jimmy and I had for dinner.  I feel so lucky to have been able to hear her voice one more time and I fully expect that tomorrow, it will be gone.  At least on the demand of my call.

As mom's telephone friends have continued to call, they're having a one-sided conversation with her.  The phone rests by mom's ear and most of the time she's not able to respond verbally but, rest assured, she can hear you and it means the world to her to hear your voice.  A social butterfly her whole life, calls and emails have sustained her since she left Florida a couple years ago and more so now than ever before.     

As Pooge and I have made this journey with mom, we've tried to follow her lead in her openness, honesty and utter fearlessness in facing what's to come. 

We can't stop what's coming; we can't stop it for her and we can't stop it for any of us.  All we can do is keep talking, keep loving, keep reaching for each other.  Over the miles.  Through the phone.  Through prayer.

So, it's happening, it's been one thing, then another and then another.  And soon she'll be gone.  How lovely that she's spent so much time talking to you, thinking of you, praying for you as you've prayed for her, and here, at the end, still so happy to listen to what you have to say.

Thank you for that.  Please keep calling.

And Bonnie, your name was the last thing mom ever typed.  Isn't that great?