I wonder if, before we were born, we were as afraid of life as we are now are of death?
Roberta Louise Bajus
Rest in Peace
A wild, chaotic, emotional month. On June 12 I went to Seattle to help my 83-year-old mother negotiate some medical appointments for a urinary tract infection that wouldn't go away. On June 23rd my sister and I sat with her while she drew her last breath, 9 days after the doctors discovered that she had cancer.
We were woefully unprepared every step of the way, attempting to meet each phase of this speeded-up process as it came. Anger that the primary care doctor had not paid attention over the last few months; then hospitalization and tests and decisions; then finding a care home and setting up hospice care; moving; and then finding a funeral home.
And then the exhausting clean up and the myriad of details that follow.
I would like to write more about my mother, but now is not the time. I'm home now, settling in and thinking about family and history and time and other deep stuff. But mostly I'm cleaning house and being grateful for my sister and my husband and my daughter. And grateful to you, my readers, who sent such lovely words of support.