After a five-hour trip here (four accidents and almost one of my own), and three hours with my Mom (so weak, so fragile, peaceful but still-Mom Mom) and time with my youngest nephew and oldest brother and dinner with two glasses of wine, I am wilted, tired, but OK.
A remarkable day. An ordinary day. A day with my birth family, my place of origin.
At the moment, Mom is sleeping her way to death. She is aware but that time is very short. She fades rapidly out of this world and then to the next. My dear friend Lauren told me she believes that when dying people are sleeping, they are checking out the next world, a feeling that makes a great deal of sense to me.
I talked with the social worker from Hospice today who said people in Mom's state have been known to last up to two weeks. But she thinks Mom has only 4 or 5 days at the most.
Interestingly, Mom's shaking, her sore eyes, her constant sinus irritation have disappeared since she stopped taking so many meds.
More tomorrow. I need to sleep.
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