Well, we didn’t get our miracle.

Or, at least, we didn’t get it here, but my Mom is out of that body that was hurting her so much, so she got hers. And now she can run and fly and do all the things she loves without having to pay the price later.

So that’s a wonderful thing to think of.

But I’m a little selfish and I miss her smile and I miss her little songs to the dogs and I miss how much she loved all of us. Like, so much.

It’s hard when somebody’s not there and you realize that the amount of love they put out there was so huge there’s this enormous gap. And I’m just facing that gap for the rest of my life.

It’s rough.

But she’s getting all the wonderful things she ever dreamed of right now, and she has so many friends and family surrounding her right now, so she’s got people to take care of, and she feels well and can take care of everybody again.

So that’s awesome.

But not right now, because it hurts, and I realize that my soft, squishy, constantly breaking heart is the way it is because I learned empathy and mothering from her.

I got to thank her, and I got to apologize for all the crap I pulled, and I got to make sure she felt loved all the way through, and that is also something to be grateful for.

But it still sucks.

She was sunshiny, beautiful, naïve, more generous than most people would think was humanly possible, and she loved us all with food and presents and too much of everything, in a good way. And it’s not likely that life will ever give us a chance to be cared for so thoroughly again, at least, not on this planet.

So, I’m thankful and sad and mourning and breaking and joyful, all at once. And it’s horrible.

But she’s good now. So we’ll go through this and hold on to that.

Well, Mom and Dad are hanging in there, but it was another rough week. Mom is a trooper, and Dad’s pretty burly, too...it’s beyond hard to watch someone you love go through this.

With no help from the doctors except more morphine. Ugh.

However, it’s amazing how tough my Mom is when she wants to do something. All week long, she’s been home, in bed, basically lucky to get to walk a loop around the backyard. But yesterday, we had planned to have her good friends from church take a trip down here in the church van to see my house and have lunch.

I mean, the lady is frail right now and feeling pretty crappy.

So, of course, she did it anyway, and did great.

She didn’t go to lunch, but she got dressed up, rode in the car, and then napped in her room at my house while we had lunch, and then I made her some oatmeal and she went home. For her that was a huge deal, and she did it! Yay!

Today seems a bit better, too.

Even though we get looks from people, like maybe they think we’re insane, we will still have hope, no matter what. There are better things ahead for her and for us, I just know it. We can do this, even though it sucks right now.

It’s been a rough few days. The meds for the pain my mom has have started causing her to fade behind a weird fog that makes her sleep all day, hallucinate, and become completely disoriented at times.

She’s lost the dignity of going to the bathroom alone. She’s lost the ability to remember where she’s going or what she’s doing. She is now being treated like a child because her confusion is so great that we’re worried she’ll injure herself.

And then she has moments of lucidity and we can see her underneath this haze.

Fortunately, it seems that these effects may have come from too much opioid medication; unfortunately, the effects are receding slowly and are very scary.

And we are all so tired, especially my dad.

And some asshat stole my dad’s debit card number so he’s had to cancel his card, get a new one, and also remember to change all of the automatic monthly payments that come out of this card. Because he didn’t have enough on his plate.

And life goes on, and work goes on, and all the things we have to do to keep up with bills and the house and the pets and the cars still need to be done.

I am so grateful she’s with us and comfortable. I’m so grateful we have kind hospice people to help. I’m so happy that she has such an amazing husband who loves caring for her and makes her feel so safe and happy. I am beyond thankful for a husband who loves them as much as I do and is willing to drop our normal routine to go with me to help out the little bit that I can.

But, wow. This is difficult. And I can’t imagine what’s going to happen next.

Ugh.

P.S. Fentanyl is the devil, just in case you were wondering.

Tip of the week: If you send a person who has been put on hospice an “encouragement” card, don’t write a message detailing all of the things you’ll miss about that person when they die. In case you didn’t figure it out, that’s a crappy, morbid thing to do.

Also, don’t send a follow-up birthday card doing it again.

Maybe just don’t write.

Or call.

Maybe staying away is best, because this hospice lady isn’t going anywhere, and her family kind of wants to punch you for being a douchebag.

The end.