Glub glub glub...it has been pretty darned hard lately and I think that I am waiting for the pain on the inside and outside, to stop. If you need me to be funny and cheerful, today will not be the read for you and I promise to pump things up with pictures of the Good Stuff with the next post.
Things got harder on Friday. I got a phone call at about 10 PM, from a nurse at the Pines, telling me that mom had begun to have seizures and did I want to give permission for her to go to the hospital. Count...one, two, three...um, Mom was brought back from Kaiser, in February, for Comfort Care, which means that she is not to be taken to the hospital, ever again. Silence...one, two, three...well, if that is how you want it. Gulp. I'm sorry but do you KNOW how hard it is for me to have to say this out loud Again and Again? I had to say OUT LOUD to the PT guy at Kaiser, after mom had the HUGE stroke that she made me promise that there were to be no feeding tubes. It took all of my strength to do it that time. Ok, the nurse sighs and tries to tell me that I am Not A Bad Person. WTF? Lucky for me that Lauren was home with me and so she helped me realize that this nurse did not want mom to die on her watch. Yeah, that would suck but I promised that if possible, she would not die in a hospital, with all of the poking and machines and stuff.
I was remarkably calm when I finally went in to go to bed and kept myself busy by surfing the web with the laptop on the bed. (the things that you can do when the spouse is away for the night!) I expected to be awakened at 3 am to The Call. The Call did not come.
The place was still on Lockdown on Saturday but we were assured that there had been no new cases of the intestinal whatsis and that we could chance it on Sunday. We headed to the Waffle Shop for some comfort food and then on for our visit. Her nurse helped me wake her and remarkably, once she saw the Schnickle by her side, her hand was furiously trying to get out from under the covers.
Her face was twitching on the left side and her left foot was jerking. She had not eaten in three days and when I tried to give her a sip of water, she would not take it OR I was doing it poorly. We tried to be upbeat but informational, in case this was our Last Time. I told her how things were going well for both of my kids and the Schnickle got to tell her about catching his first two fish at a nearby pond. She tried hard and mouthed, Terrific. Where does this strength come from? I wanted her to know that we will be ok. Her tongue looked like the color of liver and reminded me of Stroke Day.
I told her nurse that she had not taken water but that she looked incredibly parched and she told me that she would fix that for her. I began to walk toward the exit and then turned back, went to April, threw my arms around her and thanked her for being so kind to mom. Thanked her for caring and being so good to her. I broke down, at that point. I just kept hugging and hugging, hoping that someone could help make it better. Time to suck it up...again.
We left there and had to run some errands afterward. I kept it together throughout the shopping expedition but on the way home, my face began to fall and I knew that I would not be able to keep up the cheery Grammy facade much longer.
The rest of the day was just plain hard and mournful.
When I called to talk to April, the next morning, Mom had eaten. Why-I-oughta. :o) Well, uh...WTF? She is still having the small seizures and we now wait to hear what the visiting physician has to say as a guess to what is going on. So, we are back to waiting as the sands run out. My step-father lived and lived and lived and lived on nothing by mouth for an impossibly long time until mom gave him permission to go. Later that night his organs all fell apart. He waited and waited and waited...for her. Now there is no one to hang around for but herself. I gave her permission the last Big Time and now I just don't know if it will piss her off if I say it again.
-------------------------------------
We lost a very brave woman friend yesterday. Audrey F Clarke was an amazing artist, seamstress, knitter and mother. I never knew Audrey before her colon cancer. She had already had that surgery and had been healthy when we first met. She came along with the package when Brenda Patipa came into my life and it was a good deal. It was a two-fer many days because Audrey would come to the old house and help with inventory or with skein bands, always just wanting to be paid in yarn, because after all, Audrey was A Knitter. She and Brenda had worked at CAPA, which is a dance studio in Moraga and Audrey had been responsible for so many of the dancer's costumes, staying up into the wee hours to create with tulle and satin and ribbons.
What I could never get over was the beautiful knitting that would come from this woman. Brenda had designed a sweater a couple of years earlier, in cotton, which when reworked in my old Blue Faced Leicester sport weight had become a beautiful garment. Audrey had requested a greeny gold called Bronze and knitted the piece to perfection, having Gone To The Mat with Brenda over some design elements. Instead of arguing with her, Brenda gave in, because she knew that Audrey was probably right about this or that. When the garment was finished, we learned that Audrey's cancer had come back but this time had attached to her liver. The sweater became The Audrey.
She always assured me that she was not worried and that she could handle this liver biopsy thing, standing on her head. Her beautiful silver hair would be framed in the door of the old workshop and while I could not see her blue eyes twinkle, I knew that it was happening, all the while.
Gosh, I remember when my dear buddy Tom drove to the house, soon after escaping the hospital (should not have been doing this) and found himself in our little house surrounded by women...me, Brenda and Audrey. He was thinking of moving to the Bay Area and was kvetching about having to wear shoes and socks when his life had just been about flip flops for so long. Audrey volunteered to make him a pair of socks from a skein of Gendarme! That was Audrey. Knit knit knit until the treatments bothered her fingertips so much that she had to curtail knitting for a good long while.
We moved here almost two years ago and I know that it was sad to be away from my women friends but I knew that I was moving forward. Brenda kept me up to date on Audrey's treatments with a matter of fact way that belied her fear of losing her friend. When she called me to tell me, just...what...a little over a week ago, that the family announced that Audrey was coming home for hospice, we all stopped the Denial. It was happening. It was going to happen.
Audrey's first born, Gabrielle, had the hard job of being the Gate Keeper and kept a large group of people up to date on her mother's progress, via email. Everyone was to stay away and no flowers or things were to arrive because, well, Audrey did not want any fuss. I just cracked up at little Brenda saying...hell NO, they aren't going to keep me away. I HAVE to see her...and she did. Brenda, in her special way, got to take her Go To gift to the family...comfort food. A true Jewish Mama.
Gabrielle kept a few notes coming about Audrey actually doing some walking and eating and sleeping. Ok, she is a fighter. Then, yesterday came the letter that asked all of us to give Audrey, who had slipped into Transition Mode, the love and umph to find, as her daughter said, the magic red button to allow her to leave. What? Not yet! Yes, the time had come and she must have gotten the biggest silent send-off on the planet because the news came within two hours that Audrey had Gotten Away. Ah, weightlessness. The pain is gone now and it is just for those of us here on this side to come to terms with what this means, for each of us.
Audrey F Clarke was a Knitter. Bon Voyage dear friend. It was a privilege to know you and I will touch your garments and see your twinkling blue eyes, silver hair and remarkable smile. (In my farewell to her, I dared her to be loud enough of a ghost to let her family hear her count in French as she cast on her knitting. My step-father Lenny was a LOUD ghost and he called my name That One Time in broad daylight.)
Bittersweet, I told you.
Schnickle and Mama will be moving very soon, into their own home. It is time. I have had the privilege of getting to know my daughter as an adult, in a way that can only happen when you live together. I have also had the privilege of watching my grandson turn from a baby to a little boy (a BIG little boy) during this time period and I am grateful for this time with him. I hope that he can remember the fun that we had.
Now I need to keep putting one foot in front of the other and carry on.
Rod has been filling the beautiful raised garden boxes that he built for me. Trip after trip with the wheelbarrow. This gift of a fenced garden with high boxes will mean that I can garden on here for a long long time, goddess willing. He put up a feeding station for the squirrel and well, life goes on.
P.S. Tomorrow, when my camera battery is all juiced up, I will take pictures of the Rose Garden. Now I feel better...
